Best University Poems
Like Harry Potter, the sorting hat (my mom)
has placed me in a bloody, crimson colored school.
It’s disorienting, as I go about, the logos are wack.
Poor little rich girl
no beachside lovers
this interminable, scorching summer.
I’m swept up by scholastic spirit.
Can you hear it? Cause it’s deafening me,
on this cool, dry, Boston orientation day.
As we finished our morning 8k jog,
the sunrise blossomed, painting hot lava clouds
with hues of yellow, orange and pink.
We’re traipsing unfamiliar paths,
It’s not what we’re used to, the roads are uneven
and the architecture’s all boxy and wrong.
.
.
Songs for this:
New Toy by Lene Lovich
Better After All by Jonatha Brooke
Now At Last by Feist
(a disastrous morning Sonnet)
I am the very model of a girl who’s late for morning meal,
my charger failed, the printer jammed, the morning’s start has been surreal
I lost a scrunchy and a shoe, I had to use some dry shampoo
my Keurig had no k-cups too, so I’m feeling like a total shrew!
Our pre-dawn jog went really well, but now the morning's gone to hell
I couldn’t find clean underwear, I’m desperate to charge my cell,
I got some soap in my left eye, I stubbed my toe and nearly cried
While brushing teeth and hair in haste, I wonder why I even try.
Anna’s got an attitude; she’s not someone who’s normally rude
her hookup so ‘experimental’ has an irregular sleep-in schedule
how’s she going to get to class if she’s babysitting sleeping-lass
I guess I’m not the only one, who’s schedules simply come undone.
I woke her with a gentle voice and soothed her out—we had no choice
My morning happened to sideways go—but it fueled this grandiloquent tale of woe!
.
.
A song for this:
Something Stupid by Michael Bublé and Reese Witherspoon
Home to President Woodrow Wilson
Ivy scaled Monmouth’s outer walls
Laughter of youth from decades past
Resonated in marble-floored halls
The theater building was set apart
Further down Cedar Avenue
Another spirit stalked the stage
Where college actors made debuts
A gift from the Monmouth Race Park
Actors’ dressing rooms were stalls
Where a stealthy ghost spied silently
As thespians answered cue calls
Arriving early one April night
Eager to recite the witty lines
Of “Blithe Spirit’s” Madam Arcati
Rehearsing her séance foremost in my mind
In character I asked, “Is anyone there?”
Was it a true spirit who answered?
A short young man swept down the aisle
Stage lights my vision hampered
“Hello,” I called as he disappeared
Into the workroom below the stage
For a moment I stood frozen
Losing my place on the script’s page
Curious, I followed his path
But the work area was empty
Where did he go? Whom did I see?
Unanswered questions tormented me
A bit of fear entered my heart
To doors above the seats I raced
No one else was in the theater
My terror was not misplaced
But as I opened the door to leave
Professor Harrison entered
Stunned, I gasped, and he had to ask
“What’s wrong?” (I was usually centered.)
“A man came in as I rehearsed,”
I panted, “wearing a shiny hat
And a jacket of dark blue satin.
He vanished, gone, just like that.”
My mentor grinned as I composed
“Believe me, what I’m saying’s true.”
Harrison smiled and said calmly
“Huh, I guess you saw him, too.”
I wasn’t first, perhaps not last
To see the lost jockey searching
For the stable that held his steed
As the great race was approaching
*October 16, 2014
True story. It turned out many students had seen this jockey's ghost. Professor Harrison worked on set construction and I could sometimes hear him talking to the "ghost." Happy Halloween!
Today is the first day of school
the summer too short at the pool
school days are long
this is so wrong
I think going to school isn’t cool
My father insists that I go
though I argued loud with a No
I squawk and squirm
I’m no bookworm
sure I know all there is to know
Dad threatened to kick me out
no matter my perfect pout
I’m no fool
went to school
now the classics I can spout
At university I excelled
never an instance was I expelled
got the knowledge
finished college
at graduation my Dad’s heart swelled
It’s May 18th, 2022. I’m poised, alone, heart pounding, in front of my laptop, waiting for courage, my finger hovering over the return key, like a child hoping the timing of my keystroke will bring me luck.
