Saturday, 22 March 2014

Another 'Inspirational' assembly.

They keep asking me to give assemblies to the 'top end'. This is part of, interestingly, someone's whole school project. last time I did it the result was this. This time I thought I'd go for high levels of concept. Mostly to amuse myself. We'll see how this one rolls on Monday.

I would like to welcome you
To what it is I’m going to do
Which is, not really, to convince
You to be princess or prince
Or even to be king or queen
But instead be something that’s never been
Transcend any expectation
Through brutal, honest, perspiration
For you are all of mental fame
Exceptional at the mental game
That we refer to as education
So let us with no consternation
Debate upon the point of this
Box in which we do persist
To fill your mind with useless drivel
From mathmatic’s graphs to DT’s swivel
Because what we do in here is tough
But, for you, not tough enough,
Because you, you apparently special few
Who it would seem don’t know what to do
To push forward your impressive learning
So now to satiate your yearning
I come here to cram your little brains,
Not with numbers, not with names
But instead an idea of working ethic
So that you’ll avoid pathetic
Attitudes to your every fleeting day
When it’s simply far too easy to say
“yeah that’s fine” and let it be
And have for dinner your mundane C
And let the moment pass you by
Instead staring lovingly at the guy
Or girl who sits across from you and ponder
On a weekend, own-clothes wander
The nervous invitation to the park
Or the hope of a cinema kiss in the dark
And then one day “lessons, I remember those”
Twenty years ago I chose
To hide from English in the loo
Because I thought it the thing to do
But now year, 7,8 and this is true,
There is an unbelievable world for you.
And, when your older,
You’ll be bolder,
In declaring your regret
And you’ll forget
The window-gazing double french
As with a sickening wrench
You’ll realise school is gone forever
And despite the lump in throat you’ll never
Ever be in this box again
Jour de jour semaine après semaine
Dripping through your fingers
Perhaps right now your boredom lingers
And so perhaps some clarity
Of this strangest of assemblies
And why then this poetic rant
A simple one: there is no can’t
There is just can’t yet, I will one day,
That is what driven students say.
Because For the amazing, failure is no fear
They hunt it down, they grasp its ear
And ride it bravely through the dark
With fire in eyes and primal bark
And spur it to jump higher walls
And accept, consistent, painful falls
But know that sets of brushed down clothes
Raise them higher above all those
That never tried to jump at all
Those people who find their destined fall
In jobs they didn’t want at all
And hope to find an out at a midnight ball
While, elsewhere, the failures brave and true,
Attempt more than is easy to do
And prosper and, critically, have fun
And realise that life isn’t won
It’s a game played on an endless board
And played by all of humanity’s hoard
A game of difficulty where you’re the piece
That shuffles slowly til deceased
Where winning is a terrible lie
Told by those who just get by
And pray in the churches of lotteries
And x-factor heroes and flat-screen tv’s
Because success is not a letter
It’s not money, or exams, it’s being better
And better still and never content
With anything on which your effort is spent
It’s reaching far beyond your reach
It’s the willingness to teach
Yourself the things you want to know
It’s a constant burning desire to go
Beyond what’s in the range of your hand
To go where things aren’t planned
Because you are flicking unmade switches
Instead of passing out in ditches
Because you bothered, because you care
Beyond simply what you’re going to wear
Or what they look like, what looks good
The things you like because you should
Pursue everything you want whatever it may be
And then the naysayers will see
That everything you have done
Is beautiful.
So perhaps, I guess you’re wondering why the poetics
I mean, isn’t it all a bit pathetic
It all depends on your outlook
And the notice of my words you took
As I ranted words that just might rhyme
And you begrudged the waste of your time
The point is that it isn’t quick
To write in couplets, there’s no trick
Except hard work and lonely grit
And a desire to get on with it
And really it’s a stupid idea
At which others might scoff and sneer
But I simply do not care
I’m only bothered how I fare
At my self-set, absurd task
And at it’s end it’s me I’ll ask
How much better it could be
It’s progress that interests me
For as long as I perceive my skull as hollow
I’ll find information to swallow
Despite the knowledge that I’ll never be quite filled
It doesn’t matter at all, I’m strong willed.
I’m sorry, I’ve digressed as usual
And so as not to confuddle you all
I will summarise
My lengthy, rambling surmise.
I wrote this.
And this and all of this
And so my fragile coup de grace
Is that every moment is just fragile glass
So Quit Your Worrying
And instead enjoy the scurrying
Passage of not knowing everything
But trying to. And the joy
Of making all of life your toy
As you find the beautiful wonder
Of the freeing, magical splendour
Of this vast, mysterious, land
Because for you there’s nothing planned
You are free. No linear storyline
No certain future, it’s all fine
You are the heirs to everything you touch
And there is nothing in the world too much
For you to handle, if you bother
To fill a day, then fill another
With all that you can bring to living
And never stop intellectually giving
To yourself, and those around
Do not be afraid of the loud sound
Of trying to do everything that can be done
Your silence doesn’t serve anyone
So upturn mountains, paint the sun
Create worlds, reinvent fun,
Splitting the atom is so passé
Compared to what wonders may come your way.
You own this little bildungsroman
So make it as giant as you can
One moment, sorry, while I interject,
There is at work a slight subject
That may come across as arrogant,
But I assure you it is relevant,
It is the topic of my deepest fear
And that is that I’m simply dying here
I don’t mean that I fear if my health is fine
I’m sorry, I have to borrow a singer’s line
To describe the midnight-waking fear
That “I’m not really here’
My fear is I will waste all this
And that it won’t matter if I did not exist
As far as I know I have one life
One shot at this so full of strife
But for the fragility I’ll not worry
And I’ll walk through in no hurry
Because this world is more than enough
Isn’t it okay to believe that, well, stuff,
Is worth our exploration?
Our fascination? Our delectable, devour, er, ation?
That there is simply enough here to see
To drink in for one eternity?
That we as fleeting people exist
In just a blink of this world’s iris
And that fraction of a slice of time
Is ours, it’s what is yours, it’s mine
And so why, why? When surrounded by such amazement
Do some insist on being sofa’d and stagnant
Why do we insist on letting moment’s fetter
When you could free them for something better
Live. LIVE for no one but yourself
Live because some ill health
Could strike you in the dead of night
And snuff out what sits here, wonderful and bright
Please understand I don’t aim to fear
I’m merely trying to press on you what’s dear
And what should be dear to you
Is. YOU. Your dreams, and to them being true.
And there you are, alone at last,
With heart and volume falling fast.
So turn it up. Embrace your skill.
And tell the world you’ll never. Never. Have your fill.

No comments:

Post a Comment