Christopher Bullmer
Christopher Bullmer, is a spoken word artist, and high school teacher. His talents include a rich mix of poetry, storytelling and dramatic performance. He has been the Poet in Residence at the Washington Writers Academy in Kalamazoo. He coordinated the Freedom's Legacy Education Project in Southwest Michigan. Chris has done scores of performances and workshops in schools and libraries across Southwest Michigan, he is one of the original hosts of the Kalamazoo Poetry Slam and is a three time member of Kzoo's National Slam Team.
Chris Bullmer


There is a subtle buzz that
Rises from a full classroom
A kinetic teaming that streams
Between students
Flows full force through the
Ears and eyes and those little minds
Blazing a straight path from the
Hands of the teacher.
Mostly we teach what is given
The answers laid out in the
Backs of books study guides
And student handouts.
But sometimes we must teach
Only from what we know
And I learned that from
3’ 11 5th grade Jerome.

He sat in the back of the class
With the extreme distance
Of a rain soaked horizon
Huddles in his chair head
Just above the tabletop
Looking lost right there where he
Was supposed to be.
In the middle of every art lesson I taught
I saw how cruel kids can become.
They called him imp, midget, monkey, elf,
Gnome, squirrel and one hundred other
Nicknames to remind him how
Tiny he really was.
Eventually he came up to me and
Said in these exact words,
“It must be golden to be tall”
Explaining that being small must be
All the things wrong in the world
Rolled into one.
For ten minutes I watched this little man cry
Thinking back to me at that age
Hovering over everyone
The teacher calling on me every time
She couldn’t reach something
And my classmates called me tree,
Bean pole, giraffe, jolly green giant,
And they called me freak.
Fifth grade going home hunched over
Hoping I wouldn’t grow anymore.
Looking down at Jerome,
Trembling tear shuttered
I saw his sketchbook open
To the perfect picture of a dragon devouring
A little boy in the back of a classroom.
I remember that drawing,
It was a tiger, the boy was taller but the picture
Was the same.
All I could tell Jerome that day
Was that it would all be O.K.
But this is what I was suppose to say….

There are words, whole worlds, and even wisdom
That we can not possibly comprehend. You must be careful
When listening to what others have said.
Do not be discouraged.
The truth is that we are all imperfect to perfection,
All of us are screaming in opposite directions
We grow and rage and move and change
And sometimes we end up a little bit strange
But we are all golden
And your strength should not be broken
By those who would remind you
That they are flawed too
By insulting the way that you are made.

Jerome, remember
We are only as tall as the tops of our heads
Next time measure your spirit instead.