There are times when I wonder and wait,

What’s going to be the outcome?

What’s going to be my fate?


Predisposition of untruths and lies

Sneaking about with no purpose

A poor job for spies.


I set out an outline of what it could be.

Time honored, then repeated

Was simple for me to see.


Preparation meeting opportunity

Now once and for all.

Just one last time here,

is my final choice, my finishing call.


Published in: on July 12, 2014 at 8:21 pm  Leave a Comment  

Bed of Roses

Long, long ago, where the tall grass grows
and the still air is sweet with summer flowers;
in the shade by the stream I would lie awake and dream,
and in dreaming I would while away the hours.

Long, long gone yesterday,
and the castle and the prince and the God to whom I prayed.
Well, I made, and I’m gonna lie in this bed of roses.
I’m tired of trying to be free.
Gonna lay down like a sigh in my bed of roses.
Bed of roses I believed my life would be.

Well, I wasted years,
all the useless, bitter tears.
If I’d known I’d have stopped it at the start.
I knew life was long,
and I knew life could go wrong,
but I never knew my life would break my heart.

Dreams die harder than pride.
I have learned my lesson well.
I will put them both aside.
‘Cause I made and I’m gonna lie in this bed of roses.
I’m tired and I’m dying to be free.
Gonna lay down like a sigh in my bed of roses.
Bed of roses I believed my life would be.

Roses die, and all the fairy tales are lies,
and I guess that’s just too bad for poor old me.

‘Cause I made, and I’m gonna lie in my bed of roses.
Bed of roses I believed my life would be.
Bed of roses I believed my life would be.

by Bonnie Hayes
Published in: on August 5, 2013 at 8:55 pm  Leave a Comment  
Tags: ,


gratitudePush start, to start.

Washing dishes for twelve, days looking through glass

with a window over the sink,

and blooms below.

Hang it up, hang

with steam rising from the iron,

the window air conditioner humming in my ear,

reruns on the television,

permanent press.

Hot water in the bath,

not from the stove,

boiling diapers, hanging them to dry.

clothes in the tub, dripping.

a stove, to cook.

No hot plate, no water in a plastic jug for a bath.

A stove, to cook.

Heat on.

Food in.

Lights through.


linked to imperfect prose

Published in: on June 25, 2013 at 1:50 pm  Comments (1)  
Tags: , ,

Just remember…


this applies to everything in life.

Published in: on November 6, 2012 at 12:12 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Published in: on January 26, 2012 at 8:00 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Sexual attack at Rogers Park Elementary

Have we ever talked about that attack?

Let’s begin.


One day parents were panicked,

the newspaper loaded with the news

Oh, we didn’t want to hear it.

This District is all about the right to choose.


A child had been sexually attacked by another,

in the bathroom,

in a grade school.

Oh dear!


Where did it happen, were our schools really safe?

Oh, it happened somewhere else?

so comforting the threat wasn’t near.


Cover up where it happened,

Ms Comeau needed  to keep a clean space.

Keep it a secret, don’t  tell anyone,

on the orders of the District’s attorney

while speaking directly to our face.


A meeting soon was happening on the orders of the Board,

between us and Ms Comeau

where the atmosphere was charged and holding in overload.

“We shouldn’t have to move from Bayshore to get our kids to a school which is safe.”

All the while Ms Comeau sat there knowing the sexual attack had just happened

in our newly chosen place.


The teacher who didn’t  know where those children were to be

was not removed, and was never named

But, the principal’s head did roll.

the incompetence covered up, so that parents wouldn’t ever really know.


A name which might be recognized and upset the public sport.

accountability, the order is extremely tall,

but we know here in Anchorage

a five-year old

is not as important as winning a season of … football.

Rogers Park Elementary

1400 E Northern Lights Blvd.

Anchorage, Ak

Dear Ms Guess,

I dislike making so many mistakes,

I guess I could blame some else.

I read and don’t see them

with an empty mouth open?

Well, I no longer pass the perfection test.


I use to do better,

before all the stress,

My mind was sharp as a tack.

But now there are blips,

spelling errors and slips,

Like a worn out dress hung back on the rack.

