"yale" poems
There are three versions of this poem. only one of them is available on the internet. This first version is from the New Yorker in a 1941 issue. It is the earliest version and the one that is quoted all over the internet.
To My Valentine
by Ogden Nash (1902-1971)
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.
I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than gin rummy is a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.
As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you as much as a beggar needs a crutch,
And more than a hangnail irks.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As the High Court loathes perjurious oaths,
That's how you're loved by me.
The next version is the lyric of a song from the Broadway musical "One Touch of Venus" (1943) by Ogden Nash, J S Perelman and Kurt Weill. Nash wrote this lyric. It is not on the internet that I could find. I got it from the sheet music.
HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.
As a sailor's sweetheart hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a wife detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than a hangnail hurts.
I love you more than commercials are a bore,
And more than a grapefruit squirts.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As a bride would resent a blessed event,
That's how you are loved by me.
More than a waitress hates to wait ,
Or a lioness hates the zoo,
Or a batter dislikes those called third strikes,
That's how much I love you.
As much as a lifeguard hates to swim,
Or a writer hates to read,
As Hays office frowns on low cut gowns,
That's how much you I need.
I love you more than a hive can itch,
And more than a chilblain chills.
I yearn for you in an ivy clad igloo,
As a liver yearns for pills.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As a dachshund abhors revolving doors,
That's how you are loved by me.
The third is from the book "Marriage Lines: notes of a student husband" It was published in 1964 and contains a revised version of the poem with a much different ending. This too is not on the internet. I got it from the book.
TO MY VALENTINE
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or an odalisque hates the Sultan's mates,
That's how much I love you.
I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than commercials are a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.
As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you truer than a toper loves a brewer,
And more than a hangnail irks.
I love you more than a bronco bucks,
Or a Yale man cheers the Blue.
Ask not what is this thing called love;
It's what I'm in with you.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
Memories can become blurry, over time,
like underdeveloped photographs,
or incomplete, like sunlight through blinds.
Our lives move ever forward,
like the inflexible patterns of stars.
Once fevered and immediate events
recede, with frightening, doppler effect,
as remembered yesterdays,
become forgotten yesterdays.
New Haven was abuzz. The hotels were booked and moving trucks had taken every free parking space for miles. Last Sunday was freshmen move-in day and 1,554 freshmen moved into their Yale residences. It’s one of our favorite days of the year. The hubbub of freshmen moving, lunching, shopping and later, seeing off their departing parents, created a delicious emotional chaos that we watched unfold, like a Greek chorus.
The movie ‘Love Actually’ begins and ends with montages of people greeting friends, family and loved ones at Heathrow airport - it’s emotional and heartwarming. Move-in days are a lot like that - with their gordian knots of beginnings and endings. My parents were nervous and emotional on my freshman move-in day - as was I - but we all tried, desperately, not to show it.
Welcome to New Haven freshmen, everything’s beautiful, but you’ll get too busy to enjoy it much.
We upperclassmen move in tomorrow.
Aug 24, 2023
Aug 24, 2023 at 1:20 PM UTC
Last weekend was “Parent’s” weekend at Yale. A time when parents are formally invited to visit. They have receptions and other events - but no potato-sack races (which is disappointing). My parents couldn’t come, they’ve never come to parent’s weekend, but Leong’s parents came again, from Macao, China, a 16,060-mile round trip.
There was a time when boys could tank my self-confidence with a word. When the male gaze seemed overpowering. I’d felt constantly evaluated - but I’ve evolved - somewhat. We’re going to a party. Lisa, Leong, Sunny, Anna and I - we’ve got our shine on and we’re drawing looks. Well, ok, Lisa’s drawing looks and I’m in the general frame.
Lisa sneezed, “The air quality’s bad tonight,” she announced, wiping her nose with a Kleenex.
“I don’t have any allergies,” I bragged. “Me neither,” Leong added.
“If you can breathe the air in China,” I said, “You’re golden.”
Leong laughed “Tài zhēnshí liǎo,” (Too true!) She agreed.
As we left the more street-lit part of the path, the moon, wandering in and out of the clouds, created moving shadows that peopled the darkness with phantoms. Was that impression the paranoia of fatigue? I haven’t been getting much sleep lately. Or maybe it’s October and Halloween’s just around the corner.
