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My quick thoughts, back stage, and rants as I try to Teach kids about the Web while learning how to help others build a better Web.


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Greg McVerry

Truth Wrapped In Blankets of Kindness: A #poetryport gift for everyone who pours energy into #femedtech

Seek voices
of those who
sow Quilts
of truth
as our metaphors
of meaning,
reasons for beings,

Flax age rises

truth spun on
spindles of fallen

Looms of labor lost

as knots of cottage
industry take
root in villages
of our

Knowledge is not
capital. To be brokered
or sold.
Knowledge is a kindness
blanket warming
us all.

Also onIndieWeb Poetry Also onCLMOOC Planet

Greg McVerry

Feces withe A Face: A Virtual Poem for #clmooc #poetryport

A promised made
to keep the poems
more physical
to find Pinksy's history in
Meaning in the mundane
now tasked to describe virtually
I wonder
where is the
the line?
Asked since 1959
Do we taste and feel
in our online spaces?
The faces

Then I remember poop is virtual too!
What does it mean for poetry
When our feces has faces?

Also on IndieWeb Poetry Also on CLMOOC Planet

Greg McVerry

Poetry As Play #Poetyport #clmooc #smallpoems

Given today's poetry prompt of play I had to try something I have never done before: Remix a voice poem in GarageBand

screen shot of garage band with 9 voice tracks

In the shower I came up with the phrase "majestic, frenetic, poetic play", and I thought about how awesome it was for Wendy to play with spoken word in a poetic gift to someone. I wanted to try something new.

So I grabbed a couple phrases from twitter this morning. "Take a Step Back" and "Tinkering As Agentive Feedback" and added "Find Your Answers in Your Poetry and Your Poetry in Your Play"

I then recorded each track...learned you need to silence the other tracks, and then re-recorded all the tracks.

Next I learned you can right click and select "split at masthead" I then moved clips around, played with volume...and of course reverb...cuz you know...rock and roll


Also on IndieWeb Poetry Also on CLMOOC Planet

Greg McVerry

Color of Boogie #clmooc #poetryport #smallpoems

Searching for the color of sound
in our polyphonic playground
hints of hue in
pillars of creation
blue of the bass line and
red giants keep time
treble strokes yellow skies

filling in crescendos
of our shattered prism
schisms in rhythm
throw spectral lines

missions of movement
chromatism of souls in
synchrotronic emissions
spin and spin
in Newton's wheel
muted tones
shaking through our
Harmonious hues
diffuse  lights of sound
wavelengths of wisdom
borrowed for melodies once
from whence they begun
Now we are one
 Boogie on

Also on IndieWeb Poetry Also on CLMOOC Planet

Greg McVerry

Teaching in a Time of Crisis: A #poetryport poem for @telliowkuwp

When my name got drawn for Terry's poem, I will fully admit my intimidation. Terry is the poet I strive to be. He lays meaning on the mundane.

Can describe lif in a few words about something on the farm. Each color he sings, each sound he paints, plays a part in a grand opera in only a few lines of verse.

I was asked to write about teaching in a "time of existential crisis" when people are tired of messages of hope and change. When you know thought and prayer do not stop bullets, when you the planet is melting, when you know racism is used as a path to power.

When you want to say, "WTF, and give up." See that is a sentiment common to all teachers regardless of the politics of the day. Morose is contagious.

So is hope, but it spreads way quicker with action.


Fat congeals
as meager scraps
sit, fork scraping
against time

Hope never fills
anyone's plate
no change to alter

Empty calories
of broken promises
kept me starved
in galleys of
of thoughtless hunger

My fork scrapes
my plate
and my destiny
is done
When he
unleashed tyranny
a conspiracy
promises to rid
the toxicity of
of brown and black kids
Tectonics in me shifted
teaching no longer

So as the carcass
cools on my forgotten dinner
     the road
 draws dimmer
choruses of hate
fill from every corner

Hope never fills
anyone's plate
no change to alter

Our Nation a
crisis of flightless bird
cast in times
when children aren't heard
The Eagle clipped

It burns

I am an
active feeling
yet my
road worsens
Searches for Kierkegaard's
meaning are
fleeting. Desires
of unlit fires
  something must
      be done
Am I the one?
Just a teacher
    eating alone
rooms dimmed, doors
  existence of
lost essence

Presence of
crisis as the
demagogue rises

Hope never fills
anyone's plate
no change to alter

Can I exist?
hang a fist?
encounter the
self to surge
upon the world?

Or will efforts falter
sliding from plate to
hate won, time let lose?

A mooring broken
teachers past a
token to dreams
not deffered
but confinded
a cage bird muzzled
has no song
Growth tusseled
The Eagle clipped

Children locked in
prisons. Politicians
wishing for a land great again
DusK of Darkness
or hates new dawning
Angst grow bigger
Children cast as nothing more
than little nibblers
on the dole
taking a toll bighting at the edges of

true givers

Yet if Sarte
can find Heidegger
behind barbed walls
King pens truth in Birmingham
Can I ensure
democracy doesn't fall?

For I am a teacher

Hope never fills
anyone's plate
no change to alter

Teachers are catalyst
of growth
I it is more than not eating alone
I musn't invite to my table But seek out those
who will let me listen
those already free
can never understand the ring of the shackle

Choice made, I rise from the table,
scrape sinew into the refuse
Close the light, and get to work

Also on /en/poetry.


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