Love Poems

A collection of work for real people

An open letter to all:

First of all, let me put out a simple disclaimer about this collection. Most collected works of poetry are supposed to be viewed as such: collectively. The pieces work together, the order adds emphasis on certain things, shows a progression. However, this is not such a collection. I merely transposed a list of folks, and then wrote poems. The order is not important. The collection itself may not be very cohesive, and so I use the term collection rather loosely. That being said, the poetry itself is an attempt at real poetry. (I cannot with confidence say that it is excellent or even good poetry, but I tried to put my best work into each piece.) There will be imagery, form, rhyme, meter, and all sorts of other things included. For those of you who arent well versed in poetry, this might make it seem rather odd. Usually in poetry, if something seems odd its there for a very good reason. Strange line breaks, repetition, alliteration, they all draw attention to specific things. And hopefully sound and look very nice. Its sort of art, after all. Secondly, I would like to address the topicality of the poems. Some of them will be written directly for you in a narrative tone, some of them will be retellings of a favorite memory, but many others will be more abstract. They may be about concepts or qualities that I think you embody, stories or scenes that your personality brings to mind. They might even be aimed at providing advice later in life, reminding you of the person you were to me. This means that some of the poems might come across, once again, a bit odd. Do not be dissuaded by that. They are all written holding you in the highest regard, with the best of intentions. If you dont understand them, read them a different way. One of the best things about poetry is that you can read it again and again and find new things. Poetry has depth, just like you. Most importantly, let me express my gratitude to you for your interest. It means a lot to me that you would even take the time to be involved in something like this, because I know most of you arent prone to poetry. Most of you, if this were any other collection of work by any other high school student, would not be reading. The impact of your participation, I am still slowly coming to know. I meant this to be a gift to all of you, and it has in turn brought me so much happiness, afforded me so much peace, gifted me some nameless splinter of each of you, that I will carry on and away. Your reaction and support has astounded me, excited me, and left me humbled. It has been a privilege to know you. And so hopefully, this collection will be another fond experience for us to share. ~BJ

for Cayden Borger

In life and all it holds, know this as forever true: There is not a single person living a better life than you. No one is more highly prized, there are no special kinds of man. For each is being as he should, to fit a special sort of plan. It does not matter where you go, or what success you come to find, because the measure of a life, is the trail we leave behind. So do not listen to the people, who say you could or might or should. Love your life and love the people in it, for that trail leads somewhere good.

for Amy Hutto

Come fall with me through a wonderblurry night, reeling unabashed, oh music sweet sound loud and soft and dashing. Pitter-patter red and laughter, twisting careening to cobblestone blues hard rocks and water smog grey stink then handrails and back to light and shadow oh hello music sweet again it circles us Tasting swirling color glares and carting from to here and to and where? No no. and why? no no Friend, come, dance and swell and ask no no but feel and hurl about the reds the lights the fuzzy faces rocks and blues and to and fro one night just one to stumble chipper and oh the music sweet hello it circles round it circles round and fills fills fills till sleep then on.

for Rachel Tuttle

you laugh when things arent really that funny. (Well, maybe it is more of a giggle) But it bubbles up from somewhere rather nice inside you. It fills an empty space after people stop talking words and it finds fissures in their day and seeps down in. It is adorable and it makes everything adorable and that is special. It makes things more, which makes you even more too.

for Luke Johnson

I took you and tore you out of the worlds spine, threw you up up into the space that big black vacuous nonarea; it swallows nothing keeps nothing holds nothing and I watched you being there for a time you suspended there so contained. Writing poems for strangers is not hard. Falling in love is incredibly easy.

for Joseph Newman

There is a place A sprawling silver expanse between merely living and dreaming. A place where mountains tower and rivers surge and the wind actually whispers. A place where people laugh round and full, cook over hearths and sleep soundly in soft beds. A place where small villages seem not so small. A place where good is undeniable, and evil real, plain to see. A place where intentions are pure, Hard Work rears her fledgling Success, and the fantastic tales of old dribble their toes in rich earth. A place of colors unnamed and space unconquered, peaceful glades and hidden tongues. A place of stories yet untold. Make your home there. And invite in every weary traveler looking for a respite from the road.

for Kendall Hanson

The best art is made after getting denied entrance to every single art school. The best music is made on a dirty street corner with a broken guitar while everyone walks by not listening. The best basketball is played by a scrawny kid on a rundown court; always alone. The best life is lived not with regard to approval or opinion, it does not do for it simply does The best life is lived for your, not for their. Better yet, it is simply lived.

