Posted in Musings, Poetry

Teachers Choice —Anthony Gorman

i sponge words and
slurs off others,

we train our teachers, 
we’re the students,

cause we’re all 

as much as we’re

some lessons were printed/
absorbed darker
than others,

and some instructors/
trash compactors heed
their dreams with
more loyalty
than others.

and some just aren’t well
fit for their stations
despite what the
jobs offer,


forward motion
is the goal,

steps small and
slow, reclaim

of progress, not


attained with brow’s dirty
sweat paired with
humble intent.

Independent Learner Man

In another life, and in my dreams, I always wanted to be the advocate for educating the whole child. Soul, heart, and mind. Not my flesh and heartbeat child, but the abandoned children who wanted to be seen. Who only asked that others respect him or her and be allowed to fly. To think their own thoughts. To experiment and explore the wide expanse of knowledge.

I never became that teacher. Life turned on me and laughed at how easily it can forbid the dreamers from changing the world. I had hopes to open an independent school. To be an education pioneer of sorts.

Sadly, I will never be that star teacher nor start a revolution to make children happy to be alive. The lost dream dies with me. And as I watch the children shrivel and suffer under our system, I make a wish on a star. It feels too late for me. Perhaps another?

Thanks Anthony for bringing this topic into a poem. My memory of what I hoped to accomplish in my life was jarred. Do read more Anthony Gorman. He has lots to say.

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