I was walking in the rear, nestled in the mingled scents of my roommates' perfumes that, like rare blossoms, enchanted and excited the child in me. I wasn’t paying attention, and I stubbed my toe on a misaligned sidewalk tile. Don’t you hate the gap between stubbing your toe and feeling the pain?
Oct 11, 2023
Oct 11, 2023 at 8:15 PM UTC
Anastasia was my friend
her face was always pale
she always wore a ribbon
& her daddy went to yale
she was the talk of all the playground
the new girl always is
excited, unready to settle
like her coke-a-cola's fizz
until she sat beside me
& tapped me very slow
"i want to run away," she said
"but i don't know where to go"
i too was quite unpleased
"come and follow me"
so there we packed our knapsacks
and took off for Belize
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 2:26 AM UTC
Even though you know some tea, you aren’t automatically pressed to spill ALL of it. Today’s tea features our roommate Sophie and two grody flavors of betrayal. BTW, I’m being magnanimous by changing the names and not doxxing the creeps.
To set our stage, a doe (we’ll call her Britney) high-school friend of Sophie’s is a Yale freshie this year. They were buddy-hollys back in the day and they’ve been clinging since their reunion.
On another track, Sophie’s been talking to a guy (we’ll call him Cory) in her English class recently and it was clear they were “in-like” but their clocked-up schedules were corking their algorithms.
Sophie and Cory finally got a shot last weekend when they attended a party together. However, it turns out later, at that party, Britney snuck off with Cory and smashed him (they were observed, and everyone carries a camera these days).
So, poor Sophie suffered two betrayals in one night. Cory went-hiking on her and Britney - who she'd told about Cory - did the other woman chisel.
Of course, Cory (just another dog-boy) is already forgotten but the broken friendship drama will live on forever. Why Britney chose to betray Sophie we’ll never know, because that ***** is dead to us.
Nov 14, 2022
Nov 14, 2022 at 12:06 PM UTC
there now is a graduate from Yale
who lies boldly
getting red and then pale
when asked about girls
and high school beer swirls
he swears he never drank too much ale
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 5:01 PM UTC
Abbie hailed a yellow top cabbie
Brenda had a sister in-law named Glenda
Cate ran late on her first date
Delly ate seven bowls of lemon jelly
Edwina drove to the town of Catalina
Fran burnt her finger on the very hot frying pan
Gwen had a strong yen to go and see her aunty Jen
Hope bought her husband a towing rope
Isobel fell under the magician's spell
Joann took her mother on a holiday in a caravan
Kylie went to the dentist with her brother Wylie
Lesley liked listening to Elvis Presley
Marcia enjoyed eating a freshly baked focaccia
Nell saw a turtle coming out of his shell
Olga lived at the top end of the river Volga
Primrose had a Pinocchio nose
Queenie knitted a multicolored beanie
Ruth could never tell the whole truth
Stacey loved playing dress ups with her friend Tracey
Tilly behavior was always rather silly
Una bought a house in the suburb of Yagonna
Verity wanted to be a well known celebrity
Winifred never stopped taking about Alfred
Xena was presented with a court subpoena
Yale told her teacher a tall tale
Zealand ventured out into the bushland
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC
Our summer fellowships are over! We learned a lot - for instance - how summer’s a lot less fun when you’re hemmed-up, inside working. I mean, we preesh’d the clinical experience, the learning, and especially how good these fellowships will look on our med-school applications - seriously - but there were a hundred rules - aren’t rules incompatible with summer?
Hmm, Ok, let’s see, something poetic..
As the summer sun's blistering radiance waned, shadows,
muscled by sunrays to the marginal edges and corners,
gradually spread, like water - soothing, lenifying and assuaging
simmered nerves with their refreshing, canopied touch.
If sunlight scorched with heat, twilight soothed and gentled,
while varnishing, the dimming world with rainbow, event-horizons,
larger, more inventive, colorful and glorious than any mere mortal art.
Night gradually squeezed, unseen, through those vivid sunset cracks,
and refreshing night-air, drawn in by the last, escaping updrafts of heat,
rustled cooling relief to weary workers seeking the solace of evening and home.
back to unpoetic realities..
When work was finished, we’d retreat from the heat, racing up to the rooftop pool, like two happy porpoises out of school.
