QCS poetry.. not sure it’s “Gold, Jerry, gold!!”

30 08 2011

Ok so pacing up and down a room of adolescents doing purportedly one of the most important tests of their lives is not exactly front row action in all that silence, dread panic and very clear instructions not to talk. So what do you do when you’ve planned your day, counted the lefties (9) and spotted the OCD students carefully spelling out the words “help” in 13 shades of Cerise pencil.

So you look. It’s a writing task. On Gold. Walking too fast to read the stimulus on the coloured printed pages without looking like a cheat or a sicko. So, OK, a writing task. “GOLD” and twenty five minutes to go. So I did what any sane, 40 year old Chemistry teacher would do.. I wrote a poem *shiny grin*. Maybe Jason Boyce could mark it and send it to me secretly, lest I would fail the test that I swore to 109 students would be “dead easy”!

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:  Au7

my QCS writing task supervision poem, an attempt to link the seven deadly sins to the stimulus: GOLD!

Au7

The golden curl, dainty loop

swinging low on ivory neck

As that gaze

Amazing pins him. Heck.

His tarnished ring alerts. Now in darkened pocket

drops.

He flirts and saunters over, rising as the man he was stoops..


His ticket bought, ritual weekly.

Life on hold for chance

Vain vapour hope of increase

He’s saved his dreams, her dance.

She clasps his hands. Yellow ping pongs fall,

Nicely

His future fixed, ‘Her freedom’, she whispers, meekly.


In hidden green and red, tiny jewelry,

Fruit mince pie crumbs on the floor

The paper rip

eclipses carols…adore

the hyperactive shiny band, inscribed with someone else’s

name.

His pallour stark, next to her fury..


Butter bright and gliding, tails melt.

Sizzling across the pan

Another dozen cookies bake

Making up for absent man.

The girth increasing. Adipose tourniquet,

tight.

Lemon lard, A broken cardium, felt.


Solar disk on wall, resplendent.

Swansong recognition, proud.

Muted hearing birthed of crashing cymbals

Symbol of a younger crowd.

Rock King, a god amongst adoring fans,

mass.

Hollow history, ego, id now codependent.


Crunching warm canary beach at noon

Another late-start nameless day.

His board at home uneaten dole check feed

needs met, his ganes strays.

Aimless leaden body worships, faithful skin

Bronze

As the days pass quicker to the final tune.


Spadeful praise the sister saves neatly

Smart and wise, dutiful daughter.

Familial standard lofty, lucky, creepy.

heaps coals on ‘you know you oughta..’

Raining streams of light from butthole,

Pure

You wish her dead, or gone, discreetly. 

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One response

4 09 2012
Michelle Cullen

For someone who is supposed to be a nerd that poem is brilliant – wish you were writing QCS this year with my cohort…..

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