Now that I am your sixth grade teacher, let the reign of terror begin! and Benevolent God

Inspired by Now That You've Named Me State Poet Of Nebraska, Let The Reign Of Terror Commence

by Matt Mason

Delivered at the Nebraska State Poet installation Ceremony, Nebraska State Capitol, February 25, 2019

Now That I Am Your Sixth Grade Teacher, Let the Reign of Terror Begin!

Now that I am your sixth grade teacher, let the reign of terror begin!

Let all reading materials- from books and comics to random texts and the backs of your cereal boxes now be immediately annotated and highlighted
appointing main ideas and themes to every single piece.

Let all lockers be arranged with this class’s books set neatly for easy access.

Let all other classes, sports, extracurricular activities, pets, family obligations, friends and nutritional sustenance fade apathetically into the background of your life, for I declare that this class is all that should matter to you.

Let each morning’s awakening begin with a quick prayer for curricular brilliance and a quick note of gratitude for what will come that day.

Let you attack homework with the gusto of diving into a plate of perfectly done pasta.

Let you enter into collaborative group projects ready to prove your academic might.

Let your pencils be always sharpened,

Your binders always be organized,

Your emails always be professional,

And your mind always alive.

For this is how we will forge into the lands unknown each day.

How we will spend our precious time together exploring.

How we will beat standardized tests to death.

How we will stoke and feed hunger in one another.

How we will pioneer.

Ready?

Let’s begin.

Benevolent God

Inspired by the shortgrass prairies of Nebraska

When i was a little girl I used to

Lay flat on my belly in the backyard

Nose down

Spears of grass piercing the air

In front of my eyes

That smell of damp soil

Earthy and sharp and deep and old

And I’d be very very

Very

Still

And soon the miniature forest before me

Would awaken

Even with my huge nose

Hosing warm air strong enough to shake

Dandelion fuzz loose from its stubborn green stalk

Soon still that miniature forest before me

Would awaken

Almost always it was the ants first

Picking their way between plants

Wandering in sloppy lines

Hefting white bits of whatever

And bees from above

Helicoptering in and out

Thighs fatly powdered in pollen

Tiny aphids and little gnats

Like moving jewels

Weaving paths on mystic missions

And I’d inevitably fall into a drowsy state

As would any giant god

Warmed by sun

Cradled by planet

In gratitude

I would plunge my fingers into the dirt

Pushing down

Down

To where things were cool

Where it turned to irresistible clay

Rooting myself

In

That

Moment.