May Your Sky Always Be Yellow
JoAnne Schmitz
who oppress their students. It's all over the web, and it's gone around on a
couple of newsgroups. I've found quite a variety of information about it, much
of it conflicting.
One said, "This was written by a high school senior two weeks before he
committed suicide." Another had no such ending. One claims it was "written by
Richard Karl Roberts, 2 weeks before he committed suicide." Another that "This
was written by a high school senior in Alton, Illinois, two weeks before he
committed suicide." Another says, "This poem was handed to a grade 12 English
teacher in Regina, Saskatchewan. It is not known if the student actually wrote
it himself, it is known that he committed suicide two weeks later." Another
that "It has not been possible to trace the author of this poem, but it is known
that he committed suicide when he was 16 years old. This poem was found in the
New Environment Bulletin, the organ of the New Environment Association, 270
Fenway Drive, Syracuse, N.Y. 13224. U.S.A. I am grateful to its editor, Harry
Schwarzlander, for informing me upon request that he had reprinted the poem from
an "unidentified overseas source." The version I got is the only one I found
that mentioned that "the Kohler Co. is doing its centennial movie on this."
Another page says "This story was included as part of a workshop presented by
Joan Franklin Smutny, Dirtector, The Center for the Gifted at National-Louis
University." It's been quoted by John Taylor Gatto in "Underground History of
American Education." It was passed along by Kelleen Griffin, Columbia MBA '99,
given to her over 15 years ago, when she was in high school.
The title I got with it was "May Your Sky Always Be Yellow," but this is not the
usual title. It's also headed with "ABOUT SCHOOL", or "He Always..." or
"Yellow" or "He Drew" or "A POEM ABOUT NON-ACCEPTANCE", or left untitled.
Another puts "He always wanted to say things. But no one understood." at the
beginning. Another puts the extra first line(s) as "He always wanted to say
things -- But none understood." It's written as prose sometimes, poetry with
varying line lengths most of the time. I suspect from the first line(s) being
missing on many versions that those first lines could have been printed in a
different type face or on a different page in some early version.
One web page says, "There was also a picture, which I will try to scan in some
day and post it here as well."
One page dates it as having been written in 1972.
One page seems to claim it as the page writer's own; it's signed:
"Mystif/Neandra 1984." I've emailed that person and will report back on that
lead. The version on that page is missing the extra lines at the beginning, so
I suspect it's not the original, but I could be wrong.
One might be getting closer to the point with this prefaced description:
"Authored by an adolescent male who had expressed discomfort that public school
education prods its students on a one-way cattle drive." It gives the source as
"Silverstone, 1997, p. 109-110" and the footnote reads, "Silverstone, L. Art
Therapy The Person-Centered Way. (1997). London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers
Ltd." If someone has access to this book it'd be nice to know what's on page
109-110, but I'll bet it says it's anonymous and from Saskatchewan or Illinois.
One credits it "by Dr. Helen Goodell" who apparently has something to do with
education at Lock Haven University in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, since they have
a scholarship named after her.
Anyway, here it is (glurge alert):
MAY YOUR SKY ALWAYS BE YELLOW
He always wanted to explain things
But noone cared
So he drew
Sometimes he would draw and it wasn't anything
He wanted to carve it in stone
Or write it in the sky
He would lie out on the grass
And look up at the sky
And it would be only the sky and him that needed saying
And it was after that
He drew the picture
It was a beautiful picture
He kept it under his pillow
And would let no one see it
And he would look at it every night
And think about it
And when it was dark
And his eyes were closed
He could still see it
And it was all of him
And he loved it
When he started school he brought it with him
Not to show anyone but just to have it with him
Like a friend
It was funny about school
He sat in a square brown desk
Like all the other square brown desks
And he thought it should be red
And his room was a square brown room
Like all the other rooms
And it was tight and close
And stiff
He hated to hold the pencil and chalk
With his arms stiff and his feet flat on the floor
Stiff
With the teacher watching
And watching
The teacher came and smiled at him
She told him to wear a tie
Like all the other boys
He said he didn't like them
And she said it didn't matter
After that they drew
And he drew all yellow
And it was the way he felt about morning
And it was beautiful
The teacher came and smiled at him
"What's this?" she said
"Why don't you draw something like Ken's drawing?"
"Isn't that beautiful?"
After that his mother bought him a tie
And he always drew airplanes and rocket ships
Like everyone else
And he threw the old picture away
And when he lay out alone and looked out at the sky
It was big and blue and all of everything
But he wasn't anymore
He was square inside and brown
And his hands were stiff
And he was like everyone else
And the things inside him that needed saying
Didn't need it anymore
It had stopped pushing
It was crushed
Stiff
Like everything else.
The boy handed this poem to his English teacher. Two weeks later he took his
own life.
