And if you're interested, the entire summer Padlet can be found at the bottom of this post. We came to rejuvenate, we came to find joy, and we unearthed new passions with one another. Here's to one of the most outstanding crews I've had the fortune to work with.
Viva Voce (Vox Populi) - Summer ’23
~brc
I
V oice, she writes, is a flame in need of protection.
o n a deeper level, we are all the voices of yesteryear,
i am, because we are…Ubuntu…the chaotic
c horus & cacophony of trauma, childhood, &
i ntellect, ready to select the pitch
n ecessary to secure purposes within the
g enres we choose. How can we lose?
o h. This is my bad-ass, screw-you, yo’ mama’s
u gly voice … perfect for I-95 morning traffic …you
r aggedy, ratchety, red-neck mother trucker!!!
j ust breathe, Crandall. Inhale. Tap Huber inner-Buddha…
o ccupy her calm within a poetic lotus flower so
y ou can doodle another summer poem.
II
T here’s an article for everything, a book, a
r eference, an allusion to be posted
e xistentially across padlets of possibilities…
v ygotsky, friere, morrell, ball, & gee…
o h, pee-wee, the genie predicted the
r iver would end….culminate…
A nd here we are with buckets of pens and Chex-Mix,
l ayers of scribbles and doodles, Hershy’s, those
e ternal ink-puddles waiting to become multimodal
o veratures of writing projects ahead.
III
F irst, though, are the kids,
a ll the beautiful fledglings learning to
t ie shoes, stand on one foot, and dot their
i ’s….cross their t’s, and find the
m agic within their imaginations…
a s it’s meant to be captivating, like a name.
T hey are the gifts, and like books
o n our shelves, they deserve to be read,
o pened, understood, & filed
r unning, as they do, without reservations.
IV
N atur nihil frustra facit, for there’s no vanity
i n the bloom, just pistols & pollen,
c reation, and the stretch of pedals
o verarching the stem in search of a painting, a
l ove song, the doodle needed on the next page
e ntertaining both the ant & the bee.
M animus date lilia plenas,
a s a bundle of lilies needs the
c radle of two arms carrying the
k nowledge from every pond with
l avish joy unearthed from
i mpossibilities…clustered in a
n otebook of tatoo’d wonders
V
E xactly. It’s about a red dry-erase marker in the
l eft hand, swirls and loops, with arrows
l anding in cognitive land minds that
e xplode in twirls, synthesis, anathema,
r hythm, and alliteration (but no
y odeling in a poetic 3-way. Nope)
C ause it’s in the relational
a rc of turning nothing into a field of winter blooms
p lague cold souls and frosty poets in need of
s unshine and hot showers. Go ahead,
h ave ChatGPT give it a try. Steal from it
a nd write your own poems. Afterwards,
w hen we’re done, more mind-mapping the miraculous.
VI
B ring it. No. sing it. Wait. Fling it,
r ing it, wing it, & spring it,
i n all the ways words trickle
a nd tickle our wonder into existence.
n o, this is not our space for silencing…
n ope, this is our place for becoming…
a rriving to our greatest potential. Oh
M use, we should do nothing but refuse
a pathetic lethargy, lethargic pathetic simplicity
r unning through veins of self-doubt, fear,
t rauma, worry, hate, & insecurity.
o h, friends. This space is for purity…the
n irvana begins right here. Ubuntu. It is clear
e ach of us, together, brings all of us everywhere.
VII
O h, there’s a joke for everything. What do you call the
l ine heading into the theater to see Barbie? BBQs!
i have another. What do you call the heart after she
v iciously breaks up with you? Bro-Ken
i ncidently, she loves Halloween, though,
a t that time of year, it’s all about Pump-kens.
B ad, Bryan. Bad. No more Barbie jokes…
a s if Mattel can be held responsible to a socio-political,
t echnological approach to literacy when,
e cologically, her lady bits and shoes
s oak watersheds with polymers & toxins
VIII
L aws. Justice. Power. Rights.
i njustice. Poverty. Fights.
a nother bald eagle, governmental flights.
B urdens. Unions. Democratic laws.
u biquity, hypocrisy, humanistic flaws.
k ingdoms. Autocracies. Dictatorships. Chains.
h ow with every new freedom, a new policy restrains…
o nward. westward. expand expand expand. Capitalist
w ages - the politician grandstands…wastes land
a nd backhands words meant for another sestina.
IX
J ust look around for the hitchhikers, the stickyjacks,
o r the goosegrass kids…the ones who
a ttach at the ankle or ride home on your backpack
n eed one more ‘Miss” for the day (a hug, a smile, a
n od that everything will be okay). Some are like velcro…
a ll they need is an adult to walk by…but
M ore are attachment evasive, hiding under hoodies,
a rguing the sky is green and you’re just stupid,
c utting skin to see if they’re still alive,
k icking the wounded like bluejays who
e gotistically peck at other wounded birds.
n ah, this isn’t teaching. Being self-aware of how
z any kids look for more attention without wanting any at all.
i nteresting, right, how unnoticeable black lipstick and
e yeliner are when they’re a gothic recluse (any excuse not to feel)
X
A ristotle saw art not as outward appearance, but the
l ayering representation of inward significance…our
e xcellence, circumstance, internal happenstance
x istential hip hop, busting moves, the ways we dance
a s we get hot with personal expression.
