Who said Girls are Not Good at Math?

One of the things I always wanted to understand is the wonders of Math.

My algebra teacher said “try, try again, if at first you fail.
An understatement…like trying to teach Math to a whale.

Here is a poem I’ve penned (so to speak) which conveys the point I am trying to make for no reason than thanks from those fortunate old lads and lasses that never had ME in their math classes.

Is it true what they said, that girls don’t know math?

There was an old lady named Madge,

who didn’t get Math as a girl

as hard as she tried, the more her brain fried.

I’ll get this, I will,

if its the last thing I do, she said as she studied

and figured

in spite of the glaze on her eyes.

Don’t confuse me with squares and axioms or paradigms

paradoxes, place holders, equations or boxes.

Then one day a bit of “New Math” gave her some clues

where a pencil and paper would only confuse

It was grey matter that made a much better board

for figures and signs and all sorts of

Math Tricks.

Finally!  Eureka!  a breakthrough, Madge said

as she solved two plus two

and started to realize what she could do.

One more life time should master Madge’s math disaster.

Beginning all over without being reminded that

 “Girls are NOT good at Math.”

Paper, please: Ode to a Genuine Map

[Writing 201, Poetry.  DAY FOUR: Metaphors]

                          Paper, Please…

One of the things I quite enjoy and sorely miss is a Map,
a good old fashion paper map in a neatly-folded packet.
Nevermind that it opens easily, but defies return to its jacket

Assuming a set of highway coordinates– say 77 and 211,
a North or a West or the name of a city,
a paper map illustrates orientation in words and symbols
helpful and geared to simplicity

Spoken directions–out in the boondocks
may be  clear to a resident but like mud to a stranger
who needs good direction to get where he’s going.
it won’t help him to look for a “guy mowing” a field

Clearly murky and  useless advice
“turn left at Jim Handy’s place, over the creek,
then right at the big Chestnut  tree (or it may be an Elm…)
about a mile, or two, where the old well used to be.”

At a four-way junction there is no function to say
“a drug store on the corner” an ambiguous term
which is not helpful at all for Right or Left
and East or West can be clearly obscured
when the sun has disappeared.

Much clearer indeed is direction with proper inflection–
take this way, then left, then two rights and a STOP sign,
a mile to the South and you will find
the address…a big white house with a blue barn–

Give me a good old paper map–even ripped and torn
it is  better than guessing if I will ever get where I’m going.
I don’t miss the cheerful depressing voice, which after agonizing
pauses and fear of malfunction, startles in the silence–
After twisting and turning, on an intricate quagmire of unlikely paths:
“This is NOT your destination.”

Who you calling Imperfect?

[Writing 201, Poetry.  DAY 4: Imperfect, Limerick, Enjambment–which is a technique they must have taught when I was skipping English class in high school.]

           Who you calling imperfect?

There once was a boy named Donald

Who wanted to  be rich, and grow up to be President

ha ha! said the people as he started to

stump

but he knew what he was doing and had all the cards he needed to

trump,

and win the game

opponents screamed like angry cat matrons

and picked on his hair and his noisy patrons

but Donald just said they should “lump it!”

You haven’t a chance, you’re not one of us, they wailed

“is that so?” said Donald as he placed a standing order for tea and crumpets

to serve to his fans to keep them from starving on the campaign trail

His crowd of the faithful grew and grew

’til they filled the land

so they bought him a very big trumpet.

 

A PERFECT PAST PRESENT for Poetry Class

[Writing201, Poetry.   Today’s assignment involves the word GIFT, and Crostic, and Alliteration.]

        A Perfect Past Present

Better a book, than a boat or a bear

Or my childhood dream would be dashed

Only such a gift would

Keep me a happy child.

I would never have wanted clothing

Neither undies nor socks…in a box

A doll or a hat or even a unicorn of bisque would have been taking a terrible risk

of dashing my special specific dream of a gift

But–alas!  There was only one lonely gift left…and that in a box!

OXYDOL SOAP said the  boisterous box, causing my young heart to sink

X-actly!   I  cheered as I peered inside, and shouted — “MY BOOK IN A BOX!”