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free man should not learn the way of the slave . Plato

However, despite Plato, one has the suspicion that public education produces more bondage than freedom.

is paradoxical that our public schools have become in these closed institutions which are not recognized as a teenager, if not a young-and the criteria for deciding whether to buy the snack bar in the corner, or take sun behind the gates of the center, taking advantage of free time. And we do while terms such as criticism, autonomy, democracy, accountability ... saturate any pedagogical discourse.

This is only one explanation: the fear and false security. Parents feel "calm" leaving their children safe. The teachers also are parents, are of the same opinion ... and not give way to please customers. And the politicians already know: first of all not alienate the city by minutiae. So everything is perfect and rather square.

Only one detail eludes us, the head of Plato and that old adage: learn the hard way is like writing on water.
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Henati Dragon Balle Z

The Ballad of the Lonely Masturbator

      The end of the affair is always death.
      She’s my workshop. Slippery eye,
      out of the tribe of myself my breath
      finds you gone. I horrify
      those who stand by. I am fed.
      At night, alone, I marry the bed.

      Finger to finger, now she’s mine.
      She’s not too far. She’s my encounter.
      I beat her like a bell. I recline
      in the bower where you used to mount her.
      You borrowed me on the flowered spread.
      At night, alone, I marry the bed.

      Take for instance this night, my love,
      that every single couple puts together
      with a joint overturning, beneath, above,
      the abundant two on sponge and feather,
      kneeling and pushing, head to head.
      At night alone, I marry the bed.

      I break out of my body this way,
      an annoying miracle. Could I
      put the dream market on display?
      I am spread out. I crucify.
      My little plum is what you said.
      At night, alone, I marry the bed.

      Then my black-eyed rival came.
      The lady of water, rising on the beach,
      a piano at her fingertips, shame
      on her lips and a flute’s speech.
      And I was the knock-kneed broom instead.
      At night, alone, I marry the bed.

      She took you the way a woman takes
      a bargain dress off the rack
      and I broke the way a stone breaks.
      I give back your books and fishing tack.
      Today’s paper says that you are wed.
      At night, alone, I marry the bed.

      The boys and girls are one tonight.
      They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies.
      They take off shoes. They turn off the light.
      The glimmering creatures are full of lies.
      They are eating each Other. They Are overfed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Anne Sexton

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Pedagogies World Poetry Day

. (...)

is a matter of silkworms secrete

subtle gold thread with which they
building his palace, prison, grave, his dark
definitive
bleeds gold, resigned to not seeing from
his work was never completed.

One day awakens something in the silent room
-resurrection or transfiguration-
is no longer the rush of saliva weaver gold
but a butterfly, clumsy, fat,
do not even remember
(like the body does not remember
the soul that was his before he was born).
the new child is born to change
to destroy what was the reason for living and dying
of someone who was herself
and is now nothing more than a hole.

is now a hole where the miracle occurred,
(.......)
a shadow and a similar hole in a car engine

(......)
Activity poem in silk broken
where someone, that I was, died more than once.
Nobody, nobody, just a car.
I put the engine: I speak of dragonflies,
silkworm. I ask

out what I meant.

Jose Hierro. Prologue with dragonflies and silkworms
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Sólo eso te quería decir

working so hard, always scraping by
sleeping so little, nothing is enough
that things are becoming more expensive
just that I wanted deciiir ooooh oooh oooh


amooor oh how drought

DROUGHT OF LOVE GONE
WAVE THEME VAGA