Day 9/100 Not really a poem.

"Setting-the-world-to-rights" session today. We got close. (Sorry everyone, I know you'll be disappointed that we didn't make it!) Also, forgot to set a date for the next session. Now wonder what will happen if no one remembers to do this ever again. ? Any answers? Anyone?
We did figure out that politics has no place in education (sorry politicians, I guess this may come as a bit of a shock to you.) To be able to have a useful part in education, first a person would need to spend a few weeks in a classroom (no, many classrooms, reading with groups of children, talking to them about their counting, art, ideas, lost shoes, no food, "they're mean to me", sticker charts and the rest), listen to what people (teachers (yes teachers are people (and often parents) too)) say and be prepared to change your mind. And say "ok I'm wrong."

If you want the above in plain language, then National Standards is 19th Century thinking in the 21st century.

The education minister has set a higher arbitrary standard for the country. Fine, but it is based on what her government want for the economy since 2008, not on what 5 thousand years of educators have learnt about children and the learning of children.

First Kiss

First Kiss

A kiss

caresses a curve.

A tinge of pink blush spreads

over the cheeks

of the mountains (Kahurangi), shadowed blue.

Morning arrives in the Bay.

With that first kiss of light,

colour creeps into the dawn

sky and lightens my world.

I move towards the curve of the horizon.

I gladly seek out this new day.

It will mean conversation,

something I struggle with at the best of times,

but 7:00 AM?

I do

speak,

and the words are heard by the world for the first time

I speak of death

And Hades

Dragging us all,

on our own Roller Coaster ride of life,

down to cross the river Styx

and be with Persephone.

So,where is the treasure then?

Hades is the mythical Greek god of treasure, after all

…as well as the darkness.

We are…all of us …the treasure.

So, live.

Kiss.

Understand.

Tihe Mauri Ora.

Andrew Thompson

The Ghost on Dead Bird Run

I rise,
silent,
in the dark
and peer out
at the wind, strong but not impossible.
Nothing is impossible.

I lace
up
silently
and don a vest
for safety.

I step out on
Bird Road,
keeping silent still.
In step,
maintaining pace,
inhale the morning air,
asthmatic lungs rhythmic.

This run
has
landmarks
a dead bird
right here,
squashed.
A dead Pukeko
saddens me.

Going Forward and Going Backward

 February 2026

A very Strange time in the world.                                                  And in my little world.

The other day was "the Superbowl".

Benito was amazing ... I learnt who Bad Bunny is.

"America" was reclaimed to become The Americas.

Trump exists  ... and so do the Epstein Files.

I have people from my old life ( from before 2022 ) that I'd like to know what they think about Trump today. I can't and won't go there.

And I wonder what they will think about him in the future, and more importantly, what they will think of themselves.......

Ukraine is forced into war with Russia because of Vladimir Putin, for four years now.

Palestine is being "raised to the ground" by Netanyahu since October 2023

USA is being trampled on by Trump.  Minneapolis is attacked by ICE.

Trump may be the worst child-harming monster in the world.

Dictators and Nazi leaders.  "The Right" seems to have the upper hand.

I post and repost on "Threads".

I stay away from thinking about all this by playing World of Tanks.

Some of me thinks into the future ..... and I miss .....

Some of me thinks backward . ... to the past .... and I want ....

Gold

Gold

This place is gold.

People come.

They like it.

The sand,

the sky,

the sun.

The golden light here, mixes with the greens of the forest

and there is a transformation.

The light is no longer just the light

and the forest is no longer just the forest.

Beautiful.

Some came to this place for real gold

years ago.

Now I head south

to the autumn in Arrowtown.

To remember ancesters.

Gold, red and yellow

in the trees.

The old timers

went there for gold too.

Mined the rivers

for the bright yellow metal.

Fortunes

won

and lost.

And this winter

I fly to the gold Coast

in Australia.

My family

is worth

more

than

gold

to me.

Quiz Night

Quiz Night

Quiz evening.

Anticipation mounts.

Teams of 6 gather together,

head to the school hall and cram on in. 

A buzz of conversation

emanating.

Laughter from one table already,

the social groups already firing,

some with wine,

some with beer.

All have a platter to snack from.

Each table has a collection of minds,

some keen on sport,

others are competitive general knowledge buffs.