I took this summer off - which drove my mom absolutely CrAzY. “You CAN’T!” she’d said last month, only to be overruled by my Grandmère. Now I’m home for summer break and tonight she’s flush with exasperation.
“You should have applied for a dean’s fellowship,” she said, her voice rising as she rubs her hands together, as if scrubbing for an operating room procedure, “and a summer research position!” She’s practically twirling with suppressed emotion.
I get why she’s upset. She only goes “deep end” when she's worried about my future. She knows what’s needed to get a medical school slot in 2025 like other moms know their favorite recipe - after all, she’s done this twice before.
Leong’s upstairs, avoiding this family scene. When I described my family expectations as “hustle culture,” to my roommates, they all understood - we’re that much alike.
Step (my stepfather) is trying to de-escalate and calm us (her) down. “Look,” he says, holding up his hands like someone talking down a gunman, “NEXT summer she’ll buckle down, get in more volunteer hours and get a dean’s research fellowship” he says, sliding his eyes to me. I nod “ok” almost imperceptibly. “It’s ok to start grinding sophomore year - that’s what I did.”
OOOO! She turned to him and if looks could kill, he would have exploded like someone in a Tarantino movie.
By some psychic grace my Grandmère chose that moment to call. Step and I fled the den like it were on fire, going our separate ways to halve the chance of being followed.
In my dark room, lit only by the light of my MacBook, a quiver runs through me, and I finally press return. My grades for Spring semester - and Freshman year come up. My eyes water and I relax back against my chair when I see “Dean's List.”
I smile to myself, and slowly, fiercely I clench my fist with a “YESS!" As I postulate my victorious reprieve.
For the lady who resides at 7th floor
I meditate as I close my eyes, so much of her glamorous face,
The loveliest aesthetic art that brings me joy and grace –
The definite hue of her skin, her small black eyes, her ethereally crafted lips;
If she were a waitress I’m confident her pocket would be flooding with tips.
O, beautiful is she, if I that may say; she is like a flower that never fades,
She’s transparent, like a lake – her teeth pure white, shiny as new knife blades.
I infer, she is adorable when she sleeps and at dawn when she does awake,
Her kindness and her pulchritude, they mesmerize me –yup it’s true, I don’t fake.
Yesterday I awed with every smile she had thrown at me every time that I’d talked,
But I grew even most in need and in love with her the minute she turned and walked –
And by my lips, I swear, if she offers me a chance to kiss,
If that happenstance ever presents itself I’d definitely not miss.
The truth is simple, she appeases me and I so ample wish she would be mine;
But she frightens me –nevertheless, soon I’d dare her out on a date to dine.
I’m in a psychology class and as part of it we filled out several, detailed, personality evaluations. They said these were helpful in forming a psychological profile of the freshmen classes each year and of particular interest were these COVID years.
The professor said she’d be available, before finals, to review them with us if we were interested - and I volunteered. So in our review we’re going over my results and she says: “Your trauma history could produce this constellation of wit, wiriness and attachment-anxiety.”
I flinch, irritably, thinking, my “trauma history?” What, “trauma history?” Wondering if - maybe the professor was looking at the wrong paper?
She read my reaction and the consternation on my face, started flipping through the papers, and said, “According to the history you submitted, your father was killed when you were seven and you were hospitalized for...”
“OMG” I thought, blanking out what she was saying, “How could I have forgotten THAT?” Even for a moment. Then I sag with this oppressive, blanket-like wave of guilt at having put the crash so far out of my mind.
“The dismissal of childhood trauma is quite normal,” she said, putting her hand on my arm, “You have to put trauma out of your everyday thoughts - to get on with your life.” She assured me. “It’s quite normal.”
How many blind sides do I have? I wondered
We decided to take a walk.
If the moon and stars still existed,
they were hidden behind clouds.
Then a fog hit us like a wave, a cloud
that had run out of gas and crashed on us,
to further shrink the perceptible world.
