Lesson Plans -> English Language Arts
Specific lesson plans here. Below gives you an idea of what I wish to take into account in creating plans.
Lived Experiences and Story-telling
Below, I have a sample poem based off the prompt, "If I could teach you..." (based off this poem). Due to the somewhat personal nature of this type of prompt (though it doesn't have to be), this would be a lesson for later in the year, after my class has had time to understand respect for each other and the comfort level with taking risks is high enough.
In constructing this project, I was attempting to find a way to help students tell stories. That is, I wanted students to start to understand how an author might construct a story and why they may include the facts or hints they do for the reader. I also wanted this hypothetical class to be able to see themselves as authors of their lives. Therefore, I approached this project with two major readings in mind: Johnson’s article about testimonial literacies, and Kinloch’s Urban Literacies (especially Chapter 7). By using this project to give students a space to tell their story in a way that they feel comfortable, I’m attempting to open up dialogue between all of us about what we experience outside of, or inside of, school. This is in a similar vein to the playwriting/performing workshops for incarcerated girls Kinloch includes in her book. It’s a safer way to talk about stories we are intimately familiar with to explore how we may break out of scripts, so to speak. In the telling of the stories, and my ability to listen and feel for these stories the students will share, I would be attempting to practice what Johnson calls testimonial literacy. That is, I would be witnessing my students’ stories and actively working to help deal with the realities of these stories.
With that in mind, this project is based on poetry, though we could adapt it to be a short story, video, slideshow, performance theatre, etc. Using the prompt, “If I could teach you,...” I’d have the students create a poem. If I felt, with the class, I could leave it that open, I would do so. If they wanted more structure, I would provide outlines of different types of poems. For example, there’s the list poem that works fairly well for this if the student wishes to teach me a process. I’d explain what a list poem is (first...second...third...and so on), and have them pick a topic they could list directions or lessons about. Other types of poems might include: shape poems (writing prose, essentially, with line breaks to form a shape), rhyming couplets/triplets/quatrains (rhymezone.com is a good resource for this); an alteration would be an I wish poem (I wish you knew...); or a five senses poem (similar to the last stanza of the example). I have below the example I would read aloud to model for the class, while having them read along with a hard copy. This is just meant to address experiences often overlooked within the school system, but that still affect students' learning and school experience.
In constructing this project, I was attempting to find a way to help students tell stories. That is, I wanted students to start to understand how an author might construct a story and why they may include the facts or hints they do for the reader. I also wanted this hypothetical class to be able to see themselves as authors of their lives. Therefore, I approached this project with two major readings in mind: Johnson’s article about testimonial literacies, and Kinloch’s Urban Literacies (especially Chapter 7). By using this project to give students a space to tell their story in a way that they feel comfortable, I’m attempting to open up dialogue between all of us about what we experience outside of, or inside of, school. This is in a similar vein to the playwriting/performing workshops for incarcerated girls Kinloch includes in her book. It’s a safer way to talk about stories we are intimately familiar with to explore how we may break out of scripts, so to speak. In the telling of the stories, and my ability to listen and feel for these stories the students will share, I would be attempting to practice what Johnson calls testimonial literacy. That is, I would be witnessing my students’ stories and actively working to help deal with the realities of these stories.
With that in mind, this project is based on poetry, though we could adapt it to be a short story, video, slideshow, performance theatre, etc. Using the prompt, “If I could teach you,...” I’d have the students create a poem. If I felt, with the class, I could leave it that open, I would do so. If they wanted more structure, I would provide outlines of different types of poems. For example, there’s the list poem that works fairly well for this if the student wishes to teach me a process. I’d explain what a list poem is (first...second...third...and so on), and have them pick a topic they could list directions or lessons about. Other types of poems might include: shape poems (writing prose, essentially, with line breaks to form a shape), rhyming couplets/triplets/quatrains (rhymezone.com is a good resource for this); an alteration would be an I wish poem (I wish you knew...); or a five senses poem (similar to the last stanza of the example). I have below the example I would read aloud to model for the class, while having them read along with a hard copy. This is just meant to address experiences often overlooked within the school system, but that still affect students' learning and school experience.