Whoever invented poolside food delivery, should win the Nobel Prize for ‘thank you very much.’ We wouldn’t go back to our rooms until it was dark and we’d started to prune.
Now, we’ve a month to relax before our Junior year begins. We got letters from Yale that said, “As upperclassmen..” “Upperclassmen!” We shouted as we danced in hand-holding circles, singing, “Upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen. upperclassmen.”
We’ve grown so much at Yale.
Aug 2, 2023
Aug 2, 2023 at 12:05 PM UTC
I was two years behind Art Garfunkel at Columbia College, but I never met him. Nonetheless, like millions of other people, I consider him to have the most beautiful singing voice of the 20th century. Art's singing of BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER is celestial.
I was two years ahead of George W. Bush at Andover, but I never met him. Nonetheless, too many people voted to make him President of the United States twice. W. was not very smart. He did not do well academically at Andover and Yale and Harvard Business School. But his father, George H. W. Bush, had gone to both Andover and Yale, and later became head of the CIA, then Vice President, then President. Legacy was powerful in the 1960s, and still is.
I wish I could meet Art Garfunkel and thank him for the enormous pleasure he has given to millions of people. I would never wish to meet W.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jun 3, 2025
Jun 3, 2025 at 10:37 PM UTC
*In his breakthrough work of channeled literature, I Am the Word, author and medium Paul Selig recorded an extraordinary program for personal and planetary evolution as humankind awakens to its own divine nature. I Am the Word is an energetic transmission that works directly on its readers to bring them into alignment with the frequency of the Word, which Paul's guides call the energy of "God in Action."
Paul was born in New York City and received his Master's Degree from Yale. He had a spiritual experience in 1987 that left him clairvoyant. As a way to gain a context for what he was beginning to experience, he studied a form of energy healing, working at Marianne Williamson's Manhattan Center for Living and in private practice. In the process, he began to "hear" for his clients, and much of Paul's work now is as a clairaudient, clairvoyant, channel, and empath.
Paul has led channeled energy groups for many years. In 2009 he was invited to channel at the Esalen Institute's Superpowers symposium, where he was filmed for the upcoming documentary film Authors of the Impossible. He is the subject of the feature-length documentary film Paul & the Word which will be released late summer, 2011. His workshops in 2011 include Edgar Cayce's A.R.E. in New York City, the Jungian Center in Vermont and the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, Calfornia. Also a noted playwright and educator, Paul serves on the faculty of NYU and directs the MFA in Creative Writing Program at Goddard College. He lives in New York City, where he maintains a private practice as an intuitive and conducts weekly, channeled energy groups.*
Personal and planetary evolution- Live channeling with Paul Selig
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAgh2pXDDls&feature;=youtu.be
Waking Universe With Guest Paul Selig
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7BI0Lgb9Kk&feature;=youtu.be
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
That Spring afternoon of my Upper-Middler year at Andover, I had just spoken with G. G. Benedict, the man who controlled, in effect, at which college you would matriculate. Columbia and Yale were at the top of my list. "Fine, fine, Tod. You've done very well here," he said. That evening, every student found a place to sit in George Washington Hall auditorium. Oppenheimer was to speak. I sat in the balcony, but I could see the man well. He looked as though he might have been around plutonium too long. Gaunt, pale, he began speaking. I cannot remember a single word he said that evening, but I will never forget the portentous feeling that came over me: DREAD (or should I say "dead"?) Over half a century after Oppenheimer's speech, humanity sits precariously on the cusp of extinction. A hydrogen bomb is 1,000 times more powerful than the atomic bombs we dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and there are thousand of hydrogen bombs we know about on Earth presently, not just the two atomic bombs Oppenheimer had. If only one hydrogen bomb accidentally explodes, scientists say that explosion will be enough to cause "Nuclear Winter." The sky around Earth will grow so dark that sunlight will not be able to penetrate it; thus, nothing will be able to grow and we will all starve to death. Every living creation on Earth will die. I think Oppenheimer, as smart as he was, knew, at least subconsciously, he had lit the fuse to inevitable annihilation of all living things.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Apr 27, 2023
Apr 27, 2023 at 4:03 AM UTC
Uncle Sam sometimes whispers a little bit too close.
