Best Frat Poems
I walk past empty bedrooms that once held my boys
The beds made so perfect, the absence of noise
Books there on the book shelf and not upon the floor
No ear-splitting music, no slamming the door
It’s eerily quiet now these once busy dens
These bunkers of bustle with brothers and friends
They’re off to college now the closets are clean
They only come home now on days in between
The weeks of the study the homework and toil
With loads of their laundry all dirty with soil
These nice empty bedrooms so tidy and neat
Just aren’t the same in their pristine retreat
As when the sneakers are thrown in a corner
The fridge it is drained like an unwilling donor
The noise and the smell of exercised teens
Showing off muscles with biceps and spleens
Banging a cupboard while toasting some bread
At three in the morning before heading to bed
Now some dorm at the coast, in some far away place
Or corner of frat-house who’s presence they grace
Our bedrooms are empty the rooms nice and quiet
The sheets all in place and the fridge on a diet
But once in a while it all comes to life
Things they are back to the brotherly strife
Rooms not so tidy and sharp as a knife
As when we’re alone…just me and my wife
David Kettler
I bent down to pick up a penny from the frozen ground.
I could smell myself, the acrid stench of sweat and soot,
the taint of vapored vagrancy
that marked my movements, masking me from the reality that used to be.
I hate me and what I am, more than you could ever think to,
but more so becuase you do, with your limp laughter and scared stares.
I never knew my life never needed me to know it could all go away in a single day.
I see it all through dirty windows draped in singed eyelashes and gutter grime,
the pathetic gazes from afar as another afternoon of sale shopping and shoe sizing is ruined
by my appalling appearance.
"How dare you be here! What's wrong with you?"
"Go get a job you junkie, you slob, just jump a bus so you can't disgust us with your sewer
shoes and hard luck blues. You deserve the dirt and a kick in the teeth from the steel-tipped
toe of a jackboot too. No one wants to see a scummy sack of crap like you, bending down to
pick our scraps off the frozen ground."
The helping hand of man slaps the taste of humanity from my mouth with each volatile volley
of acid arrow analogies angrily slung and fired furiously from the bows of bastard
businessmen and bleach blonde bimbos.
My weary wounds fill with the sea-salt of sarcastic statements and unflattering finger
gestures from frat boys as I bend down to pick up a penny I found on the frozen ground.
"Head's up means luck," Abe smiled at me, and suddenly my thoughts began to run
differently.
I took a long look at the lingering light of one of the sweetest sunsets I had ever seen, and
the simplicity and majesty washed over me.
There was no use in listening to abuse and accusations and obtuse observations any more.
I was being shown a door.
Wrapped in the warmth of the amber and amethyst glow, I finally smile for a little while and
close my dirty windows against the icy winds of waning words.
Tomorrow, someone will bend down to pick me up from the frozen ground.
Hey Baby S.K.A.T..."Where-You-At?"
Because, this is the place to be!
The Poetrysoup needs a scoop
Of your slamming poetry!
Hey Baby S.K.A.T... Let's go "Tit-For-Tat!"
But, prove to me that you want to win it!
Whatever you do...Don't obstruct my view,
Like a glass eye with a fish in it!
Hey Baby S.K.A.T...Come join my FRAT!
And show me that you have a quick hand!
You must be able to prove yourself stable,
Like a peg leg with a kick stand!
Hey Baby S.K.A.T...Don't be a BRAT!
Don't just lay down and take a nap!
Please don't fear that your slams look weird,
Like an AFRO with a chin strap!
Hey Baby S.K.A.T...Your MOM is FLAT!
OOOOH! Now what do you have to say?
I have bigger breast on MY chest.
"NOW do you want to come out and play?"
Hey Baby S.K.A.T...This is just a SPAT
To see if I can hit that spot!
So, I will put this one to bed, but like Jay-Z said...
"Little Mama...Show me what you got!"
(*This piece may have a limited audience - but don’t ALL my pieces??*)
Some of the best advice from my Fro-Co (seniors who volunteer as freshman advisors):
If you’re stuck in your room (due to the pandemic) open the windows.
Exercise every day - outside if you can (pandemic).
YOU, ain’t ALL THAT. Get used to it - maybe you were hot-crap in high school - but not HERE. You got a 1590 SAT and a 34 ACT score?
Congratulations, you’re one of the average students.
Never, ever, EVER miss a class (as a freshmen).
Visualize your morning the night before and GET UP EARLY.