The Lesson Plan
If I could teach you, teacha
I’d show you how ‘he’, ‘she’, and ‘it’ really work
That just cause I ain’t he or she, sure don’t mean I’m an it.
That ‘his vagina’ ain’t no oxymoronic
tomboy-type phrase
I use to explore your standard
of language.
That boys can be female
we can grow into men
and my self ain’t embodied by what’s up between my legs.
That it’s your choice, teacha,
to say I’m goin’ ‘gainst your cis-gendered grain
ruffling the school’s dove gray feathas.
Well guess what teacha?
You shit like vultures.
Great gobs of left over garbage mucking up the
smooth stony statues tryin’ desperately to blend in to the castles around them.
So, like a gargoyle, I rise up after sundown.
Your harsh light off this speciman you study as bacteria under your microscope,
squished between science and norms.
So I fly.
Toward futures with castle ruins crumbling ‘round me, and
teacha,
I try to bring you.
I’d show you how ‘he’, ‘she’, and ‘it’ really work
That just cause I ain’t he or she, sure don’t mean I’m an it.
That ‘his vagina’ ain’t no oxymoronic
tomboy-type phrase
I use to explore your standard
of language.
That boys can be female
we can grow into men
and my self ain’t embodied by what’s up between my legs.
That it’s your choice, teacha,
to say I’m goin’ ‘gainst your cis-gendered grain
ruffling the school’s dove gray feathas.
Well guess what teacha?
You shit like vultures.
Great gobs of left over garbage mucking up the
smooth stony statues tryin’ desperately to blend in to the castles around them.
So, like a gargoyle, I rise up after sundown.
Your harsh light off this speciman you study as bacteria under your microscope,
squished between science and norms.
So I fly.
Toward futures with castle ruins crumbling ‘round me, and
teacha,
I try to bring you.
If I could teach you, teacha,
I’d give you a lesson on healthy home economics.
I’d show you the tree you laid out for a family
with dark bolded X’s over those I don’t have.
I’d have you read sewing skills from textbooks
then send you away with one large needle and two spools of thread
one light, one dark.
And I’d hand you the pants from the lost and found box three years ago
and the sweatshirt let loose in the snow my first winter alone.
And with no extra cloth, and no one to show you,
I’d ask you to patch them.
Make them windproof enough for the chill that settles in bones by the end of November.
And then, teacha, I’d ask you to go out
find one healthy food – something like
EasyMac less than three months expired or cheese that’s supposed to be blue-white.
Bring it in and we’ll calculate
how long you can live on your choice.
And then, teacha, maybe, you’ll stop cookin’ me.
I’d give you a lesson on healthy home economics.
I’d show you the tree you laid out for a family
with dark bolded X’s over those I don’t have.
I’d have you read sewing skills from textbooks
then send you away with one large needle and two spools of thread
one light, one dark.
And I’d hand you the pants from the lost and found box three years ago
and the sweatshirt let loose in the snow my first winter alone.
And with no extra cloth, and no one to show you,
I’d ask you to patch them.
Make them windproof enough for the chill that settles in bones by the end of November.
And then, teacha, I’d ask you to go out
find one healthy food – something like
EasyMac less than three months expired or cheese that’s supposed to be blue-white.
Bring it in and we’ll calculate
how long you can live on your choice.
And then, teacha, maybe, you’ll stop cookin’ me.
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If I could teach you, teacha,
I’d instruct you on the color of sunshine
and the intensity of dark rainbows.
I’d give you a taste of the hot spoon lady
Or the sharpness of geeks.
I’d ask you to memorize lists of synonyms for glass.
Like: cube, rock, crank, ghost, wave, or crack.
I’d tell you that acid is candy, sweet poisoned trips down
into rasberry land where I’ll be hangin’ out.
Then, I’d give you word problems in eightballs and blow-jobs
‘stead of apples and cents.
Let’s see how you do with that – ‘cause I expect you to fail.
I’d show you the history of your own backyard war
the parabolas of gunfire
criss-crossin’ the street at points in the plane
shot down once a week like that kid in the back
of your classroom you ignore.