I’ve felt so many scraps scraping against my cheek-
those numerous numberless things he carries in his
beard by ‘accident’. So many things get stuck there
and I feel them all, whenever he dares, and he dares
often, to whisper alittlebittooclose. One time the grey
beard leaned in and touched me in my sleep and
planted in me strange dreams of faraway gothic towers
passing off as libraries: Harvard dreams, Princeton
dreams, Yale dreams: I haven’t quite slept since. The
shaggy scraps stuck to the forest of strands on his face
would never let me. They scratch away at me often
even in the brightness of day, and claw jaggedly in the
darkness of night. Little heart of mine has lost its own
beat. It beats to the beat of a beat on a beat from a beat
with a beat by a beat which beats those beats and beats
beats that beat not of my beat. Little heart of mine, when
did you lose your own pulse? Why won’t you tell your family
that Uncle Sam’s whispers are more than whispers? Why
won’t you tell your family what Uncle Sam does to you
in the brightness of day when everyone is smiling as Uncle
Sam pats your shoulder? Little heart of mine, why doesn’t
your family know what Uncle Sam does in the darkness
of night as he whispers whispers under your whispers and
what he does beneath your skin? Didn’t you know, little heart?
They have laws that say that greybeards shouldn’t be digging
into little boys’ insides, don’t they.
(Uncle Sam has travelled
far and wide, far and wide to tell me lies.
Recall that this is not the first time…)
But little heart you know why. This is not the first time.
It is the natural progression for a Coconut like you:
darkness of night on outside and brightness of day on inside.
Your skin doesn’t matter; you all taste the same.
Cut you off the homeland-tree and cart you all away.
Then, in this way we can say and say the homeland is “Rising”-
Uncle Sam tells the world of his diversity in selection
of little boys to touch with strange dreams.
And I like the feel of the scraps in his beard. Maybe
I can become one of them. One with them.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
I wonder if they're happy.
They sure do seem so.
They're always talking about stealing their daddy's Jaguars and having beer blasts and getting in to fights and being bros and getting tan and buying new swimsuits and getting a call from different modeling agencies and crashing cars and smoking cigarillos and drinking fancy wine and going to their beach house and deciding between Harvard and Yale or Porsche and Mustang and did we win the football game and making new friends and oh my God Stacy actually said that and dude, I totally ****** her and my math teacher is such a ***** and my parents are putting me into boarding school and check out my new Jordans and did you watch the sunset last night?
I don't know if they're having fun, but it sure seems like it.
*I wonder if they're having fun. It sure seems like it.
They're always talking about hitch hiking to the next city over and going to shows and drinking PBR and sneaking out at night and yeah dude, that party was sick and my tumblr is so famous right now and check out my new denim jacket and smoking **** and getting in to fights and lifting cigarettes from stores and Austin and Katie slept together and Kyle broke edge and I'm still working at McDonalds and yeah I'm still driving my '93 Ford Ranger and smoking hookah and watching Mean Girls and yeah I love the ocean and check out my new Kicks and did you watch the sunset last night?
I don't know if they're having fun, but it sure seems like it.*
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 10:22 PM UTC
Sometimes after Lisa and I do our early-morning 4 mile run (we treadmill in the basement fitness center if it’s under 43 degrees), I come back and lie on my bed, for just for a moment. This morning it was just as the sun broke over the horizon and a pink light crawled across my ceiling, highlighting every imperfection, like craters and mountains on some distant, barren planet. My Apple watch went chikle-inkle-lnkle. Ok, Time to start the day.
Later…
Leong got a new ‘Girls Life’ magazine, those always seem packed with the latest scientific info.
“Studies suggest that you and your deepest friends may share the same blood types!” Leong read aloud.
“I’m O-negative,” she announced, “What blood type are you?” She asked me.
“Red,” I revealed (I am, after all, pre-med).
“DElicious reddd,” Lisa updogged in a Bela Lugosi vampire voice.
“Americans are never serious,” Leong whinged, her voice rising and falling on the last syllables.
“That’s what makes us what we are today,” Lisa asserted, “a slowly, steadily, declining superpower.”
“We could join the military after Yale,” I suggested helpfully, “I bet they’d make us officers.”
“Oh sure, I heard the army’s making men out women these days,” Lisa agreed.
“Sounds messy,” I said, wincing.”
