Started writing it two decades ago,
Using a pseudonym for first/last time,
To protect the guilty and innocent,
In this autobiographical work.
Life got in the way of reliving it,
Work, wife, parents with health issues, now gone,
Back burners full of overflowing pots,
The sands of time quickly sifting through my fingers.
Serious writing projects completed,
A dozen plus books published,
Others yet to come, new lectures to plan,
New courses to develop and to teach.
My story untold, lessons learned unfurled,
But not not written down to pass down my truth,
About things I know much more than I'd like,
And others should learn, in old age and youth.
Place bound for now on an imposed lockdown,
Chained to my desk like galley slaves to oars,
Taping lectures, attending Zoom meetings,
Depression abounds, if not joy or sleep.
So I'm back again, reliving the past,
In memory still green, though browning in parts,
Taking poetic license where I must,
But gently as a child's butterfly kiss.
Nearly nine thousand words today for just,
One day's events that sowed a thousand seeds,
That sprouted, flourished and died or were pecked,
By hungry vultures out of existence.
Remembering a day in my career,
When I still viewed the world with bright, clear eyes,
And had not opened doors I could not close,
Or walked by closed doors I should have opened.
My world and heart were then innocent, pure,
Full of good intentions waiting to burst,
From a chest that could hardly hold them back,
Foolishly thinking they could change the world.
The painful memories I now drown in,
I will not disclose. The pain I've given,
The pain I've received, I'll whitewash away,
To protect myself and those I have loved.
I'll limit my journey to work alone,
Describe what I've learned that others should know,
Weave the personal with transparent thread,
The professional with thickest red yarn.
I'll search for an agent when it is done,
As I'd like it read, unlike indie books,
And I believe it will find a market,
For it will reveal some essential truths.
It will teach much more that all need to know,
Than my life's work: Lectures, books, articles,
Poetry, fiction, blogs, presentations,
Hope I can write it before my life ends.
My sand's running out, tick tock cries the clock,
Hope lockdown provides, end to writer's block.
Author's Note: I began writing my novel under a pseudonym as the first stanza states, but abandoned the idea and published it in 2021 under my own name--the same as my other 16 books that include textbooks, reference books, fiction and poetry collections. The novel is fiction based on my experiences at a time and under circumstances that closely mirror those of the protagonist in the novel, with mostly subtle, minor poetic license for the sake of the narrative (in the novel, not the poem). The undercurrent of criticism of both for-profit and not-for-profit higher education is anything but fictional for reasons explored in the narrative alongside humor, drama, romance and real professional highs and personal lows. The lessons I learned about my personal strengths and weaknesses, about leadership by example, and about the worth of swimming against the current when the cause is just, no matter the consequences served me well in the rest of my still vibrant academic career in other postings as a twice-tenured full professor in private and public universities, and as a division dean, chairperson, and program director. They serve me still for which I will always be most grateful.
Mar 28
Mar 28, 2026 at 6:37 PM UTC
Started writing it two decades ago,
Using a pseudonym for first/last time,
To protect the guilty and innocent,
In this autobiographical work.
Life got in the way of reliving it,
Work, wife, parents with health issues, now gone,
Back burners full of overflowing pots,
The sands of time quickly sifting through my fingers.
Serious writing projects completed,
A dozen plus books published,
Others yet to come, new lectures to plan,
New courses to develop and to teach.
My story untold, lessons learned unfurled,
But not not written down to pass down my truth,
About things I know much more than I'd like,
And others should learn, in old age and youth.
Place bound for now on an imposed lockdown,
Chained to my desk like galley slaves to oars,
Taping lectures, attending Zoom meetings,
Depression abounds, if not joy or sleep.
So I'm back again, reliving the past,
In memory still green, though browning in parts,
Taking poetic license where I must,
But gently as a child's butterfly kiss.
Nearly nine thousand words today for just,
One day's events that sowed a thousand seeds,
That sprouted, flourished and died or were pecked,
By hungry vultures out of existence.
Remembering a day in my career,
When I still viewed the world with bright, clear eyes,
And had not opened doors I could not close,
Or walked by closed doors I should have opened.
My world and heart were then innocent, pure,
Full of good intentions waiting to burst,
From a chest that could hardly hold them back,
Foolishly thinking they could change the world.
The painful memories I now drown in,
I will not disclose. The pain I've given,
The pain I've received, I'll whitewash away,
To protect myself and those I have loved.
I'll limit my journey to work alone,
Describe what I've learned that others should know,
Weave the personal with transparent thread,
The professional with thickest red yarn.
I'll search for an agent when it is done,
As I'd like it read, unlike indie books,
And I believe it will find a market,
For it will reveal some essential truths.
It will teach much more that all need to know,
Than my life's work: Lectures, books, articles,
Poetry, fiction, blogs, presentations,
Hope I can write it before my life ends.
My sand's running out, tick tock cries the clock,
Hope lockdown provides, end to writer's block.
Author's Note: I began writing my novel under a pseudonym as the first stanza states, but abandoned the idea and published it in 2021 under my own name--the same as my other 16 books that include textbooks, reference books, fiction and poetry collections. The novel is fiction based on my experiences at a time and under circumstances that closely mirror those of the protagonist in the novel, with mostly subtle, minor poetic license for the sake of the narrative (in the novel, not the poem). The undercurrent of criticism of both for-profit and not-for-profit higher education is anything but fictional for reasons explored in the narrative alongside humor, drama, romance and real professional highs and personal lows. The lessons I learned about my personal strengths and weaknesses, about leadership by example, and about the worth of swimming against the current when the cause is just, no matter the consequences served me well in the rest of my still vibrant academic career in other postings as a twice-tenured full professor in private and public universities, and as a division dean, chairperson, and program director. They serve me still for which I will always be most grateful.
If you'd like to hear one of many sample readings of my poetry, you can do so at https://youtu.be/Fy5UfJJ8vOI
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