For the Graduates

For the Class of 2009

tell me where to find
shriveled petals of high school dances
are they in snapshots on closet doors
or in sky blue photo boxes

shriveled petals of high school dances
the yearbook page she made you
from a sky blue photo box
with x’s and o’s

the yearbook page she made
we’re so proud of you
punctuated with xoxo
and corners of mouths upturned

we’re so proud of you
the promise of future diplomas
and corners of your mouth upturned
you hold the world in your mind

with the promise of this diploma
it is in the snapshot on your closet door
you held the world in your mind
I’ll tell you what I find

This is an oldie

Epigraph for the Wayward Man

If you can see the flecks in her eyes
you’ve gone too far.
When the matted hairs on her brow
make you want to clear the table
with one swipe
and make love in the sweat
and grit
you’re in too deep.
Deeper than you anticipated,
too far to turn back.

Years from now she will ask you
why you chose her,
is she really that beautiful
to make you want
only her,
and you will see the specks of
blue and green
swirled together in her irises
searching you
for honesty.
And you will remember
the first time you swept the table clean
and made your first child
under the whish
of the ceiling fan.

Where one door closes...

I have been silent for a year trying to figure some things out. I graduated a year ago and was set to take a year to "enjoy life". I can say for certainty that this has not been what I thought it would be; not at all what I was looking forward to. What people never tell you about your first year after college is that no one cares. No one cares that you have this expensive brain now filled with useless knowledge (at least when it comes to standing out from all the other expensive brains.) Forgive my pessimism but I wish someone would have told me this when I was making my plans to kick back and enjoy the benefits of my lifetime pursuits of knowledge. Whether it is employment, enjoyment, or further pursuit of self-betterment your first year out of college is your introduction what your parents meant by "the real world". You would think that 10's if not 100's of thousands of dollars and countless all-nighters would amount to more than an entry-level job or unpaid internship. But professors don't put that in the syllabus.
What I've discovered in my year of silence (as I will refer to it from now on) is:
1. That silence is about as unproductive as leaving your mix tape with the receptionist at Interscope (or for fellow English grads, e-mailing submissions to Penguin). You've done the work but sitting back and waiting for it to pay off; for the world to convene at your door-step and plead for your contributions to the world - is not only ludacris but laughable. What I hope is that each of the lessons I have learned will not only help me to devise antidotes but also help other post-undergrads not feel so disparaged. You are not alone.
Which leads me to 2. - you are not alone. I was at a wedding this past weekend and ran into a few fellow post-undergrads in quite the same position as myself. Isn't it the sad truth that misery loves company? Not that I am miserable by any means but that I found company in my disillusionment with the promises of education. My fellow post-undergrads had found success in that they were employed or attending grad school - but by no means "living the dream". We blamed the economy, Michigan's legislature, the auto industry, etc. for our meager means. (Very un-American to do but very aligned with human nature.) I should back-up to clarify the subjective nature of living the dream which will bring me to my next lesson.
3. You are right where you should be. Each of my fellow post-undergrads are smart, motivated, and hard-working people. Is it possible that ramen noodle diets and studio apartments are part of the plan for their lives? Dare I say, God's plan? I know many, if not the majority of, people would discount this possibility. But as I am sharing what I have learned in my year of silence, all the circles I have taken in my mind my always lead me back to this simple truth that God has placed me just where He wants me to be. The saying about open and closed doors is the best way I can think of to portray how I got to this point in my life. God has opened so many doors for me to walk through but now the door to lucrative jobs or exotic travels seems closed and through the back window doubt creeps in. Maybe my next post should explore at what point my emphasis shifted to these worldly pursuits when all I used to ever want is to be with the people I love.
More later.

It's been awhile

It is with much chagrin that I admit to you that, yes, I am a poet.  Much like the reaction one gets from being a self-proclaimed actor, so is the poet's fate.  I am graduating in May (May 9th at 11 am, to be exact) and my thesis is a portfolio of some my poetry.  I thought you'd never ask, here's a taste.

She wears a t-shirt She wears an apron

@*!? is what smeared with grease

it says in English and miso broth.

but in Japanese Her spine no longer 

it must sound straightens from

cool, to wear bending near soil,

a shirt with a gleaning from the

different language, earth its'

scrawled across it, incandescent beads,

must make you pearls for life,

bilingual, or traveled. to continue

The hair across her generation to generation.

forehead is lopsided Her daughter will soon

and he loves it, learn to pluck

was inspired by it even pearls and

because he has one too, place ear to earth

the haircut rice to mouth.

and the t-shirt.

Number One

I believe they would call me a "late adopter". When I say "they" I mean the "early adopters". My ad professor would be ashamed. Pretty much everyone else in the world has been blogging religiously for the past five years. But this my first blog, with the small exception of a blog I did for the Calvin College admissions office. So as I am a relative blog virgin you will excuse, I hope,
my ingenue status.