Jan 22, 2024
Jan 22, 2024 at 3:23 PM UTC
The man decked in blue
sits quite content
on a sofa
and observes wealthy offspring
waltz in flashing their brilliant teeth
glossed with potent peppermint.
These teens
don't know love,
lust is all it is.
While the Jazz bops away,
more whisky is poured
and they zip out to get jammy.
The man, mid-twenties,
kind of blue, dapper apparel,
has one on the rocks.
Sees them
walk in most evenings,
cute blondes with flawless skin,
guys in suits, bow ties, the works,
gaze into each other's pupils.
There are regulars,
Robert, the chap from Yale,
Quentin, sly guy at Harvard
and Carly, still at school the man believes,
who's coquettish, fresh,
these two want to have her
but she's astute,
knows just what she wants.
They're all after her in fact.
Every male in the room
turns their head,
can't blame them,
she's like Candyfloss,
all the men want a taste
but there's not enough for everyone
and they don't look like the sharing kind.
The man in blue
just grins to himself
thinking how grand it is
that he's single, sensible, secure.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 10:27 AM UTC
Step one.
Open the top drawer of that dresser dad gave as a moving out present.
Step two.
Look for the keys. Yes, the one marked Yale. That tiny one.
Step three.
Under your bed, find that metal box you bought as your money safe.
Step four.
Open the box. Insert the key, twist, open the box.
Step five.
See all the memories and money you kept in. Find the notebook labeled “unsettling".
Step six.
Read everything you wrote. Read them until you remember. The exact moments, people, places, and feelings. Read every decisions. Read every mistakes. Read every regrets.
Step seven.
Feel everything. Feel the hate, love, indifference. Feel the feeling or the lack thereof.
Step eight.
Admit to yourself that everything is unsettling.
Step nine.
Return the journal. Lock the box.
Step ten.
Make tea. Drink it.
Step eleven.
Relax. Calm down.
It's settled.
You finally settled it.
There's something unsettling.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 8:49 PM UTC
My Astrologer, *** and Love’ horoscope, for Halloween, is grim and on-trend for me.
(Libra) “Get ready to take some chill-time - give yourself the space to recover. People pleasing is out, boundaries are in!” Yeah, I’m like Texas, I have unsecure boundaries.
Sure, I KNOW horoscopes are horoscopes but while other signs get unicorns & puppies:
Aries: “Use your deepest desires to please yourself, step into your power.”
Gemini: “Your curious and bubbly nature shines, shoot your shot for that special someone!”
Cancer: “Be at home in your feels, your needs & emotional expressions are valued, go deeper.”
I’m getting **** it up buttercup,” thanks universe - what did I ever do to you?
We’ve been scanning the teen magazine fall looks, “We’re living in a bold era, a time of expression!” They declare, which means dramatic-metallic eyeliners, goth grunge, bold reds and Beyoncé’s “Renaissance silvers.” Luckily, Yale’s pretty low fashion environment, because seasonal changes are a lot to keep up with.
I love Autumn, with its colorful leaves, pumpkin lattes and colder nights, but coming from the south (in ‘21), I had no idea how badly heated air could dry out my skin and hair (freshie year, my thumb literally started to crack, like a plastic Barbie). In the spirit of fall fashion and maintenance, my entire crew made an Ulta store run this morning for hair masks, detox tonics and skin moisturizers - we’re ready, bring on the cold.
The best smelling places on earth are Ulta and Yankee Candle stores. In my religion, heaven smells like Starbucks in the morning, Chick-fil-A around noon and Ulta stores as the sun goes down and things turn dreamy and romantic.
Nov 8, 2023
Nov 8, 2023 at 8:32 AM UTC
Thirty thousand dollars.
That is how much a decent education will cost me.
Thirty thousand a year.
Thirty thousand that should go towards my family's debt right now but will only add to it in 2 years time.
"Why are these kids so lazy? Why don't they get degrees? Maybe then they wouldn't be so **** broke."
Well hey, the money we're hoping to make with our degrees means nothing when we're spending the first 10 'legal' years of our lives working to keep afloat,
keep the IRS from breathing down our necks,
keep pulling together just enough to not quite make rent yet again.
"Get a job. That's what I did growing up. You're just making excuses."
Yeah, and when you were growing up Yale's tuition was 5k and flipping burgers made enough to feed a family.
