Posts tagged ‘University of Minnesota’

March 13, 2015

Prelude to Spring Break 2015

As early March had come in biting and the best were kept inside,
a span of two weeks had passed slowly and sleep had become elusive.

Professors watched second hands tick and gave out faux tests;
these symbolic life quizzes—it’s who makes it who matters.

Desks became confines as concentration went out open windows,
to welcome hands of mild weathered-breeze and new-season sun.

People—tired students, red-eyed lecturers, they didn’t exist;
regular situations became stimuli for a stagnant comatose: why?

No answers formed, except that three days later a person could be a week away,
anywhere—abroad, nothing to do, only to read titles and books which please.

Yet we all sat watching that clock, it moved slower despite us;
now, it would have to stay indoors and assess classrooms of empty chairs.

Scholars and administration would hopefully be in Spring air, taking it in,
with a cold beer in hand and tender sunrays on their back;

minds would exist as empty—blank slates, to pen a tale—an experience,
with no thoughts of what was left sitting behind, with not a hint of rigor.

March 11, 2015

A March of Yoga Pants in the Sun

A few brittle flakes of flesh fall to
the standard grey University desk in front of me.

Evidence of one memorable bench-sit sunning had brought me gifts today,
parts of me and more.

They came in gaggles of yoga pants, sparkling wet sidewalk pools—dripping,
and the wafted smell of thawing topsoil.

These odors damp and dank, some familiar and sweet, natürlich;
smells a boy can never forget.

Sharing words of Baudelaire and Schadenfreude,
Chaucer and April—but, hypocrite reader, you are not guilty,

it is I with the pen and the paper and the view and the thought in mind—
These other student-creatures saunter forward naked, empty, out of

static blasé bundles of winter climes, too Springtime is due, unawares.
I smile at the idea of my taut semi-reddened flesh, dried and cooked

in yesterday’s ultraviolet rays—as my significant other warns of skin cancer,
but this is my proud ignorant trophy to own.

I can only thin-lipped big-tooth express, and fiddle with dead skin cells
as they rest on my desk in cross-shadows and heated-light.

March 4, 2015

View from a Minneapolis Coffeehouse (human zoo)

1
Sitting an hour between classes seemed as days elapsed,
at a Washington Avenue coffeehouse table,
where tall transparent windows
beamed reflective light,
beaconing inquisition: “just look outside”.

2
Taking the hint, lazy eyes gazed to witness a fashion of layers,
dark shades of boots, and clench-fisted gloves,
blankly moving full-through their owner’s stepping saunter;

blurred these creatures came going along the sidewalk’s edge,
tracking herds in asymmetrical circles,
in late-winter’s dressings—
they gave a bob and weave dance,
contrasting against the
silhouetted patrons standing inside in line, motionless.

3
A cigarette had fallen central to the commotion,
and became squashed-to on the wet ground—
accordion-like, a thin pale smoke drifted above and into the street air,
between stoplights and cars,
vanishing with exhaust fumes
and puffed exhalation plumes of each passing pedestrian.

4
Cold feet, slick rubber wheels, and the Green Line’s steel
came around loud moving through,
bounding over the dotted masses of miniature speckled glaciers,
emitting a cacophony of moans, shrieks and squeals
one’s ears could not avoid, even within shut doors.

5
On a stage there stood warm vessels waiting
for huddles of hypothermic;
metro transit arrived late near soon to be ice-melt
and future city gutter streams.

6
I sat sipping hot sepia
with this view, with this wildlife,
wondering how the animals at the zoo
felt about the
children outside
who poked and smudged at their glass view.

Fin

***
Another thought:
June: It seems so far away, I wish it were today.

February 12, 2015

How to “know”

Words we use which we don’t “know”,
Have been framed from a storied past;
Sedimented by interpreted histories,
Always portrayed by fools as fact.

February 9, 2015

The Traffic Moves Without You

On a bridge
In broad daylight,

Somewhere in Minneapolis—

Between something is the metaphor…

Below light rail trains and buses pass,
The sun is out, yet it is cold.

Alas, we have mirages in Minnesota too—
Desert quality right here, local.

I shiver.

*

The highway buzzes; 35W is Nascar, and gridlock, and exits;
People are frantic, manic and relentless.

Commuters are driving into downtown,
Between high-rise shrines proof sponsored by your dollar.

But you can only watch.

*

On East Bank:
Students are walking fast to class,
Near traces of snow, they appear fleeting for February.

Is it spring yet?
Can a poet get two cigarettes?

See what others exhale.

*

Coffman Union is aflutter,

Not with birds,
Or domestic animals,

More so with paper and motion,
Punctual devotion for the prestigious scholar;

Little trappings and emotions,
A queue to loosen the tight collar.

Trash bins stand, cement benches sit, and the air moves through carrying few leaves and even less sentiment.

Though, they are evidence of last fall.

*

A lifetime ago, standing on a bridge like this would have been the future,
But it is now,

Somehow.

Here is to another day in the crowd,

Somehow.

The traffic moves without you.

January 26, 2015

Cold Campus Commute

The connector bus sways

On each turn and pass,

As students await in cold,

Near snow, behind glass.

December 13, 2014

On the Corner of Washington and Oak St. SE (Finals Week)

Where snowmelt and papers
Coalesce in the street,
Tense busy-minded scholars
Move fast on their feet.

November 4, 2014

Lind Hall in the Fall

Minus an hour,
Gained moonlight;
In the cold wind that blows,
Under moonlit skies.

Trees spoke to shadows—distant,
As the wind rustled
Through long hung dried leaves.

-A paper-rattle crescendo.

Night fell in the Fall;
With these empty halls, abandoned stairs, to exit doors freely.

What a season came in,
What off cry sustained.

September 22, 2014

How To: King of Notecards

King of Notecards
Working so hard

Excessive paper;
Academic waivers

Obsessed with syllabus
And what’s killing us

Oh(!) true
So few

Read a book
Write a story-

Become moved… (episteme and glory)

Ruling Notecards to
See memory through

How about you?

September 4, 2014

Oh, what a night

This lonely night,
as I scrub clean the soiled dishes.

Wet hands, same the front of my day-old shirt;
dinged pale, blotched, and loose.

Nothing in its place;
bottles falling,
corners catching everything,
dirt sticking to the floor,
as the cat meows an indecipherable slight.

All of this would be impossible if it were tried.

Still, stifling hot,
inside;
humid as the night goes on,
out there
sits a lonely parking lot.

There is no relief, save for another extreme; Midwest seasons.

-We know, we know.

Small things noticed under skin,
this sliver- this time, sharp and razor thin.

Walking into this empty living room
the radio addresses the score loudly.

Fans cheer,
announcers describe.
Sitting on the couch I put my feet up,
and sink in.

Oh, what a night.

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