Stupid is the only word I know

which describes itself so well.

Pick any number of words,

dumb, numb, dumber

but they leave you with much to tell.

You could say fancy words like

obtuse, deficient, dense, or puerile

but pronunciation might be a bit rough.

It’s much easier to remember,

If you are going to be stupid,

You better be tough!

$999.30…kick a rock and see what slithers out…


To Whom It May Concern,

Time to go…

my voice clearly said to me.

I looked around and

did not accept

what was revealed for me to see.

I said that I don’t like this

My response to you was NO.

Information was withheld,

like if I knew in time

out the door we would go.

I thought I explained that I

would take her in a heartbeat.

She’s much too precious to me

to ever Leave with those I  know

and have demonstrated they mistreat.

But words weren’t spoken and letters weren’t read.

Which wasn’t someone’s right to do.

We should all get to choose what works for us

And divergent paths to follow will probably ensue.

My view is odd, I know it’s said,

but others might say it, having tried to openly speak.

no one listening or at least don’t show it,

What does it take or

Were you?

What was the point, really?

There was never a way to make it right.

The meeting was taped, the tape transcribed.

And when I said, “We shouldn’t have to move to get our kids to a safe school.”

Carol Comeau knew that we had put our children into the very school where a sexual attack had happened only a few days before.  And she knew that parents in Rogers Park Elementary were never going to be openly told that it was at that school.  And that the negligent teacher would not be removed from a classroom.

And our children are not safe in any school, due to the cover-ups of abuse by Anchorage School District employees.

December 15, 2003 and it’s already the second complaint about Ben Hardwick

and here is what I attached to the form.  And the response from ASD was pure BS.

And when questioned about the teacher who would dump the student’s desks on the floor, Carol Comeau stated it was just a misunderstanding–that the teacher sat on a corner of the desk and it tipped over.  Jack said, “So, she says I’m lying.”  Yup, that what the woman basically said.  And my child has always known that Carol Comeau will hide the behavior of adults rather than protect children.

So, sue me.

The Municipal Ombudsman’s office did not respond to concerns of child safety at Bayshore Elementary

and I just could not understand why people all got the same letter…and…not…one…person…responded…

So, here’s the rest of it—months before it got sent to the School Board.

Now, did they get it?  Well, yes.  After another parent spoke about the same concerns and could not get a response from the Ombudsman’s office, Mike made sure it went again.

But we still never got a response.

You just gotta love certified mail…

To which, not a single one of them responded.  Not. A. Single. One.

I said this before…

and no one wanted to listen.

It made me MAD.  Yup, mad.

I mean, no one would listen…

and I wrote it down, said it again

and sent it in letters to the head honchos…and no one would listen.

Schedules for Level III IEP disappear?  No problem.  Just make up anything for the State audit showing the kids were with a certified sped teacher.  Don’t know the teacher, don’t know the kids?  Don’t know if they ever had that schedule?  No problem–just have certified people filling in the blanks when any temp could it.  Like people didn’t know the State was going to ask for schedules?  Better they disappear.

A building full of children with emotional and conduct problems and it was dangerous under the leadership of Colleen Castaneda and the AEA knew.  Marion, our building rep tried to get them involved and they ignored her.

So, I refused duty due to dangerous conditions.  And not a single person from AEA investigated my refusal.  Not a single ASD Administrator investigated the conditions in that school and the Whaley staff were hurt.  Domino effect.  Bang, bang, bang.  What a long, hard year.

So, I don’t want to come to work two weeks before all of the other district teachers.  Then you’ll be fired, she says.   Applying for Dept. Chair positions–no, ASD brought someone out of retirement to fill that spot.

Work harder.  Out of 18 teachers (some only subs) only 4 are certified in sped.  I am to supervise over 100 programs, while only being a .5 staff position.  And I refuse to put false information on the forms stating that these kids are getting daily direct instruction by a certified sped teacher.  They did not.  Colleen Castaneda state that every minute at Whaley is instruction, so if they only see a sped teacher doing lunch duty–the kids are getting direct instruction.  No, I say.  That is not instruction, that’s a sped teacher standing watch, without knowing the child’s name or IEP goals.  That makes the kids Level II not Level III.  And the administrative rep in those meetings refuses to even sign the IEP.   Vicki Race won’t sign those IEPs, so I write on the IEPs that she was present and refused to sign.