Brick by brick our fates are sealed,
Brick by brick we were set up for financial disrepair.
"Don't forget about FAFSA", right?
But of course, if you have an income, it's all going towards college, right?
Or if you don't, your middle class parents can afford to pay for you to go, right?
They don't need to give us a ton of help - rent is a luxury, remember?
Money is a luxury, remember?
Living is a luxury, remember?
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
The names I would give if I had 26 sons.
Abel
Benjamin
Conway
Darth
Evan (After my nephew)
Fabian
Garth
Hollis (My dad)
Joey (My brother)
Isaac (My grandfather)
Kent
Lemuel
Matthew
Nathaniel
Othniel
Paul
Quinton
Richard (My middle name)
Sandage (My grandmother’s maiden name)
Terry (My name)
Uzziah
Val
William (My great grandfather)
X (One of my favorite wrestlers was Doctor X)
Yale
Zacchaeus
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
Expectations
I can never meet them
They're too high
Spoonfuls of dreams
Shoved down my throat
For as long as it takes them to stick
It won't work
No breaks
AP classes
Yale
Harvard
Stanford
A+
Repeating classes
Failure
Disappointment
Unacceptable
F-
Can I please have a second to relax?
NO.
Keep working
You will be a star
I don't want to be.
I can't be.
I'm too stupid.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
a refugee from Yale, and the stale stench
of old money, he took a job with the park service
where he maintained outhouses,
and got high in the cover of cottonwoods
this crap crew job gave him no
deferment from the draft, so he landed in Can Tho
he didn't clean outhouses there--little people did,
stirring his dreck in burning diesel for 75 cents a day
when his Huey was shot down in the
Mekong, only he and his door gunner survived
they hid, submerged in paddies until dark
hearing faint but ferocious voices of the VC
who never found them--and they made the
miracle mile back to base camp, covered in muck
that smelled like dung; a scent that stuck
with him in dreams, no matter how much he bathed
when he came home, he again labored
for the forest service, and asked for ********* duty
fearing if he lost the smell,
he would lose himself as well
.
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 11:06 PM UTC
He was lean,
a hungry coyote,
tattoo'd, cynical,
probably coming down
from smoking a bowl.
"I dig your tattoos."
"Thanks man. I got a few,
I'd like a few more,
but that **** costs a lot of money."
His hair was shaggy,
reaching for his shoulders,
he hadn't shaved in a couple
weeks.
"What does that Asian script
on the back of your neck mean?"
"Oh,
it means Black.
Ya know?
Like my last name.
It's like a fuckin' football jersey.
Just in case I forget my name."
We walked down
darkened corridors,
he made me nervous.
Not like *I'm going to
**** my britches nervous*,
but that *this guy is older,
wiser, not afraid to say
whatever the hell he wants,
and probably doesn't want
to waste his time*, kinda way.
"Nah, dude.
Burch threw me a bone on this one.
I picked up most of my writing from
taking a course on Creative Writing
with Professor Jamison.
The dude was ******* legit.
He went to Yale or some ****
Two Ivy Leagues anyway.
You would'uh loved him.
He made bank too.
90 grand,
more than anybody else I
know on this campus."
He talked satire,
he talked poetry,
he seemed ready to devour
any unsightly barrier in his way.
"It was nice to meetcha'"
"Hell yeah, you take care of yourself."
Why do I have a feeling that Mr. Black is going to drastically
alter
my life?
Aug 19, 2010
Aug 19, 2010 at 9:27 AM UTC
My roommates are all up and about. It’s finals week and everyone is hustling about. Lisa came in from an early exam, it was snowing lightly, she looked right at home.
“How’d it go?” I quizzed.
“E-Z,” she replied, shedding her long navy coat and mango cashmere beanie. After dumping it all on her bed she joined us in the common room. “Blue State (coffee) is closing,” She announced.
Leong gasped, “What?”
“Three of the four Blue State locations are closing,” Lisa confirmed, “not Orange Street.”
“Why?” Leong moaned.
“What are you why? Lisa queried.
“They’re so popular!” Leong exclaimed, “There’s always SO many people in there.”
“That’s real,” I chimed in, “those places are packed and noisy.”
“They got bought out,” Lisa attested.
“By whom?” Leong wondered.
“By another coffee company.. maybe,” Lisa guessed soothingly.