I like geography.

Organisers flit about, ferrying information to and fro, ant like.

Markers waiting watching, the praying mantis of the quiz night.

MC approaches the microphone,

the rules are set out:-

no smart phone use,

put your group name on the paper,

it's a fundraiser so spend your money!

The questions begin

and I am at a loss tonight.

I don't know that or that.

Wrong on easy ones,

my team eyes

the bottom of the table

with acceptance and hilarity.

We develop a devil may care

 attitude, it is of no help and 

we produce some scores and 

neither stay on the bottom rung

for the booby prize

nor climb far enough for a place

We all have a fun night out anyway.

Can they be so blind?

Can they be so blind?

"Education, according to Dieter Lenzen, 

president of the Freie Universität Berlin 1994,

 "began either millions of years ago or at the end of 1770" 

 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Education#History "

So, my friends

which camp do you sit in?

Education has moved from the metaphysical to the physical.

We could have talked about it as a way, a means,

we might have discussed it from a philosophical point of view.

We might have talked about learning style

or teaching theory

or by curriculum

for, we are all teachers

and for that matter, learners too,

well some of us anyway.

but now education has become a 'good', it has currency,

a country can adjust it, have more of it or less of it.

However, 

"A little learning is a dang'rous thing;

Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:

There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pierian_Spring

and unfortunately

 "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it"

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Santayana

has our current government thought about this?

They seem not to have remembered the past,

or even the present!

Can they be so blind that they only see

everything from their own perspective?

We deal not with things, objects

 nor with outputs.

It is not even brains,

it is with minds that we work,

with people

Why would you want less for your people?

When you could have more?

NZ National Government begins again...aiming for 1770.

League Tables

League Tables

My apologies to people who are unable to see.

We call that blindness.

I used the word in my last poem, with scant disregard for people who are unable to see.

It is politicians who are the three wise monkeys here...

See no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil.

The politicians have no problem

sending the academic status of the students 

to the journalists of the press,

who have no problem using

their right to the freedom of the press.

The people will have no problem making 

their own assumptions about the information 

they find presented to them.

The students themselves have no say in the matter...

who looks after their interests????

politicians?

journalists?

the public?

Lawyers?

No, it is teachers, educators.

Trained, experienced, educated in the ways of children. People who understand the delicate nature of students and the learning they undertake.

Ignore the teachers at your peril.

 “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” 

― George Santayana, The Life of Reason: Introduction, and Reason in Common Sense

So why is the New Zealand education system adopting league tables based on "The Nation Standards" in the same week that the USA is broadening it's curriculum and assessing on "more than one test"?

New Zealand gets it wrong again.

This is bad for students education and teachers...and parents, grandparents, and wider society...even bad for the people who think they are doing "the right thing"

Tell all of your colleagues.

Rain. Rein. Reign.

Outside.

Trees, grass, sky.

Even forest nearby.

Movement. Falling.

Drops of rain. 

Tiny, hardly a noise ...

Whispers on your skin.

You, riding.

Across the open meadow

in the rain.

Raindrops glint as sunlight

breaks through and splits each droplet attaching itself to you both.

Ecstacy as light refracts.

Rein it in.

You stop. Another movement enters your consciousness.

Him.

Me.

Reins already gathered.

Eyes met and held.

Smiles

Riding

Reigning.

Cosmic traveller

Cosmic traveller

Cosmic traveller

navigating space

hurtling through

the vacuum

little speck of ice

with a bright

lighted tail

streaming

out

no effect 

on any celestial body

a comet

of interest to some

but affecting no one

apparently bright

maybe a ball

of space-dust

at the center

Happy Little Poem

Happy Little Poem

Nelson,

that crisp little seaside town.

You can rely on it.

Large yellow sun on the weather-map

day after day.

Expansive views to be had,

if only the eyes are open.

This evening the stars

twinkle, off in space.

Alien life forms

comment to each other about the bright,

crisp view they have

of the little town at the 'V' of the bay,

at the top of the big island,

beside the fish shaped island,

at the lower end

of the Pacific Ocean, on the planet

known as Earth.

They note the abundance

of oxygen, water and food.

They focus in on people who can

relax and enjoy time creatively.

Comment, as they tend their rockeries,

on the clarity of the air

compared to other places,

humid, foggy places

cloud covered or haze infested...