Wait, people.

This is costing ASD big bucks if they can’t get Level III money.  Discipline time.  Now, since when does a principal call the AEA rep to come to a meeting?  And the AEA rep shows up?  Of course, I was not notified of the meeting.  So, I told Debbie O. I’d meet with Jerry and Cindy, but not with Colleen Castaneda, since she didn’t follow the rules. And she is made to leave.  And in this meeting it is pointed out how one teacher sleeps in class, another teacher states that she’s regular ed teacher and shouldn’t have to do the special ed stuff, another teacher hits the panic button and is painting her toenails when we go in.  Please, people. I believe an appropriate education is not being provided due to teacher incompetence.

And Jerry states, “Gloria is usually right, she just goes about it the wrong way.”  I’ll accept that as a decent assessment, but lying–is there a right way to go about that?

Cindy Anderson must have come up with a plan.  If I am not allowed to be at the IEP meetings, I can’t sign the IEP–therefor I can’t supervise and put Level II on the paperwork.  Department Chairs are told not to discuss any students with me.  I am to churn out IEPs, while other’s attend the meetings and sign.

And someone else put Level III, even though those children did not receive daily direct instruction from certified special education teachers.  And staff got hurt and no one investigated.

And that was that.

It’s coming soon…

that time again
to pat each other on the back.
Teacher Appreciation week says
we should thank even those missing
the “teaching, caring” knack.

I never got a thank you card, remembering when
a parent said, “My kid enjoys your class.”
I still treasure that time
No one else ever knew,
but It made my heart light shine.

I never got a special award
For making my boss look good.
I only took a lonely student
Trick or Treating all around the neighborhood.

I never got a merit raise,
My students didn’t test too well.
But I did make sure they had my phone number
And knew they could call me, if they ever fell.

Some students never knew my name
and really, I didn’t always know theirs,
but my efforts live in pictures
of their graduations and prizes at science fairs.

We didn’t have much school spirit
in hospitals and the prison.
but, I hope in adulthood, they’ve found a life
which has a meaningful rhythm.

I believe all children do deserve
the very best of us.
Not being told to please these teachers,
while others standing watch
With children only learning distrust

Now, I am supposed to say some thank you,
cook a lunch and buy some gifts.
I don’t believe that matters much. It never did to me.
Demanding accountability for all those adults
Is the best thank you for “good” teachers
this Mom can really see.

The measure of a man’s real character is what he would do if he knew he never would be found out.

~Thomas Babington Macaulay

The accoutrements


Representing  pain.

Growth in an underbrush


aluminum and plastic with

tight-fitting healing.

Knowing that if I had just held on,

the Statistics of loss

would not be so




Hey my golden girl…

I put some gold up for you,

hoping life would be gold all around.


I can’t get you good teachers.

They just can’t seem to be found.

I didn’t want you in those rooms,

when they show such lack of respect.

Is it too much to ask for,

that you are worth more than those “things”

just right below your neck?

PE posters in your school state, “I’ll shave your legs, then I’ll shave your butt.”

Tell me these people

think you are worthy of only one thing

and it’s an age-old, age-old rut.

You are worth more–let’s learn it well this year.

Because if you cannot–


will be very hard, I fear.


The Law of Unintended Consequences

I did not know he was hitting the students.

the Anchorage School District did not want us to know.

A brave mother stood up beside me, opened my ears

And told me it was so.


He hit them on the head

then he grabbed them by the neck

And when that didn’t create enough fear

He’d give them a hard squeeze and a shake.


The Superintendent told me,

“You are not a mother, you are a teacher.”

and no matter how I tried or what I said,

there was just no way to begin to reach her.


The law of the Great Land said that I could

It said I had the right to take action to stand where I stood.

It said, I could do all and the same,

only, I didn’t know

the Law of Unintended Consequences was the name of Her game.

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