I’d make you figure what your life is worth
as you stand between barrel and friend.
Then I’d set you down on the ground and ask what you know about force.
I’d explain when I fight you I keep you up on your feet,
treading backward like frantic hamsters in rigged spinnin’ wheels.
‘Cause I know: what starts goin’ keeps goin’ and this way I’s gonna stay goin’
right on outta your room so when I explode you can be sittin’
‘hind your desk and your door goin’ on ‘bout those books I ain’t had time to read just yet.
I’d instruct you on the color of sunshine
and the intensity of dark rainbows.
I’d give you a taste of the hot spoon lady
Or the sharpness of geeks.
I’d ask you to memorize lists of synonyms for glass.
Like: cube, rock, crank, ghost, wave, or crack.
I’d tell you that acid is candy, sweet poisoned trips down
into rasberry land where I’ll be hangin’ out.
Then, I’d give you word problems in eightballs and blow-jobs
‘stead of apples and cents.
Let’s see how you do with that – ‘cause I expect you to fail.
I’d show you the history of your own backyard war
the parabolas of gunfire
criss-crossin’ the street at points in the plane
shot down once a week like that kid in the back
of your classroom you ignore.
I’d make you figure what your life is worth
as you stand between barrel and friend.
Then I’d set you down on the ground and ask what you know about force.
I’d explain when I fight you I keep you up on your feet,
treading backward like frantic hamsters in rigged spinnin’ wheels.
‘Cause I know: what starts goin’ keeps goin’ and this way I’s gonna stay goin’
right on outta your room so when I explode you can be sittin’
‘hind your desk and your door goin’ on ‘bout those books I ain’t had time to read just yet.
If I could teach you, teacha,
I’d introduce you to your own physiology.
Show you those rose-colored glasses you think you put on every morning are really just
your eyes tinted red by the EXIT signs you see framing my future in your stained concrete block
called a school.
I’d lend you your ears
for you seem to have lost yours in operas and symphonies
where the rules of the chords hold fast to tradition,
‘stead of hoppin off lines into air.
I’d add pure cocoa to the cream in your coffee,
lettin’ you taste something new.
Like the bitterness I feel from you.
I’d have your masseuse take a stab at your back, let you know what it’s like to feel pain.
I’d give you the gift of walkin’ out every night to the smell of the dead souls a dyin’.
Then, you might notice me.
But we could bring shovels,
bury them in honor,
in the fluffy white smell of fresh air.
We could find tears to wash away blood
and love to clean out our wounds.
We could try out the music of that new band down the street –
the one with the girl in the third row.
And we could see with eyes tinted green by the ENTER signs growing our future
out of this new idea we’ll call our school.
I’d introduce you to your own physiology.
Show you those rose-colored glasses you think you put on every morning are really just
your eyes tinted red by the EXIT signs you see framing my future in your stained concrete block
called a school.
I’d lend you your ears
for you seem to have lost yours in operas and symphonies
where the rules of the chords hold fast to tradition,
‘stead of hoppin off lines into air.
I’d add pure cocoa to the cream in your coffee,
lettin’ you taste something new.
Like the bitterness I feel from you.
I’d have your masseuse take a stab at your back, let you know what it’s like to feel pain.
I’d give you the gift of walkin’ out every night to the smell of the dead souls a dyin’.
Then, you might notice me.
But we could bring shovels,
bury them in honor,
in the fluffy white smell of fresh air.
We could find tears to wash away blood
and love to clean out our wounds.
We could try out the music of that new band down the street –
the one with the girl in the third row.
And we could see with eyes tinted green by the ENTER signs growing our future
out of this new idea we’ll call our school.
But teacha, if I would teach you,
we’d be exactly the same.
‘Cause ain’t none of us know where to start.
So let me suggest, teacha,
if you can’t teach me,
and I can’t teach you.
Maybe,
let’s learn
from each other.
we’d be exactly the same.
‘Cause ain’t none of us know where to start.
So let me suggest, teacha,
if you can’t teach me,
and I can’t teach you.
Maybe,
let’s learn
from each other.