I hope they aren't thinking of paying us a visit.

Class sizes go up in New Zealand

Class sizes go up in New Zealand

Class sizes up,

more children in each classroom...

one teacher fewer in each school...

"...when I was at school there were 43 of us

in the room and look... we all did well..."

Really? What about those who got the strap?

(and hate school still ...( and who instil in their children

(in ways covert and overt) that school was, is and will be 

a bad place.

I wonder what caused the level of frustration that caused the teachers of old to use the strap?

hmmmm.....

What about the children who were scared of the people

who were supposed to teach them things? 

 They had seen the "bad" children getting the strap and crying 

(yes, even the tough ones could not come out without red eyes and tears)

What about those who 

could not read 'said', 'and' or 'what'

 let alone 'Lesley saw the Viscount'

 by the time they were 11?

They couldn't get cheque accounts and licences. 

I wonder why those children were not able to succeed then??

(They may not even be reading this poem. Why would they?)

I remember the teachers then too. 

I learnt to read with the same teachers.

so I know it was not because of bad teachers.

What about the boys who cheated because they knew

their teacher could not monitor everyone all the time?

I wonder now why one teacher might not have been able to monitor the activities

of forty-three 11 year olds???

What about the people who knew that some were cheating

but also knew that there was no way of proving that

 because there were too many other children in the class.

And now, today, on the news, a great idea

lets have only the best teachers teaching

because studies tell us that it is the quality of the teacher

not the numbers of children in the class.

Sounds good.

What's the catch?

They will have 43 students each to teach.

oh.

Hang on, wouldn't it make sense to have both?

Excellent teachers and low class sizes?

Too expensive for now to have both?

ok then why not keep the status quo?

and what if we already have excellent teachers?

Getting rid of one teacher in each school "willy nilly" 

without a complete test of all teachers across all curriculum areas

 and across all extra-curricula areas and including

tests which measure conflict of interest

philosophy, pedagogy, number of hugs given per day on a pro-rata basis,

level of humour, joke telling skill level (poor in my own case (fingers crossed and hoping these words are not my own personal downfall as I can't remember even 1 funny joke (yes, you've guessed, I'm a teacher)))

poetic, artistic, physical skill level

balletic, gymnastic, and musical ability

ability to resolve conflict between both 6 year old girls and 11 year old boys

as well as conflict resolution for the adults in the lives of said students (both professional and personal)

number of times a teacher has called CYPFS or CYFS or whoever they are (you know...the authorities.... the ones with the authority but no common sense)

multiplied by the number of noses wiped and then multiplied by the number of bottoms wiped, band aids placed, shoes tied, lunches provided

balls kicked, ribbons tied, stickers given out, smiles, thumbs ups given

praise relayed to a parent, oh and the number of times those teachers have called a parent to say "I hugged your daughter today when they hid under the desk because of the lightning" (in case a hug is bad) multiplied by the number of times children were ferried from the office to the car when wind gusts over 100kph were being recorded multiplied by the number of children attended to, in the night, during class camps

multiplied by the number of times a black eye has been received by that teacher because a child could no longer cope with getting on a boat

and the number of times the teacher has stood in the centre of a southbound lane with a pen and paper in one hand and the wrist of an unruly child in the other as a 22 wheeler log truck swerves to avoid the two of you....

what, you don't think any of that should be in the test for excellence

oh, 

then how will you test it????

oh

Academic results.

but what if larger class numbers mean that academic results fall?

Ah, you would simply get rid of those useless teachers too,

oh

but then if that happens won't you end up with fewer teachers again?

and larger class sizes still?

and worse academic results?

then no more teachers????

so...

"businesses can educate children"

I see...

"It will be cheaper...

and more efficient"....

Hmmmm, Ten 9 year olds and 1 truck driver, all in a truck drivers cab, all learning as they bowl off down the highway... "hey, Johhny put my CB radio down, Jeanny, leave the gear lever, no Bertie we don't send faxes while in motion, well at least not to ACC anyway, something might go wrong... Sandie recite Pi to 50 decimal places, Roger, were we supposed to take that off ramp???.....

'Here we go round the mulberry bush, the mullberry bush, the mullberry bush...

little ray of sunshine

Little Ray of Sunshine

I hadn't minded the blond curls 

of 4

 because I didn't know 

that hair was important.

