Perhaps our blog poet was thinking of Leonard Cohen’s great song “Anthem” when he wrote this:
“The Fall of the House of Reform”
A crack, a crack in outer wall
The House of Reform, about to fall
A house of test and house of VAM
Of fake “Success” and charter scam
A house of standards built on sand
With Core arranged by Coleman hand
A house infused with sickly air
The flatulence of billionaire
The House was doomed from very start
An empty place without a heart
Expanding crack, lets in the light
As daylight breaks the longest night
Diane Ravitch's blog 
LIKE! Made me smile. Let’s hope all the DEFORMS crash and burn.
I was thinking of both Leonard Cohen and Edgar Allan Poe.
Aaaaahhhh, made my day @#FakeSuccess#
Fantastic.
Once again SDP, you have knocked it out of the ballpark!
YES!!!!
Speaking of Poe
“The Teacher” (Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven”, with some minor modifications)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and glorious volume of Coleman lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the Common Core—
For the rare and radiant standard whom the Coleman named The Core —
Nameless here for evermore.
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered term, “Common Core”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, Common Core!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
In there stepped a stately Teacher of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;
But, with mien of queenly lady, sat inside my chamber door—
Spat upon a bust of Betsy just above my chamber door—
Spat and sat, and nothing more.
Then this stately lady beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance she wore,
“cuz thy face be worn and tired thou,” I said, “art sure retired
Glaring and grim and ancient Teacher wandering from the schoolhouse door —
Tell me what thy queenly name is on the Night’s Reformian shore!”
Quoth the Teacher “Nevermore.”
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no Reformer
Ever yet was blessed with seeing Teacher inside his chamber door—
Spitting upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
That one word, as if her soul in that one word she did outpour.
Nothing farther then she uttered—not a sound or word she stuttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other teachers have flown before—
On the morrow she will leave me, as my foes have flown before.”
Again she just said “Nevermore.”
“Doubtless,” said I, “what she utters is her only stock and store
Brought from some unhappy bastard whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of Teacher and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous Teacher of yore—
What this grim, glaring, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous Teacher of yore
Meant in speaking “Nevermore.”
To the Teacher whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Common Core
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this Common Core!”
Quoth the Teacher “Nevermore.”
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Teacher “Nevermore.”
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted standard whom the Coleman named The Core—
Clasp a rare and radiant standard whom the Coleman named The Core”
Quoth the Teacher “Nevermore.”
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Reformian Shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—spit no more on the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my floor!”
Quoth the Teacher “Nevermore.”
On the pallid bust of Betsy just above my chamber door;
And her eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er her streaming throws her shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore
Perhaps the bust should be that of Arne Duncan or David Coleman, though Betsy has done little (if anything) to banish the Common Core, testing and the other policies enacted under her predecessors. Simply claiming “there really isn’t any Common Core any more” does not make it so.
Betsy is good because of the alliteration, methinks. Bill Gates would also fit perfectly because he is the original co-conspirator with Coleman, and again the alliteration. Gates pays for all data tracking testing high stakes public school molesting knocking down my chamber door.
You are probably right
“bust of Betsy” has a ring to it, doesn’t it?
Definitely sounds better than “bust of Arne” and “bust of David”
Although Bust of Billy would sound good too.
So it’s prolly six busts of some and a half dozen bust of the others.
Then again, Bill Gates might also be the narrator.
Some things to ponder, for shore.
I picture Duncan or Obama as the speaker. They are the ones who fell for Common Core and placed Bill’s bust of techno ore upon the shelf from heretofore, and will be haunted by guilt and the teaching raven forever
and evermore.
Right you are Left coast. Bust of Bill it is.
That makes perfect sense.
Wish I could edit it to reflect your most logic on this matter.
“Bust of Bill” is also good for another reason, which you may have noticed, but I just did.
Common Core was a bust ( failure) of Bill (which can either be the name Bill or the almighty dollar bill,)
Thanks much for the literary help.
I think Poe would have approved.
Poe took the most frightening and frightened elements of the human and societal psyches and made them his canon. I think he would very much have enjoyed your burial of the education deformers whose lust for the intoxicating wine of profiteering leads them down to your casks of amontillado. They’re busted! I love participating. You might have noticed, I like poems. (By the way, I earlier should have written that Duncan would be haunted by ravens and BATS.)
Thank you!
You’re welcome.
This time.
But nevermore!