Saturday, December 30, 2006

At the Tip of the Baja Peninsula

At five a.m. the boats go out to fish
And I can hear the waves crash in below.
Three native waiters are off to serve the rich.
One walks with a tray of food in tow.

Our room sits well above this daily fray.
Since we can't sleep we're apt to see it all.
The other guests' revels made them pay
For last night's wild Cabo Wabo ball.

It's just turned six and traffic noise joins in
To punctuate this sleepy Baja dream
And now a lady's laughter joins the din
While bathers hit the ocean with a scream.

The flowers below proclaim it's spring.
I wonder what this day will bring.

--James D. Starkey

Friday, December 29, 2006

Cosmic Bashings

In spring one night the dam on Lawn Lake blew.
Our desperate sand bags could not stem the tide.
The current by our make shift work pushed through
And all collapsed despite how hard we tried.

At mass that week the congregation prayed
For poor lost souls who in the torrent died.
No difference in how our plans were laid,
With nothing left to do, I sat and cried.

Succeeding years pulled out some other rugs
From underneath my firmly planted legs,
And Hazard, like some adolescent thugs,
Took all my hopes and left me with its dregs.

These Cosmic Bashings hit me in the face
And all that's left is love - a trace.

--James D. Starkey

Monday, December 25, 2006

Christmas, 2006

I wrote the annual letter last November,
Watched George and Mary Baily on TV,
Suffered through the biggest storm I can remember,
And in the corner put up this year's tree,

A Fraser Fir triangularly shaped
Sits propped upon a green wrought-iron stand.
The old red sheet around the stand is draped
Where underneath lie presents wrapped by hand.

I beat the kids awake on Christmas morning,
Yet now that they're not kids it's just the same.
Though I'm up at five to give no warning,
There are no gifts to share in Santa's name.

The kids are past that Christmas stuff;
To be at home is gift enough.

--James D. Starkey

Sunday, December 24, 2006

Writing Petrarchan Style: An Encouragement to My Students

A Petrarchan sonnet's easy if you simply
Try to do it. First you find a rhyme
For "simply" up above. Then take some time
To find a word more elegant than "pimply."
Perhaps a choice more tasteful would be dimply?
To scan the poem the words will have to chime.
Can't get the sound? Just make your first draft crimply.

Five iambs comprise each line you write.
Syllabic counters will discover ten.
But just between the two of us, who's counting?
Avoid word choices commonplace and trite.
Don't stress too much on counting, please, my friend.
Who cares? It's just a grade. The pressure's mounting.

- James D. Starkey

Saturday, December 23, 2006

In the Penal Colony: Administering State Achievement Tests

I like the feel of this moment.
Twenty-three kids at
Twenty-three desks bend
Twenty-three heads over
Twenty-three tests.

We are busily leaving no child behind.

Except for the boy at the back of the room,
Tapping his pencil on his left ear,
Waiting for an answer to come.

Except for the boy - fourth from the back -
Wrinkling his brow,
Looking around,
Worried he won't get through.

And I'm up here in front,
A copy of "Metamorphosis" by my side,
Preparing for my senior class.

Kafka would appreciate the texture of this
And maybe he'd write
One of those paragraph long haikus of his
About "The Way Home,"
Or "Absently Gazing Out"
That would crystallize
This moment in a phrase
And send a burst of light
Crashing through the room.

James D. Starkey

Sunday, December 17, 2006

Some poetry from a retired teacher...

(I haven't actually told my dad about the blog yet, but I think it's appropriate to give his newfound readers a taste of what they're about to enjoy when he finally learns of this new responsibility.)

Punditry


I scan the papers every day

To see what pundits have to say.

There's Krugman writing for the Times

And Calvin Trillin's pithy rhymes.


I even read the right wing cant

Like Ann Coulter's latest rant,

The Wall Street Journal's op-ed page,

Tancredo's xenophobic rage.


I've read the books, more than a few;

Today's issues they're apt to skew.

Molly Ivins has a lot to say

And Richard Clark has had his day.


The documentaries with their bile

Expose administrative guile.

Thus Michael Moore has earned his fame,

But next to Greenwald he seems tame.


All these sources get me confused.

I somehow think I'm being used.

-James Starkey

Welcome to Starkeyland!

This blog, started on Dec. 17th, 2006, as a gift to my father -- James D. Starkey, boy teacher -- is meant to be a medium for his endless ideas, short stories, poems and all around funny stories. I'm biased, but he's one of two great teachers I've had in my 26 years (the second teacher being my mom) and I still miss having his perspective when I read an article, book or see a great movie. He constantly has his nose in a book or magazine and when he doesn't he's writing himself. Most recently his days have been filled with good friend Bud being handy men for their friends and former colleagues, but hopefully this blog will inspire him to continue writing and those who love him to be able to continue to interact with him.