Why Don't They Get What They Read? (ASU Freewrite)

3 minutes.

Why don’t students get what they read?
Because they don’t care
They’re more worried about what they wear
About who is and who’s not checking their hair
Even if you can stop the distraction
Prevent middle school romantic interaction
It’s not a matter of the teacher’s stare
of whether they feel the topic’s fair
It’s not a matter of want or will
It’s a matter of reading ability and skill
Of background knowledge
Of family support for college
Of already knowing some facts
having new places to hang the info like hats
Because if you lack any of that
they can read but they can’t comprehend
They can regurgitate but it’s gone in the end

Highly Qualified (ASU Freewrite)

I really should post these more often - ASU is so much more amusing when I spend 5 or 10 scribbling on request, because we're supposed to "freewrite" or "brainstorm" our ideas in class.

What do I think it means to be highly qualified
I think you need the tools to tear a mind wide
To surprise and stun to make the boring fun
To take the three r’s and make ‘em grrreat
To know how to make students take the bait
You need to be able to think quick on your feet
To stand in classroom take its emotional heartbeat
To connect with the children in and out of the building
To make ‘em buy in to the school bus you’re driving
Thing is none of this can be got from books
None of this can be bought or took
You need an internal burning a yearning for turning
Minds and hearts breaking knowledge to parts
And feeding it, a chunk at a time to young minds
Like syllables separated enunciated in rhyme
Problem is, I don’t think there’s really a test for that
Unions and officials and schools duel and spat
over the expectations for those in education
the requirements to fill the teacher station
but I think they’re always gonna miss the point
I don’t think you can tell in advance who to anoint
Teacher….teacher
Healer helper knowledge preacher
It’s so many caps for a single person to fill
There’s *no* way to predict who can fit the bill

le petit mort

Definitely not safe for work. :-)

they tell me that I talk about death too much
they tell me that I talk about sex too much
the darkness, the blackness, the wackness, and such
the bump and grind, sixty-nine, and two hand touch
but I get vulgar thinking bout sliding inside of the cut
about licking and nibbling and squeezin a beautiful butt
that's why my poems change up and switch so abrupt
I just like to use my tongue, because it's fun
they say that people die when they come
so I like keeping you on the edge where it's fun
so you're tottering, you're screaming, please, please
for that I'll spend hours on my knees til they bleed
so I talk about sex, and I talk about death
you know, I'm obsessed with the final gasping breath
now, my mom says I'm cocky, I say I'm confident
you say my lyrics too complex I say it's a testament
to the way that play with words, 'cause I'm a nerd
but I want you flying high like you're car-bombed Kurds
I'm always pissed that I can't fit in with the herd
so I sit putting sick sex thoughts to rhythms absurd
if I go down, I need you seeing fireworks
if I'm spitting robots, I want you goin' berserk
either way your mind's a blur 'cause I'm so good it hurts
now you want to laugh at this shit
but look out I'm killin it when I spit
and I'm not gonna quit
I'll rip bout the pit with wicked wit
and slit your clit when I (bite) up your leg a lil' bit
man, I've never got the concept of one night stands
I've got kung fu killer skills in my tongue and my hands
I guarantee, I get repeat business
cuz my tongue, my tongue, my tongue has the quickness
and it knows how to lay a slow rhythm inside
wrap it around the metaphors til the tip slips inside
if it's not my name, I don't really know what you said
your legs are wrapped rigor mortis round my head
that's why you always find teeth marks on my aureola
cuz I'm 99.9% fatal, like I'm motherfucking Ebola
but it's all good, because me, I walk a higher path
I admit that I'm weird, bet it's because of my past
but I will take you to task and rock you like Chinese math
hard as hell while I'm sipping back on a flask
cutting up drunk, in the back of the class
and serving up blood at my own mental mass
– maybe;
I am psychotic for sippin hypnotic
scribbling fit to mix death with erotic
but if you're craving sci-fi thoughts I got it
dreaming of hot sex, already taped it and shot it
just please help me find the rhythm – cuz I lost it
I wonder about fucking someone to death
is that even possible?
how does that happen?
and … could it be fun?
for her, I mean
not in a Serbian, Rwanda-style
you got gang-raped to death
but in a
died of happiness
brain short-circuited
in a grand-mal seizure
composed entirely of orgasm
so powerful
your heart just stops
I wouldn't want to be the survivor
but that
could be hot