Time management - TIME MANAGEMENT - TIME MANAGEMENT
Complete assignments as soon as you can.
You’re going to have 4 to 6 hours of homework every night - STUDY
Procrastination will kill you - STUDY
Go to events - be social - but leave early. “Popularity” isn’t important here - this isn’t high school.
Don’t expect to meet besties right away.
Don’t go to frat parties alone.
Hookup culture can be toxic.
Don’t date seniors - just don’t.
Never get a razor cut, your ends will split.
Oh No! Oh No! What has my son done? I hope it’s, not already to late!
He lives at a fraternity house, and surely, you know THAT intense mental state.
March has St. Patrick’s Day, Spring Break, and has, of course, Easter in it, too.
So they decided to have some great fun, yes, a fun filled month to happily ensue.
They invited a Leprechaun, the Easter Bunny, and the king of bongos, a gnome.
Apparently they convinced everyone it’d be more fun, to Simply… Stay… Home.
The whole campus flooded thru that fraternity house, in the party’s that ensued.
And they convinced the Easter Bunny to do jello shots in every color and hue.
He became known as THE BUN, yes, The One who finally, truly could fly…
And the Leprechaun danced till he dropped… to a great bongo serenade, aye.
There was no SIMPLY about this! As the music rocked the frat house, next door.
And girls were seen coming and going, at all hours, even passed out on the floor.
This was the party no one missed… even the frat house with the snobs, were there.
It’s said even some of the President’s security attended, partying there, somewhere.
Before they were done, a plan was sown, as the gnome found it’s yearly, new home.
Yes, it got there, in Washington somehow, on the top of the Real ‘White House’ Dome.
But along the way THE BUN was lost… some where along the never-ending roads.
The Leprechaun called me, our Dragons and Trolls, to help, to search the highroads.
The poor little guy was so pie eyed, when we found him along that crazy way, so…
We fixed him up, we didn’t give up, until we could send him, into that Easter Frey.
I am a psychology major in school,
I think it is pretty cool.
I can read people like words on a page.
When people smile at me, I can see their rage.
Some say my talents are fake and absurd,
I promise they are not, I can hear the unheard.
I developed this skill as a boy, and it I could not avoid.
In middle school I didn't play with a toy, instead, I read Freud.
I see it as a cursed gift,
I see a person and judge them swift.
A nail biter has generalized anxiety,
because we put too much pressure on them in society.
I am not an optimist,
nor am I a pessimist.
I don't get this half full or empty bit,
I see a glass that has water in it.
Every person's hand that I shake,
I can tell if they are true or fake.
A frat boy acts out in class and gets a suspension,
When he was younger, his father paid him no attention.
In a session, a person asks, “why do I do this?”
then they talk more, as I look into their dark abyss.
Not everyone I talk to is clinically insane,
Their mood is like the moon, it waxes and wanes.
I see things you can't see in plain sight,
the scary part is, I am almost always right.
This is not something that can be learned,
In my DNA at birth, it was burned.
I can have a conversation with a complete stranger,
I just look in their eyes and can tell if I'm in danger.
A small, frail looking boy, I examined with a computer,
I examined him, because he was a school shooter.
I can talk to you and look in your eyes,
then tell you that I saw your lies.
If you don't believe me, lets place a wager,
I promise you will lose to this psychology major.
"...when power corrupts, poetry cleanses."
--John F. Kennedy
A frat asked, will you ever forgive her?
Come! The house has a toast for you tonight!
Now forget—this is not the way you were!
Let’s walk frat, tomorrow will be alright!
Let her go and have her own way each day;
Cleanse the taint with an aromatic bath
Let done be done forever—God molds the clay;
Come! Stand with us—let Him show you the path.
When entreated with her loveliest lies
Spread your wings to the sky with open ears;
Brittle vows and fragile oaths always die
Shallow days, months, years they too disappear.
Upon the rising sun—look to the East,
A royal feast, my frat—that’s the least!
~~~~~~~~~~~*******~~~~~~~~~~~
© Joseph, October 22, 2008
© All Rights Reserved
~~~~~~~~~~~*******~~~~~~~~~~~
Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is
published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which
focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the
World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine;
Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for
the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.