I used to hate 

when I was 15

and my grandmother

would say 

"you've got lovely curly hair"

It seemed everyone else had straight hair.

they could grow it long .

Not me, a gorse bush of wiry, wavy hair.

I grew it thinking a Sampson would emerge, 

it took on the look of a mushroom.

A teenager with a silly grin AND a mushroom mop!!

It took me 25 years or so to begin to like my hair.

Now I am happy to follow in the 

stylish footsteps of 'Beaker' from the Muppets

(A young Indian hairdresser in Tashigang,

 was happy to go with that)

or Christopher Lloyd as 'Doc Brown' in

"Back to the Future"

as grey takes over.

Ronan has the genes from both his mum and dad.

He fights the same hair battle I did,

so I tell him

I think he has the look

of a Celtic Warrior

he goes with that

and grins.

That boy is a little ray of sunshine.

a constant silky swish

A Constant Silky Swish   or      On My Beach

On my beach

the constant hum and crash

welcomes me.

Sand is rock, hard 

and should grate on my ear,

so much more than a sigh,

as grain rubs grain. 

Instead there is 

a constant silky swish

as some million rough wet grains 

make contact with the rest.

Sand, dry, sifts through my toes,

tactile and begging for some 

interaction and creativity;

a swirl with a stick,

a letter, or even my own name,

for the world to read before the next tide swoops,

or a child chases a ball

through my masterpiece.

I stand still and watch and wait.

Tide in or tide out,

on the make or on the run?

Subtle difference when you stand and watch.

One big wave in ten minutes. It's coming in

I decide.

Simultaneously the waves

surge one at a time, gathering in height,

for an onslaught,

but then they

transform and with a little magic,

become delicate translucent ballerinas.

The peak of each,

waiting, tantalisingly

for the very last moment when, 

with curl and crash

they implode

adeptly avoiding the gliding seagulls.

No wind today,

no spray.

Sometimes

it is what is not here

that is as important as what is.

Wind would whip this surf

and the resulting spray might sting

the face with a salty slap.

Instead two boys,

avoiding the tidal heave,

toss shoes that float about

amongst the froth and ripples at the waters edge.

Their laughter and the far off sky...

sigh...

A Close Shave

A Close Shave

Sometimes I wonder why we both went down that night.

He had been sick.

We saw him at about the same time,

only two and a bit, standing up in his cot.

He had been sick.

As if he was saying "something's not right".

He had been sick.

Unusual, staring,, gripping the rail,,, then... 

as we watched.... he began.... convulsing.

He had been sick.

Phoning the doctor. 

He had been sick.

Desperate late evening dash to hospital

that drive, those same streets, always on my mind.

Nurses take over, with drugs and tubes

but I know, 

40 minutes of non stop convulsing is not good.

By a whisker it stops.

It is not right... but it stops.

nothing is right

even when his 6 month old brother

props himself up in an incubator and cranes his neck to see the action

his parents, the nurses and doctor all laugh.

Too soon it begins again ,

tests almost as frightening as the illness

and a diagnosis

and the right

drug.

But it gets worse and then

in the Intensive Care Unit,

where families don't stay,

the four of us stay the night.

It is touch and go

I sleep.

I wake.

"You've lost your little boy" says the ICU nurse

...

...

another nurse is holding my other little boy outside so I can sleep, she meant.

Two little boys, irresistible to ICU nurses, used to working with grey old men.

close shave.

Close shave after close shave continue,

encephalitis, brain injury, epilepsy,

it all runs on.

By some miracle

13 years later,

tonight,

I introduce my son to a razor

another close shave. 

Always a dreamer

Always a dreamer

"Greggs" cordial drinks 

came in small squat glass bottles, 

just right for a little hand to hold.

Guess I was three or four.

We sat on little low wooden benches

beside the tennis courts

while mum played tennis

with other mums

beside the Memorial hall.

Two tall firs and a big oak

stood on the grass 

with the main road on the other side of a fence.

The library and a hall beyond the road.

Not much traffic then anyway.

Grey stone Memorial gates, as well

with wreaths and poppies on ANZAC day.

The local Plunket Rooms on another side of the courts

All providing a barrier to

the rest of the world.

I felt cocooned there.