Ordinary, walking people became vague
phantoms that could loom, in film noir
black and white out of the fog,
suddenly sharpen and colorize,
only to disappear again in moments.
Sounds, out of sync, or garbled, came sharply
from odd angles, turning that fifth sense unreliable.
Noises, at first muted, were abruptly amplified as
if the hand of that ghostly vapor ran a soundboard.
A man, moving in stalker-like silence, clops,
like a clydesdale on cobblestone as he passes close.
I half expected a distant fog horn to announce
the passing of a ghost ship where all be welcome.
To take the hero's journey, I left the ordinary world.
Now my heart is wildly pounding because the wolf is at my door.
That tireless executioner craves the very blood therein my veins,
but I set out to defeat it, so I guess I can’t complain.
The wolf is known as “ignorance” - when he’s posing as a sheep.
The most frightening aspect of the wolf is that he has a home - in me.
I find myself both - the hunter and the hunted.
I’m the question and the answer, the cure and the cancer,
the music and the dancer, the magic and the necromancer.
So you've been around the world and
Have university degrees and
Married
With lots of trophies?
With all you have-
You should be ashamed
Throughout your life-
No wisdom you have gained?
So this is your worth and
this is your cost
today you have everything
so tomorrow- will be lost.
I lay here scribbling words
Feeling guilty as can be,
Who cares about the starving children
and bombarding vanity?
Just- I am an adult and
i don't know how to help
Innocence dying
Whilst others sit on wealth.
No.... no I have no money,
Not enough to share
Though trying to express
that i really care.
With knowledge they are fighting
wishing for mere food and
Here are the others-
Who are selfish and so rude.
Been around the world?
What about the starving children?
Have university degrees?
What about the starving children??
Your married?
What about the starving children???
Lots of trophies?
WHAT ABOUT THE STARVING CHILDREN????
Sincerely wish you a great holiday and
Your shopping is well spent!
God help me I am starving and
I'm innocent.
(*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.
Enrollment day begins for us
the moment we arrive.
We begin our education
in the University of life.
The subjects taught are vital.
They're stressful and demanding.
They require our full attention,
in our search for understanding.
Lessons are taught over and over,
again and again and again.
And every lesson will be repeated,
until we understand.
No one will ever drop out.
No one will ever fail.
Every lesson will be taught
with intricate detail.
Pride will come to us all
from lessons we have learned.
We'll then walk with confidence,
with the wisdom we have earned.
Choices are what shapes us,
with experience and strife.
Lessons taught are not forgot,
in The University OF Life.
We have to write a lot of essays
and I love it - the twisting of words,
the molding of nouns and verbs until
thoughts are clear and paragraphs
sit symmetrical and idealized.
I’ll write a paper, and scowling,
write another version and another
- lavishing them with attention
until every word is perfect.
I miss handing in papers though
- paper is substantial, not virtual
and even if a paper wasn’t well received
at least you took a tree down with you.
.
.
“You have to write an essay every week, 2000 words” the professors say. The classes groan - but I smile.
Can't believe I'm penning this mess,
but I must address the gifted poetess,
Jan Allison has a degree from the
distinguished Poot-Toot University,
she has a PhD in Fartology.
An expert she is,
and, gee whiz,
anyone who writes of farts
so funnily,
is the "Queen of Flatulence,"
a PoetrySoup decree!
And yes, I know some are offended
by potty humor,
but we need comic relief in
the literary til we laugh ourselves
into a stupor,
as this world has much strife,
even if it's gaseous,
laughter heals life. ~
“GO BLUE!” I hear the crowd scream,
the fans all get excited and blow off steam-
University of Michigan rocks college football,
as the Wolverines prevail and Ohio State falls.
Maize and Blue with Michael Jordan jumpman,
jerseys to die for, everyone dressed in the stands-
A touchdown is scored and the crowd exclaims,
“HAIL TO THE VICTORS! Tom Brady in Hall of Fame.
I grew up in a family where you must marry a fan,
so, I married my Nicholas, he loved me for who I am-
We have season tickets in a Big House suite-
to the Michigan Wolverines, you can’t even compete!
Sports Shorts
May 19, 2017