~~~~~~~~~~~*******~~~~~~~~~~~
plus or minus today on a cumulus of clouds keeping me from the stars
from my sofa I can do anything it's amazing
the puzzle of life coming in a grid of ain't
isn't awesome the oer of over the top
flap your wings dear
you were right
I did
guess what
I feel a breeze
and take a soar above the firmament
now on a plane i am still for a minute turning to an hour
egad gee drat I never belong to a frat but know the alphabet
so I leave to figure the value of zero and ten fingers as if twelve i'll be a druid
A boy. Short. He goes to school and cowardly hides behind every corner, scouting out what lurks behind the next turn. Always shoved and disregarded, he seemed to have no friends. He was bullied everyday by this monster. Someone who terrorized him since day one. “Why me?” was his battle cry, just before every black eye.
A boy. Alone. He was adored at school. A big jock. He hated his life, his choices. He picked on this kid, a rather small kid, who was simply pathetic. He would catch glimpses of him, cowering behind corners, and hiding in bathroom stalls. It was this kid that made him popular. He did not hate this him, but simply saw him as an stress reliever. Anger reliever. He was praised at school, abused at home. School was his safe haven; his home away form home, but no one knew what truly went on behind that strong, muscular smile. Divorce. Abuse. Shame. His mother was a prostitute, sold every part of her just to manage to keep him alive. His father was a drunk. Abused every inch of him to relieve him of his intoxicated wounds.
A mom. A prostitute. As a little girl she was very bright. Did well in school, and even managed to get into a good college. It wasn’t until that one night she mad a stupid mistake. It was one of those fraternity parties. “All the cool kids went, right?” She would tell her self. That’s all it took. One kid. One rufie. One sip. Next thing she knew she was pregnant. She dropped out of college. Told her boyfriend it was his kid. Got married. And had a beautiful baby boy. It took five years until she told her husband the truth. The truth about the conception. He left. She was alone, receiving no support. No money. It took her one month until she found herself in the back of a strangers car in an alley way for $200.
A frat boy. A stupid hazing ritual. “Host a party. Drug a girl. Have sex.” Only he made a mistake. He got drunk. Too drunk. He had no control over his actions. The demon residing within him took over, raped a girl, and impregnated her with what ruined her dreams, his dreams. In frustration he went to get fresh air. And made one more stupid mistake. He was conscious of what he did, and knew he could not live with his mistake. Police found him hung from the fraternity balcony the next morning.
This is in dedication to all those who suffered from something that was no in there control.
Halloween was coming and the angels thought they'd have some fun,
Since they sometimes thought of dressing up before the Holy One.
They all got together and decided to do just that,
Dress up in devilish costumes...Surprise the Lord like some earthly college frat.
Each one was to make his costume from the ethereal
A very inexpensive and unusual type of material.
Then, when the Lord was looking down at earth
Don the costumes for some Heavenly mirth.
It'll be a costume party for us here in our Heavenly abode
Different from always wearing these white sophisticated robes.
We'll have a good laugh and God will understand
We're just having a laugh here in His Heavenly plan.
The moment came, all the costumes had been made
And when the Lord looked up, Heaven was a different shade.
"Something is amiss, here." , He said in the shades of that red hue
Perhaps I'll bring Satan here, to find out if this is something new.
It would be difficult to invite that guest into heaven you see
As he had been banished for all the eons of centuries.
But nothing is impossible for the Lord for He can do any feat
And just when he was to summon Satan, the Angels all shouted
"Trick or Treat"!
Actual title below, but I guess this database isn't ()-friendly
(Love)
I remember when I was thirteen,
And I met this girl Nicole,
And I thought I was in love.
My buddies asked me how did I know,
I replied,
She's such a fox,
She's got a great ass,
And she writes me notes in class,
We rolled together during couples' skate,
I walked her home, held her books,
God, I loved her looks.
I remember when I was seventeen,
And I met this girl Linda,
And I thought I was in love.
My clique asked me how did I know,
I replied,
She's such a beauty,
She's won't play dead,
And she won't throw me out of bed,
We drive around from beach to beach,
I drive her home, to see what's next,
God, I loved the sex.
I remember when I was twenty-one,
And I met this girl Livi,
And I thought I was in love.
My frat bros asked me how did I know,
I replied,
She's cute,
She's showers me,
And she calls me all day until 3,
We commute in order to satisfy needs,
I phone her home, and she seems pleased,
God, I loved the skiis.
I remember when I was twenty-four,
And I met this woman Lisa,
And I thought I was in love.
My friends asked me how did I know,
I replied,
She's magnificent,
She inspires me,
And I feel her deep inside of me,
We think and banter in parallel jest,
I set aside at times what I must feel,
In order for our paths to congeal.