G roups become tribal, language is survival,
a nd all of us need emotional revival within the collective,
l ove resurrected within the creative…the legislative of
e ach and every teacher, through empathy and care,
o pening saving accounts for the emotionally impoverished.
XI
S ince we’re revising, I have a confession to make,
a lways fixing the flaws that come from a
r aw curiosity: I wonder if I turned left, or what about
a sking this question, instead of saying what I said, or
h ow might this be used to establish an empire.
H aving ideas is a complicated affair, and
e very year, as we near the gray wisdom in our hair,
n ewer thoughts make the older dogs bark. Woof. But
e verything evolves at exactly the right time, and when we’re
g one, we only can hope others have fun with what we leave behind.
h ow would it work this way? What if we didn't
a ttend Mountain School Workshops as a high school student...
n ow we’ll never know, and that is why revision is so important.
XII
J ust ask it questions: Write me a stanza with Norman in the
a crostic without rhyming, if if the timing goes right,
m aybe sing it as the love child of Alicia Keys, Tyler Perry, &
e lmo. This is the song, la la la la, Jimmy’s
s ong.
N ow, hit return to see if it is close to Louise Glück….
o h, don’t give a fook? That’s okay, too, because there’s a
r eally good lesson plan we can drop on rhythm, rhyme, & we
m ad people emptying the ocean with our forks.
a sk more question. More. More. More. Keep going.
n arrow it down until you get exactly what you’re looking for.
XIII
D ad crédito a las obras y no a las palabras,
a s the stillest waters runs deep, no need for
r apids, but the steadiness, stillness, of
l ove, laughter, & living for the moment.
e l que no arriesga un huevo no saca un pollo…
n ests are necessary for fledglings to take flight…ask
e gg-bert, the brother left in the carton.
C arpe diem is latin, not Spanish,
a nd it’s philosophical, I guess. Why
l earn, why teach, why wonder, why ask, why
d o birds magically appear, every time you are near -
e ventually we’ll find out, or we won’t, but
r eally none of that matters in the end.
ó h, it’s in the confirming of another’s existence, writes
n el nodding, that we see the better self for further development.
XIV
R ancid? Is it the can
o r the approach to historical hypocrisy
b rought our way by nidorous, moldered, &
M alodorous administrators ready to sell
o ur puppetry to the buffoonery of the testing apparatus.
n o, I will not go to Big Bird for a hug
a nd Snuffalufagus makes me sneeze. Please…the
c ount? one, two, three. ah ah ah. We see the stupidity…the
o dorous, mephitic sewage you lead with (and ends up in my can).
XV
Y es, for every 60 seconds spent angry, 1 minute of happiness is lost,
v acated, vapid, and gone. There’s always more to say -
o ur voices, multiple, and always on the way of
n urging a conversation forward. This genesis was
n ew this year, as mom planted her own seeds…
e ventually, they’ll branch into their own trees.
J uly is for strawberry picking, blueberries,
e arth worms tilling the soil beneath,
t he robins licking their beaks below.
t his is the way summer goes for writers…
e ach has so much more to add, especially when
r ealizing the delight of planting gardens.
XVII
J uly. It’s always July when the cicadas sing,
u sing their tymbal to tug muscle into vibrations,
l ashing wings so it brings court-calls & choruses:
i ‘m in the mood for love, simply because you’re near me.
e very August, it’s hard not to look resentful.
R eturns are meant for recycling & holiday gifts, but
o urs come with angst…administrators & apathy always
n estled like strays in the hallway corners of national neglect.
e xperto crede … trust us, we’re the experts
s ummering, simmering, glistening, slithering
o ver calendars, emails, & calls that first days grow
n ear. Their singing. It happens every year.
& XVIII
R ejuvenating joy is a variation of genius, unearthing
e quitable glass for all to quench their thirst, seeking
j ustice through historical dismantling of their erasure,
u nraveling ancestry for opportunity, complex simplicity,
v erifying simple complexity that some stories need interruption
e arth. birth. seed. book. think. hope. water. wait. growth.
n ature works this way, especially with a responsibility to
a ll around us: love, reflection, unlearning, resisting,
t eaching, reaching, the children, persisting -
i n the first chapters, the archaeological dig of the self, the
n urturing self-care to get to our core so we’re
g iants for them before they even enter our door.
P lanting seeds as Fletcher had us do, seeking
o pportunity with purpose within genre (as the experts do),
s ilencing ourselves to listen, when it’s the right time to hear,
s peaking up when necessary, to help others overcome fear…
i am, because we are. we achieve this, community.
b eing the eyes with the impossible, allowing the mind to go free,
i magining with little labbers & the youngest novelists,
l aughing with Ubuntu, language always a catalyst,
i improving our practices (writing prompt make another list)…
t his is the way for leaders: a time for opens hands a time for fists.
i wouldn’t have it any other way, the miracle of who we are…
e ach of you so special, …and look, as a team we came so far,
s o another poem must end…but our notebooks….a reservoir.
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