In 2002, Jessica Stauble turned a room in our school - the tea room - into a space to showcase student art and creativity. The room at the Brown School was often used by district officials to host meetings, mini-conferences, and celebrations. It was also a location to showcase student work. Jessica asked me to write a poem for the room and painted the words along all four walls - language that created a border for the artwork that hung on all four walls (and changed with each incoming class of high school students). I came across the poem last night and post it this morning to say hello - where did the last 12 years go?
2002 - tea room
tea room poem for j.s.
we, learners, sojourners
of sunsets and dreams,
in a countryside city,
sing, and feel no pity from books,
brains and how the everyday
explains our love of poetry and
laughter from Martha Ellison’s Song.
We, believers, stand strong
in comfy jeans and well-worn sweats,
singing how we belong to diversity,
and dancing to the complexity of being different.
In the clouds, both rainbows and raindrops are born into a hammock of
tattooed colors --
a sun brings us
the comfort of pillows,
a moon reminds us to walk barefoot in wet grass.
From class to class, a human pyramid
of students and teachers share
deep breaths and laughter,
and grow from memories of love and respect.
Everything swirled, whirled and twirled
makes Brown...
and it is the sound of our music,
a first and muhammed ali
cacophony of
us.
we, learners, sojourners
of sunsets and dreams,
in a countryside city,
sing, and feel no pity from books,
brains and how the everyday
explains our love of poetry and
laughter from Martha Ellison’s Song.
We, believers, stand strong
in comfy jeans and well-worn sweats,
singing how we belong to diversity,
and dancing to the complexity of being different.
In the clouds, both rainbows and raindrops are born into a hammock of
tattooed colors --
a sun brings us
the comfort of pillows,
a moon reminds us to walk barefoot in wet grass.
From class to class, a human pyramid
of students and teachers share
deep breaths and laughter,
and grow from memories of love and respect.
Everything swirled, whirled and twirled
makes Brown...
and it is the sound of our music,
a first and muhammed ali
cacophony of
us.
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