I read a poem today and I thought,
you would like this.
But then I remembered that you despise me
and I detest you.
And I was sorry
for a moment
that I couldn’t send it to you.
But what is there to be done about that?
Other than remind myself why I detest you
and you despise me.
Dedicated to two of my very special colleagues:
M1’s young in head,
though no longer a boy
but he’ll still run to daddy
when he wants a new toy.
This week what he wants
is a badge and a whistle
to show that his role
is prop’ly official.
Given his druthers, he’d
dress the students in brown
and have them salute him out
on the parade ground.
M2’s old in heart,
(though not in tooth long)
in style he’s sans dance
and also sans song.
He’s not here to lead,
and he’s not here to manage,
he’s just here to stand by
and point out the damage.
It’s above his pay grade
(so he lets us know)
to do any work
(though he’s an aspro).
Aspro = associate professor. In Australia we use the British system: tutor, lecturer, senior lecturer, aspro, professor. So an aspro in Aus is quite senior, not like an American assistant professor which is roughly a tutor.
This is a re-post from a year ago, with an update…
We’ll get us a success coach
to train up our success
he’ll pump us up with slogans
until we are the bestest.
He’ll elevate our excellence
right up to the sky!
And as the gas comes whooshing out
our excellence will fly! Continue reading
Filed under musings, poem
I planted the mice
all in a neat row,
and this year I reap
what last year I sowed.
Now gnawing of seeds
bids me understand
that again time for planting
of mice is at hand.
So I lay out my traps,
with a morsel of cheese,
tomorrow I’ll plant them
below the snow-peas.
And I hope that this year
– a change would be nice –
I’ll harvest some peas
instead of just mice.
Things to plant in autumn in the southern tablelands: peas, broad beans, broccoli, spinach, mice.
I was sitting in my room when one of my sons walked past the door and asked if I was writing a poem. I said “no”. He said “write one about your day, they’re usually funny”. Well, I spent my day chasing late timetabling forms (almost half of them) and querying ones that didn’t make sense (about a third). So not a good basis for a poem. But, here it is anyway.
is not my calling,
but it seems again that
it is to me that job is falling!
Am I really asking for that much?
I just want clarity on what you need
for your lectures, tutes and labs and such,
and so it pains me when on your form I read,
that you want lab weekly for zero times two hours,
well, I’m handy at arithmetic, and so, numerically, I assume
that you want nothing – a welcome change, and within my powers,
until I read further and discover that you’ve requested a specific room…
I cannot help but think there must be some mistake here,
Perhaps this is a typo, you hit zero instead of one?
Although on the keyboard they are hardly near
pondering the keyboard, a conclusion comes
you must mean nine times two hours lab,
well, I can schedule that in for you,
oh, your timetable will be fab!
Now, tutes – twenty-two?
For dVerse Tuesday poetics “after St Valentine left the building“, poems about lost loves, the what ifs, and never could have beens….
I wonder if you remember
that moment when we stopped talking
and (for me)
the sky, the grass, the pavement,
just melted away
(like a corny special effect,
but for real)
and all I saw was your eyes,
for that moment that lasted
just one heart-beat to the next
(did I blush?
I know I babbled gormlessly)
the moment was gone.
it wasn’t gone –
I wrapped it up carefully,
and tucked it into my pocket
I will never ask,
what if you don’t remember?
Or, worse, you wondered why
I was staring at you.
As long as I don’t ask
I can imagine
that you still have that moment
tucked into your pocket too.
…in my Friday and weekend emails and “chats” to the 10% of my colleagues who cause 90% of the problems because they either ignore the grade submission deadline, discover they don’t know how to use the system until after the deadline and expect help on the weekend, or are just too bloody ODD to do anything properly and on time without having to be asked five times and then argue about it:
I’m the parent that’s less fun
(the one that makes you brush your teeth)
I’m the teacher that’s more mean
(the one that won’t let you in the lab barefoot)
I’m the director that sends the angry emails
(the one that makes sure marks come in)
Or here’s another way of looking at it,
I’m the one that:
keeps the kids healthy,
the students safe,
and makes sure the system works.
Did you ever think that maybe I get tired of
being the grown up?
being the responsible one?
being the bad guy?
and would like to not give a shit about
legal liability and
Did you ever stop to think that if you
then I won’t have to be the bad guy?
Let’s do the experiment and see what happens.
Some say “least said soonest mended”,
and thinking thus, so was ended
a chance for what I intended.
Caution’s counsel taken to heart:
harder to end than never start,
if never joined, no pain to part.
So my heart, I thought, defended. Continue reading
with apologies to Gordon Sumner….:
Every move you make,
Every step you take,
Every game you play,
Unless still you stay,
Friction’s moving you.
Oh can’t you see,
That your free bodeeeee…
Diagram is wro-oong,
That’s why I sing this so-oooong…. Continue reading
For the dVerse Tuesday prompt “the proverbial“:
Hot water sluices over me
and the scent of roses rises in the steam
as I wash away
the disappointments of the day.
But always a trace remains,
and the lines on my face are a little deeper,
and my soul a little more tarnished
than it was yesterday.
If I stood here long enough,
if I scrubbed hard enough,
could I clean away the years?
And would it be worth it anyway?
If I could go back,
would I just find myself here again,
trying to wash away the day?
Inspired by the Chinese proverb “Experience is a comb which nature gives to men when they are bald.”