Kohler Co did its centennial movie about this story.
JoAnne "may your dog always be Blue" Schmitz
Chris Clarke
<jsch...@qis.net> wrote:
> The title I got with it was "May Your Sky Always Be Yellow," but this is not
> the
> usual title. It's also headed with "ABOUT SCHOOL", or "He Always..." or
> "Yellow" or "He Drew" or "A POEM ABOUT NON-ACCEPTANCE", or left untitled.
I heard this in 1973 from a counselor in Buffalo NY, though without the
backstory embellishments.
--
"I think we agree, the past is over." - George W. Bush
Ziggie Nybo Andersen
mentioning that I received this poem from a penfriend 10-12 years ago.
It was translated into Danish and passed off as a "real" poem, written
by a Danish boy two weeks before he killed himself.
-Ziggie
John Dean
JoAnne Schmitz <jsch...@qis.net> wrote in message
news:i4ntgt819sj3rc053...@4ax.com...
> This has been passed along to me in email after a discussion about art
teachers
> who oppress their students. It's all over the web, and it's gone around
on a
> couple of newsgroups. I've found quite a variety of information about it,
much
> of it conflicting.
My wife reminded me that there is a Harry Chapin song from the 70s, Flowers
are Red which goes :-
The little boy went first day of school
He got some crayons and started to draw
He put colors all over the paper
For colors was what he saw
And the teacher said.. What you doin' young man
I'm paintin' flowers he said
She said... It's not the time for art young man
And anyway flowers are green and red
There's a time for everything young man
And a way it should be done
You've got to show concern for everyone else
For you're not the only one
And she said...
Flowers are red young man
Green leaves are green
There's no need to see flowers any other way
Than they way they always have been seen
But the little boy said...
There are so many colors in the rainbow
So many colors in the morning sun
So many colors in the flower and I see every one
Well the teacher said.. You're sassy
There's ways that things should be
And you'll paint flowers the way they are
So repeat after me.....
And she said...
Flowers are red young man
Green leaves are green
There's no need to see flowers any other way
Than they way they always have been seen
But the little boy said...
There are so many colors in the rainbow
So many colors in the morning sun
So many colors in the flower and I see every one
The teacher put him in a corner
She said.. It's for your own good..
And you won't come out 'til you get it right
And are responding like you should
Well finally he got lonely
Frightened thoughts filled his head
And he went up to the teacher
And this is what he said.. and he said
Flowers are red, green leaves are green
There's no need to see flowers any other way
Than the way they always have been seen
Time went by like it always does
And they moved to another town
And the little boy went to another school
And this is what he found
The teacher there was smilin'
She said...Painting should be fun
And there are so many colors in a flower
So let's use every one
But that little boy painted flowers
In neat rows of green and red
And when the teacher asked him why
This is what he said.. and he said
Flowers are red, green leaves are green
There's no need to see flowers any other way
Than the way they always have been seen.
--
John Dean -- Oxford
I am anti-spammed -- defrag me to reply
JoAnne Schmitz
>My wife reminded me that there is a Harry Chapin song from the 70s, Flowers
>are Red
Thanks to you, Chris and Ziggie. I have put up a web page about the poem and I
will add your information to that I've already collected, including the other
replies in this thread.
http://www.qis.net/~jschmitz/afu/yellow.html
JoAnne "hoping it doesn't sound like 'A Daisy A Day'" Schmitz
Peter Graves
Anybody who writes poetry that bad then kills themselves probably qualifies
for a Darwin Award!
Peter
wse...@gmail.com
Mark Shaw
--
Mark Shaw moc TOD liamg TA wahsnm
========================================================================
"All of my mistakes are giving me ideas." - Natalie Lileks
Lee Ayrton
> wse...@gmail.com wrote:
>
>> I cannot attribute this but I can tell you that I received a copy
>> of this poem from my 8th grade teacher during the 1980 - 1981 school
>> year. Any claims of authorship after that time are wrong.
>
> Well, throw you a fish!
>
Drew Lawson
to vote now.
--
Drew Lawson
". . . And I never give a reason"
-- God, as channeled by Seven Nations
Lee Ayrton
> In article <qfncs5$j29$1...@reader1.panix.com>
> Lee Ayrton <lay...@panix.com> writes:
>> On 7/2/2019 15:43 PM, Mark Shaw wrote:
>>> wse...@gmail.com wrote:
>>>
>>>> I cannot attribute this but I can tell you that I received a copy
>>>> of this poem from my 8th grade teacher during the 1980 - 1981 school
>>>> year. Any claims of authorship after that time are wrong.
>>>
>>> Well, throw you a fish!
>>>
>>
>> Well, hey, this is his teacher we're talking about.
>>
>
> For the curious, that post was from May 2001, so it is old enough
> to vote now.
>
>