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 Oct 2010
Rachel Fix
The ocean breeze caresses her skin
Though she's still in Math 103
It tickles her face and tangles her hair
Though she's still in room 118

The sun peaks out from behind the clouds
Yet she's still in Math 103
It warms the sand beneath her feet
Yet she's still in room 118

She falls in love with the sun and the sea
While she's still in room 118
At this point she's not sure she's going to pass
Pointless old Math 103
This was written April 4th, 2007, in my statistics class. Room 118 is the biggest lecture hall on my campus (seats 150) and every class taught in it is that much harder to pass because it's so big that nobody pays attention.
 Oct 2010
Jacky Xiang
All perish whence they quest for immortality,
Such foolish dreams will result in fatality.
Critters struggle in nets of ersatz reality,
Hormonal clashes unbalance our morality.

Under the influence by budding, ravishing thyme,
Oft' that sunny beam leaves me doing pantomime.
Chaste clues and envy droughts left me mellowing,
Such pain ipso facto I can't kiss this porcelain.

My seat of notions drives me to calculate,
While undead, fatigued, I falsely formulate.
Floundering in viscous fluids, I am drowning...
My verdant sail is half-mast: lonely, frowning.

Within moon-lit meadows, shadows flow cursively,
Beyond the kaleidoscope lay a rustic key.
Beg you pardon the rust and blackened fissures,
Pardon those slights to open eternal treasures.

To crave two heart beats align in synchrony,
To sluice my fingers through the strands of memory.
Embracing silvery asps soaring on the breeze,
My sight spies thy adieu and I shatter apiece.

Un-writing errors, distantly, unstumbling,
The abyss: now a star, wings unfurling.
'Tween the heavens fell meteoric golds,
Sinusoidal cascades of such sublime codes.

Traversed steadily upon the gilded firmaments,
Was so small, blind to the unseen monuments.
To be offered aristocratic absolution,
From my humble plebeian resolution.

I am sublime. 'Hold my dichotomous, nay,
Such cantankerous introversion within, eh?
Wrote this throughout the day on a school day (Wednesday). If I was told I was going to produce so much scribbles in the morning, I'd have called them insane. Anyhow, just a slice of my mind on this sunny day. In regards to the title: there's always some insanity in adoration, but a piece of reason also exists within that madness. :)
 Oct 2010
imagine aluminum
the lion pack traveling side
by side, though not evenly;
colliding shoulder to shoulder
territorial and instinctual.

trying to tame the manes
beneath logo-baring headgear,
hoping to hide soulful eyes
behind dark shades of plastic.

clothing loose to make up
for skin too tight, laughter
bouncing off cement and
rubber sneaker soles.

that musky scent of male
mingling with each individual
mixture of hopes and dreams
hits me in full force, leaving me
at a standstill long after the last
of you has passed me by.
 Oct 2010
M Lundy
See
I’m a smiling gun.
Trick you then treat you
To a taste of pain.
I taste of hate
Anger in my bones when you bite
Skin of plague and teeth of plight
How could you ever survive?

But I survive when she comes
I flourish in the black-spotted sun
I no longer want night unless it’s with her
And my only reason for day is to
See her face.

I wish for blindness, if only for a moment
A better sensation of touch
With lush uncertainty
Tracing every outline
The boundaries, where skin meets air,
my fingertips won’t cross.

In the morning I take her home
Go back to my apartment
I’m greeted by my roommates
And I shower.
Thinking about these nights
I have to brace myself with the tile

I get out, dress, and walk to class
She meets me in the hallway.
I lose my breath and almost my nerve as always
Talking to her is easier, but still
Hard at the same time.
I don’t want to mess up.
But Christ, there she is.

I can see again.
Copyright 2010 M.E. Lundy
 Oct 2010
D Conors
Just gimme a call,
we'll do coffee
at that shop in the mall.

I have lotsa time,
minutes to spare,
my cellular plan is fine,
not that you really care.

Just gimme a ringie,
I downloaded a tone,
we can have some coffee-
beats sitting around all alone.

