mlewisredford

calculated perpetual and relentless naïveté …

Failure

 

 

 

Dear Sir,

You have taken the best I had to offer.   And ignored it.   And – somehow – it has become my own fault – my own lack – that it was ignored.   This has broken me.   I have completely lost faith in education.   I have lost faith in the system that delivers it.   I have lost confidence in my skills as a teacher.   I remain in doubt of the values I live in life.

I have taught for twenty five years and worked hard to become nothing more than a virus: everything I give or say or produce or practise is an irritant in the system.   All I can anticipate of the future is that the system will find more and more ways to find me unprofessional and incompetent.   And this will destroy me.

A year ago I thought I still had much to give.   I have finally realised now that I have nothing.   You have no use for me.   You make no use of me.   I have done nothing wrong but I am treated as an irrelevance.   Just let the torture stop and release me.   Let me retire early from the living failure my career has become.

 

 

 

just

 

 

 

                                just

                as the rock rolled to a stop
                the horsefly landed on it

                in the evening
                waiting for the storm
                a puff of air came in
                through the window

 

 

 

air wormhole: ‘red ink in the air …’
evening wormhole: child

 

‘”… during all of my lives …”‘

 

 

 

                           “…during all of my lives
                           may I become a protector
                           for those who are protector-less…”

                           the ageing daughter
                           strokes her mother’s face

                           the smoke
                                     rises
                           slowly from the ghat

 

 

 

stranger

 

 

 

                stranger

                the curl of
                the finger the lip
                has made the
                winning point

                pointing
                the desk then
                reclining
                the eyebrow
                raises

                but I have touched
                your hand
                it was soft and
                electric

 

 

 

quiet

 

 

 

                                   quiet

                      I will teach you
                      I will see
                      your faces

                      I will mirror you
                      smile and see
                      between

 

 

 

mirror wormhole: one mirror

 

N. …

 

 

 

                     N. …

                     … stands

                     trousers
                     tights
                     shoe

                     … looks

                     one branch longer

                     and growing
                     horizontal

                     bark peeling

 

 

 

‘dark ochre tarmac …’

 

 

 

                                    dark ochre tarmac
                                    and the
                                    dark park

                                    the yellow streetlight
                                    on the black
                                    railings

                                    and over the edge of
                                    the hill
                                    the city

 

 

 

‘red ink in the air …’

 

 

 

                red ink in the air

                           mauve
                           pears
                           on the old blue tree

 

 

 

air wormhole: grey air

 

ruleofstupid

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