“Oh, I hope so.” Leong stated, sounding depressed.
“You know what? Lisa added, “rumors were thick that Book Trader would close too.”
“No!” Leong bemoaned.
“I’m happy to announce that they’re not.” Lisa assured, “That’s something to celebrate.”
“I love studying at Book Trader.” I professed.
“And their bagels..” Leong mentioned dreamily.
“Oh, yeah,” Lisa agreed, “so good, so cheap.”
“Change is ineluctable,” Anna sighed.
“WHAT?” Leong replied, looking confused.
“Inevitable,” Lisa told her, “change is inevitable.”
“Then just say that.” Leong grumbled at Anna, who shrugged.
“I need to go support my favorite coffee shop soon,” I declared.
“Which is?” Leong inquired.
“Coffee with a K,” Lisa and I blurted out, both at once. “It has an intimate, date spot vibe,” I explained, “and the chairs that are perfect for putting an arm around someone.”
“The Benjamin and Acorn (two on campus coffee shops) are going to be so crowded.” Sunny stated, joining the conversation as she started putting on her shoes to go out.
“True THAT.” I agreed.
“Common Grounds Cafe,” Sophie revealed, coming from her room, drying her hair with a towel, “bought out Blue State,” she confirmed. “it was in the Yale News.”
“OK,” I pronounced, satisfied. “Perfect.” Lisa declared. “Thank God.” Leong agreed.
“Coffee’s important.” Sunny proclaimed, picking up her coffee cup and book bag. “See ya!” she waved to the room absently, with her coffee cup, as she opened the door and stepped out.
Dec 20, 2022
Dec 20, 2022 at 1:13 PM UTC
struck by lightning twice by twenty-four
this astronomical record was hers, Guinness proclaimed,
this lady so famed, top of her class at Stanford, then Yale Med,
and blissfully wed, to a surgeon who always came in second
this did not matter at Cabo, or even in their first condo
but as her curriculum vitae grew faster than a Walmart receipt
on Black Friday, he scrubbed up for one bloodletting after another, removing appendixes, and appendages, feeling her shadow
grow heavy, even in the bright lights
of his operating theater
his first was, of course, a nurse, though at least her age
his second, a decade newer model, fixed his lattes at Starbucks
number three was the neighbor with whom they shared
nothing but a fence, and a few awkward stares
her hours in the lab with petri dishes grew, and
she never let on she knew, that her clean shaven number two
was lying with others to stand himself
when he asked for a divorce--number four requiring more
than liquid exchanges in sweet hotel suites--she acquiesced and even let him have the Welsh Corgi, the cabin in Aspen,
and half the 401K
to this day, she recalls imagining his liaisons
while she married menacing molecules to one another
in tubes under faithful light, seeking answers to questions
asked by the dying she would never meet
a lump would only grow in her throat
if she thought his scalpel never sliced
the heart of number four, for five
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
Yale’s friday “spring fling” was a soggy success - both as a concert and super spreader event. My groove-spirit was dampened by weather and a final I had the next morning.
I pose here tonight, in the chill residential courtyard, on my green sport-brella beach chair, like Canova’s Pauline Borghese, relaxed, canned dirty-martini in hand, still untouched by the covid menace - as if I’d taken sagacious care in avoiding it.
The waxing crescent moon is strutting its familiar runway, like a vague, ambient night-light, but what should we expect for free? Maybe it’s saving itself for warm, clear summer skies.
I can relax tonight and binge on the moon because the school year is over (for me).
I’d been in a coffee-fueled study-trench for over a week, finishing my last assignment paper with my last gasp of academic energy. It illustrated what could be crafted in a vacuum void of originality. I filled it with ideas, gathered like runoff-water, from deeper sources and tailored the paragraphs with care, weaving by sleight, the 3D illusions of depth, breadth and substance. It was very well received. taking a bow
I love the feeling of being done with finals but still living on campus. It’s casual, adult and relaxed - close to life as I dreamed it as a kid.
My room is disassembled and I’m living out of my suitcase. Movers will come and cart off our stuff Monday. Leong and I will head south - like wrong way birds. I hate goodbyes but knowing these are temporary helps. Most of my summer will be like one continuous sleepover.
Happy Mother's Day!
May 8, 2022
May 8, 2022 at 11:04 AM UTC