(3/9/91)
It’s hard to meet someone serious at college. Everyone’s busy,
self-centeredly grinding away at their dreams. So much so that
people tell you to not even try (especially as a freshman).
I was mostly at ease with myself—as a freshman. I had an
excellent skincare routine—it was downright luxuriant,
and it kept me going, through that romantically lonely year.
But we humans hope—we buy lotto tickets to dream on—though we know the awful math. We Gen Z’s seem to have our own unique brand of loneliness, born of covid and Internet-age experience.
My romantic expectations, sophomore year, were low—ok, unmeasurable.
Looking around was depressing. There were socially awkward STEM majors, jocks, frat men (sure the world’s laid-out just for them) and ‘CSOM Bros" (business majors more interested in parlaying my Grandmère’s money than me) and the elusive, emotionally reserved, ‘regular guys.’
But the unexpected can happen. We all know how crowded campus coffee shops are—the students move in and out in tides as noisy as the real, salty ocean. And then there you were, a rumpled, 25-year-old doctoral student—from another world—asking to share my table.
The loudest thing in that room was your sense of stillness. You seemed to be a new, and distinct species, and as we talked, you seemed to somehow smooth my anxious edges. After a few meets, the thought, ‘I really like this guy,’ seemed to have its own gravity.
We somehow managed to thread the ‘too busy to care’ dynamic, and as time went by, you helped me channel my absurd, fiery, pastel-painted, first-love, early-twenty girlhood heat into something longer lasting, deep and authentic. Congratulations! It’s been two years.
Separating now, would be like removing the salt from the sea.
.
.
Songs for this:
Playing House by Kudu
So Much Mine by The Story
Saturday nights I remember
were bad in September
even worse in November
On campus, roving mobs and gangs
looking for girls to get drunk and then bang
In dorms, wise fools dropping LSD
screaming, trying to deal with reality
Frat boys throwing furniture through window glass
Mooning, blowing farts, and lighting the gas...
College days: The 'best years of my life' these hardly were
~ On my generation and me, an ineradicable slur
Just in case you're wondering:
I attended Dartmouth College
in 'Hangover, NH' from 1968 -
1972... 6 years later, 'Animal
House' was filmed there, not
surprisingly.
Calamities…
assaulted by the Memorial Day tsunami
drowned victims & floating cars--
appendix detonates during the Season of Hell
haplessly hospitalized in the UT-Austin medical zoo
Delusion of progress…
recovering in the mobile home
plodding through texts of
postmodern pointlessness--
overcome with visions of nuclear annihilation
Life is a plunge…
sensory overload & self-deconstruction--
reading "One Hundred Years of Solitude"
pondering Camus’ only philosophical question
does Jung have the answer?
Re-entry into the (ir)real world…
Labor Day blues & academic angst
surrounded by yi(u)ppies--
mesmerized by Eastern philosophy
crushed by existential dread
The Being & Nothingness of Texas...
The Longhorns won/lost The Game
primal braying & primitive reveling
avoiding the orange phallic madness
evading beer bottles hurled by frat boys
Monstrous cockroaches inherit the Earth…
discombobulated by the sadistic heat
I ram my fist into a case of Lone Star
“The horror, the horror” as Kurtz opined
can I still resurrect myself?
Five packed together in one car…
a circuitous journey to South Padre Island
silent white sand & red star suspended over the Gulf
hypnotic waves & harsh words in the condo
the Odyssey is (in)complete(d)
If we are a breed of beings,
Species of like doings-
In the Milky Way
Why not be that today?
Have I turn a bat
Lost my light of the frat
Or a Braconid
To my kind?
Why the abrupt repellency
To the unfolding literacy
How will I feed my stance
Upon the extinct of other hands?
Why the weighed loathsome
The infinite gruesome
Of my phylum-
Within my kingdom?
What's with the conscription,
The circumscprition-
Of liberty
Stamping it in entirety?
What's with the thirst of a fuehrer,
The ***** conceit of the other-
To weightily parti pris
And indulge in an hostility spree?
Can I not be mindful of the Scythrops,
Make of their trait crops,
That will acculturate
Rather than berate?
Can I not be for the domain,
My essence extended to the terrain,
Express compassion without pain
And adore for no gain?
Instead, I lushed
To hike mass agitative state,
That deludes the mind
Of my kind-
To prey on their own.