___
Coffee and cell:
http://beautyineverything.com/5063911283
d.
10 oct. 10
 Oct 2010
PK Wakefield
thrice the bell is talking bronze skin over the
courtyard young cells.

                 soporific

wagging skirts, the measured abstraction of laughing
blond hair. by wet scalps busting through the air
impulsed to dry halls unloud
whispered learning. droll and fleet, a mouth boorishly
pouting a bed of weak ideal knowledge
to lay, to prone, in its verbal belly a thrashing distaste

                      they're

                 so
bored

                                   gooutside
flat feeted lady's . the golden dead trees beckon
with gaunt branches failing drips

                       why am i?in this little box
 Oct 2010
PK Wakefield
from
boyish lips
slips
witty words
(full of empty) -ness

slap
at girlish
ears

hoping to find purchase
on
a
l
abaster
thoughts

(while only concerned
with) up
skirts
(what is)
 Oct 2010
Kimberle Killips
Maybe if I sway in my
Seat a little I’ll be
Able to stay awake.
A sip of cold water from
The bottle conveniently placed
On my right could jolt me
Back for a few seconds.
Perhaps if I think of all
The things I must do today…
No, I should listen.
Listen to him explain something
I’ve already read from the
Lecture twenty minutes ago.
Could the clock tick away
Any slower?
Okay, thirty more minutes and
It’s all over. I think I can make it.
Fidgeting is doing nothing to stay aware,
Water just makes me have to go.
A little nap won’t hurt,
Right?
 Oct 2010
Keith Ren
the asker
the taker
the lazy hole-maker
the me and my watching the ground

the tested
the failing
the canvasless sailing
the turnings and ever unfounds

the grati-
tude giving
the talented living, but
the passions are buried in mounds

so ready
the dying
and underground lying
I'm blue
pull me under earth's browns
I used to be good
at taking tests
 Oct 2010
Braden Campbell
Finals, studying, cramming.
My hand scratches more and more notes into the tiny margins of the page.
The clock turns to 1 AM, but I’m not done. I have to pass. I have to stay awake-

The alarm blares out 6:30.
Shower, get dressed, make myself somewhat presentable.
All in machine-like precision.

Period 2, my sweaty palms are wiped against my skirt, my leg shakes beneath the table.
Textbook passages flit across my mind as I stare at the first question.
And then it happens. I know the answer to the first problem. And to the second. And to the third.

I smile. It is the last day before a much-needed summer break.
Sign yearbook, pose for picture, repeat.
Life is good.

One day into break my mom comes past my room while on the phone. “We’ll see you in a week. Yeah, the girls really excited too.”
Confusion, then annoyance, then anger.
She forgot to tell me we’re going to see my grandparents. Again.

I later try to explain that we’re already seeing them for two weeks in August. Why go now?
She felt pressured, coerced, intimidated by my grandparents.
Don’t give in to peer pressure, Mother.

Summer continues.
Cousins, aunts, and uncles to see.
No time for friends or social interaction other than small talk and forced smiles.

I complain.
My sister calls me pathetic, mean, and selfish for wanting any time to myself.
I walk away.

Later, I turn to my mom. “Please can be go home?”
“Don’t be rude, sweetheart.
“Besides, we’ve got places to go and people to see.”

I really wanted to take some summer classes, get ahead in my education.
To my family, the concept is unknown, foreign, and queer.
It’s better I sit and not talk.

One week later, I beg my mom to take us home.
“Honey, they’re your family. You should be closer to them.
“Besides, we’ve got places to go and people to see.”

The summer continues much the same way.
I smile, I laugh, I nod at all the right times.
But inside I am miserable. I would much rather be at home reading by the creek.

And now that I am home I must bid you adieu,
For I have places to go and people to see.
 Oct 2010
Joseph Childress
I'm as
The starving squirl
That stashed his last pistachio
Is he mad!?
No,
He's nuts
And he has guts also
For when his seeds grow
His young
Will have the tree

More than martyr
More than father
Thinking further
Before his daughters
Were even thought of

He did things
So they could eat
Endless fruit
Is what they'll reap
From what I sowed
Some time ago
 Oct 2010
Joseph Childress
There were
Words upon a page
Written chronologically.
Chronically illogical
Logically impossible
Possibly an anomaly
And that would be
Phenominal

"The fate of failures, is perfection"

Attempts at great
Aren't practical
Without practice
Wrong turns had to be made
To find a new world
Order a new atlas
Errors addressed
At last
We find where to go
Because of someone's
Shortcomings

Trials
I err
Human is what I prefer
It's a blessing
My preference
For learning my life lessons
Is by living
Yes, I listen
But I'm missing the point
I have perfect vision
But Im def-
Finitely trying to zero in
Do you hear me?
Or at least see
Where I'm coming from
Nothing
The only option is more

If I plunder then fall
I'll spring
Before summer
Without having cold feet
Cowardice
Never climbed mountains
But a wise guy
Kept his toes
And still walks
The open road

Success
Is but a mile a way
My failures
Are just footprints
It's easy
To see
Where I tripped
But know
I never tripped
About it
When I reach
What seems to be
Overnight success
Just know
How you see me
Is the night before
And it took me
Ten thousand miles
To get to this
Opened door
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