It happened slowly,
then not so slowly
I could have stayed
for my two Yasmeens
One was lighter than the wind,
which on a whim,
could carry her away
on a wish
Yasmeen was lighter than air
in a puffy pink coat
in September
My first Yasmeen
would smile at me
and reaffirm my life
in a moment of doubt
Her mother made me Karkadeh
I drank it lovingly
My Yasmeens were as different
as beauty can be
That teaching could just be
teaching;
the kids and me,
with our shadows chasing us
constantly
I must be fascinating
to meet:
an enigma of style choices,
wild hair, and holy sneakers
a.k.a pre-k teacher
What seals the deal
is all in a facial expression,
the one I make when I am trying
to act serious
My five-year-old student
Taleen captured it perfectly:
shock mixed with horror
Recess!
541.
Learning Principles of Teaching
A Prof. Ed. subject – Principles of Teaching
The way to effective & efficient learning
Teaching Methods, Strategies & Approaches
Let us learn their similarities & differences
Planning & managing the lessons designed
In a classroom where learners are confined
Like Lesson Objectives with various taxonomies
We must also ponder on Educational Philosophies.
-02/18/2017
(Dumarao)
*PEN Poems
539.
Learning The Teaching Profession
A Prof. Ed. subject – The Teaching Profession
Here we also realize teaching as a vocation
A calling from God & a calling from man
To teach is a mission…see how it's done
From classroom to outdoors, the teacher goes global
From past to present, teaching goes digital
For one to teach, he must first be taught
Standards are met, requirements are sought.
-01/07/2017
(Dumarao)
*PEN Poems
Once upon a blue moon
I worked in public school
and it was scary.
So are great horror films.
I once felt that I was in one.
I got out, alive.
I told a previous running coach
whom I don't care to
filter truth from:
stop running in vicious circles,
and make running fun again.
Listen to 'Baker Street'
by Gerry Rafferty.
Watch the last scene
and the ocean scene
from 'McFarland'
the movie.
Cry a little
and run a lot
and live
when living is alive
and you mean something
(if only to yourself).
Mary Poppins
came elegantly
down to Earth
on obliging clouds.
powdering her nose.
Along with her wealth
of imagination,
she carried her carpet bag.
Other nannies
blew away with
flailing, flapping,
black, boring
umbrellas, more
useless than parasols.
There is only
one Julie Andrews.
All children
deserve her lessons.
until it did, for me
within the
shape I designed
for the map of my own life.
My mismatched earrings are
a hamburger,
and a pickle
(to see who is looking,
and paying attention).
Who is playful
today?
Usually, a perceptive
five-year old
catches on
and enjoys the joke.
None of my jewelry
is expensive,
or will worry me if lost.
I am too busy loving life,
this day,
the cardinals,
(singing for no one),
the free coffee,
and the laughs.
I love vivid moments
in the break room,
the haha
with colleagues,
when our students
are in music class.
I forgot
what we laughed about.
It was too good
for semantic details.
The coffee
was Duncan Donuts:
weak, but worth it.
The snow is melting.
It is boring
and gray, outside.
The best laughter
doesn’t need a reason.
Miss Haley: your laugh
ignited mine.
When our classroom
was sedate, sleepy
and quiet,
you woke me up.
Across the hall,
a two-year old
was sitting on your lap
getting his shoes tied.
You were
being you.
I don’t need to know
the story
behind your laugh.
The richness of it
enriched my day.
My job, my school,
my colleagues
all bring me home.
back to teaching
and breathing again
to be away from children
for any length of time
took all the colors away
watching four-year olds
laugh, run and scream
winter coats
in the drizzling afternoon
sensing God smile
hiding behind
skinny tree trunks
dolls and trucks,
redirection
lessons through tears
and the calendar
a structured day
my humbled heart
sings:
“I am home”
I know that you think
children are resilient
they are not.
Trees are resilient,
children are not trees,
neither are you and me.
I need to teach them resilience,
Through closure, today.
Let me say goodbye.
You never gave me the chance,
when I resigned.
I could barely juggle my job and my life
the bumper car freeway caused me oodles of strife
to and from school, it was a circus for sure
the drivers are mean, their motives impure
the clown dance I had to do at work was annoying
the children who were rewarded were the ones always toying
the principal had all of us teachers on a merry-go-round
we never felt respected, the place was not sound.
Every wonder where they come from?
I’m just glad that I still get some.
Sometimes they’re pleasant and seem good,
sometimes vague and misunderstood.
At times they’re funny or bizarre,
like riding on a shooting star.
Often it seems they’re teaching me,
past life lessons I didn’t see.
Sometimes one seems like dejavu,
in another time I was you.
Then there was one, I wasn’t a man,
my whole body was made of sand.
Dreams are intriguing, so much fun.
Recurring dreams are never done.
Teach them how to discern and learn,
Don’t leave them helpless to crash and burn.
Teaching them just content, they learn it your way.
Teach them the process of learning today,
You give them a lifetime of learning every day.
The walls lean in, murmuring secrets of weary days,
while chairs sigh beneath tired bodies.
Words from hollow lips strike like stones—
they refuse to soften, echoing in empty corners.
My lessons pulse with purpose, glowing faintly in the dust,
each one breathes life into silent desks.
They wait, expectant—hungry for curious eyes.
Even the blackboard leans forward,
eager to share every truth I’ve etched across its surface.
Though some voices build barriers—cold, unyielding,
my teaching-self stands firm,
a steady heartbeat among shifting shadows.
I may not linger here forever,
but as long as education breathes,
my footsteps leave a soft rhythm—
a promise echoing beyond my departure.
Until my final exhale,
I become the silent sentinel:
each wall, each chair, each lesson
alive with all that is just and right.
Teaching was full of fun,
Before these emails had begun,
Class was toiling away,
Doorknock, answer right away,
Despite my scholars' pleading,
Switched them all to silent reading,
Vital, sign your name, X or Y,
Choose one, class did sigh,
Who won that football game?
Who came second, who's to blame?
Sign your name, you see,
X means you teach literacy,
Star, you can teach the IRA,
You passed this test today,
Chalkies look back on this,
Laughs are fun for teaching Miss!
The Ones who Teach,
help us Learn,
And in The End,
become, a Quick source of
a Friend.
We are Bound to Seperate,
And Fall to different Lines
or Paths.
But Maybe,
—Still—
Make a Friend.
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