It was open on the other side,

the old racecourse was used for cricket,

with a clear view to the western mountains 

the sun and sky covering us all.

I liked that view too,

different not cocooning at all 

a view to adventure in a far away place.

Always a dreamer.

Which "loving tongue"?

Which "loving tongue"?

Speech; an intriguing thing.

Communication of thought relies on it.

(I'll admit thought intrigues).

but

Choosing a second language, difficult step.

Which to choose? There are many, interesting;

Malayalam, Russian, Indonesian, Sanskrit, Latin or Berber.

Bob Dylan sang "Spanish is the loving tongue",

French is 'the language of love', they say, although 

I'm guessing Monsieur Sarkozy may be using

words not so loving right now.

so...

speaking a second language, tried it myself. Not easy.

"want I onions 3 cost of 5?"

must have sounded lame

to the locals!

So when youngsters 

give language a go

we can hear words so humourous

strung together;

"I can speak English now".

... "een hoy tut tut tu ip odd dada ip"

Classic. Understanding? Words! Thoughts! Ha!

wash-bowl change

Wash-Bowl Change

One season closes.

A glorious autumn slides toward winter.

The high blue sky switches places with

a cover of grey, close clouds.

Sunlight, bright and vivid

exploding colour out of every object,

leaves us for more fortunate places.

We remain, almost trapped,

in a dull, grey light,

morose and oppressive.

The free spirits of this sunshine centre

are quick to flip. They are not used to the 

broody, moody

closed in feeling.

They object, complain

and play up for each other.

Within this wash-bowl change of season

they squabble and fight, allowing their minor irritations

to take over.

They are overrun. 

The place sounds like a chicken coop, where this crowded cage of rats 

await the return of the well-loved sun.

I was 10 in '73

I was 10 in '73

I was 10 in '73,

and learning was not 'cool'.

Knowing "stuff" was showing off,

OK with teachers,

but children and adults gave you 'the look',

even cheered if you got it wrong.

Telling adults information that they did not know

was foolish.

Letting people know things earnt "shut up"

so shut up I did.

I changed myself for them.

People want to tell you things

and people want entertainment.

People don't want to know things.

Unless you could make it funny.

Usually at the expense of someone else

and I grew to dislike that

so I made fun of myself,

that made it safe for people to hear things.

I changed myself for them.

Communicating serious thought 

requires people who are serious,

so I dropped the funny act,

I changed myself for them.

Tonight watching my son 

in a hall full of excited academic teens

who all had fun showing that 

knowledge still has currency,

I could see people who do not have to

change themselves for others.

I celebrate for them,

but now, who am I?

The smile quota

In support of teachers

I am a person of rare privilege;

I work in classrooms created by other teachers.

These precious environments 

shape the lives of the students in them.

Children, some whose lives are in turmoil,

some who are loved and cared for.

The smiles,

no one wants to know about the smiles.

No one checks to see if the smile quota is being met.

The hugs

the hugs that a generation lost 

this generation dishes hugs out with ease

boys, girls, both... to the adults...

who will count that, assess that?

"Room 7; 13 hugs today, well done".

"Room 2 only 1 hug this morning, not enough, please improve".

I work in one class 

where the growth in education is exponential.

That teacher has made huge gains

recognised but not measured.

The hardest work I have done

is done there daily.

Another room has writers who changed their writing

crafting, polishing, improving.

In one room learners learn to learn and leap like fledglings

into a world of APPs and books, words and numbers. 

Another room has readers starting down the rocky road of literacy

nervous, hesitant but well supported and loving the challenge.

In a room not far away students are exposed to that addictive elixir- thought.

This teacher over here is thinking Vygotsky

and his Zone of Proximal Development.

I churn through all this and think

who can still say "measure these students against each other"

who is telling teachers to "teach the way we tell you" 

The 'suits' don't know and could not discuss Vygotsky.

They would not force a builder to build a 30 metre deck extension

 on the 10th story because they want it that way.

Rise up, teach, teachers

continue to teach, love, sing, play, be passionate, creative, sensitive, emotional,

caring, nurturing, literate, numerate, sporty, scientific, artistic people

your children need you even though

you have been 

cast out

by the current political

beast.

The beast is only as real as the wild things.

When politicians behave badly we can choose...to ignore them.