for Jared Jonas

I just thought you would like to know: Websters has an accurate definition of usually. And I agree with you on most accounts. That literary analysis can be complete crap, some people are horrible for a grand majority of their lives, and lots of poets just write simple blurbs mixed in with unrelated garbage and then pass it off as something deep and meaningful. Websters has an accurate definition of sometimes. Everyone is a hypocrite and people dont need ultimate purpose to be happy and that class WAS awful and I DO need to relax more often and the cynics are usually right.

but then sometimes

for Cassidy Gee

It was raining,sky grey and rolling, while we walked,slowly,out to class. e r a i n f e ll d o w n a n d t he r a in hit t h e p av e m e n t a n d c o ll e c t e d o n t h e s t re et We came to a puddle a big puddle lightly dancing as the rain tickled its surface. We stopped. We looked. And we walked slowly, around to class. The whole day was grey, so stale and so slowly. We should have jumped. Always jump. t h

for Kaitie Lange

If words were water you would be dumping buckets on me hot and then cold and then hot again. If words were light you would be passing candles out on a street corner days before thunderstorms take down every power pole on earth. If words were movement you would dance so smoothly through a black tie affair spinning him and her and all of us about; whirling and reeling and dizzydrunk. If words were trees you would plant a forest in the desert and tend it and keep it and it would be so green. so green. so living. It would flourish. I would build a cabin and be quiet there, deep deep away out in it. But words are fine silk threads. And yours are woven up between two branches, swelling softly in the breeze, collecting drops of purest dew, catching moon and stars and universe and shimmering for everyone and me to see.

for Jackie Hutchens

at the bottom of love is trust where between he&she is some gentle promise to ask for togetherness in dark blue to clutch hard at tiny joys and give daily he&she their gift: a heart which explores you under wild winds and waves love is a sacred ocean a big magnificent drenching turquoise sea the kids kiss kiss and cuddle on the beach live as girlandboys of hot island sun finding pleasure, never paradise on sand. but you, woman, let thy soul haunt the depths

for Cathy Donaldson

In all honesty this will probably never sell for much of anything. Which is a good thing. At face value it is just some words, some paper, not a commodity. But we both know things need not fetch a high price to be worth something: A gentle curling smile, a sun poking up from the edge of a sleepyblue sea, a steady arm wrapped across drooping shoulders. These are things actually worth both giving and keeping.

for Nicole Compton

you have this quiet kind of patience that I cannot very well explain. It has less to do with waiting to act and more to do with the act of waiting. (maybe patience isnt right) Its more just a condition of your being. An air about you. That is calm and content and very in the moment. Like a pine tree in the woods or a pebble on a beach or a snowflake in the sky or any number of things being themselves where they are. You dont wait to be or aim to be or want to be you just are. And that is quite rare in people.

for Riley Duke

Strong hands Strong hands curl round wood and steel and lift. Grip and strain, rippling; they move earth, iron, trees. They twist and tear and shear and mash bits of grime and dirt and sweat. They pull and crush and hack and shudder molding world and time at once. They pummel, beat, and build and build. A home. A name. A self; fulfilled. They work and work and wear and wear and crack and weaken by days end till tired, rough they ache they ache but rock a child, smooth to rest. Strong hands Strong hands

for Alex Stewart

It is so easy to think and ponder and worry and quantify and wonder and waver and consider and counter and calculate and complicate. How difficult, how bold, to be simple and happy.

for Jagar Konzleman

It is something very strange to be a man to be a man and hold so close the sordid cries of those around. To pound them out all hammerlike till golden and slip them back as muffled shortened words, some aimless deed. to craft and sculpt and sweat and sweat and give and give and give but really just give. To be a man, to forge for those around some lick of strength some solid piece of being.

for Collin Moore

Growing up, you were always the kid I wanted to be more like. You ate pizza rolls, had skateboards, played basketball, flipped on trampolines, stayed up late and slept in, so completely cool. But I guess we arent kids anymore. Those things seem silly to admire. But now, Youre loyal to your friends, keep your promises, and have a good time living, youre silly and serious at all the right times and everything you do is some means to a smile. Growing upper, youre still the man I want to be more like.

for Tia Reaman

Old wrinklewoman, tired eyes, draped in a wicker chair on a dusty street side porch peeling an orange in the colordry sun. Little girl sits calmly by. The woman paws and fumbles her wrinkled hands at the flesh, pulling slowly at the layer of orange rind. The world is like an orange, child and the girl nods slowly, watching a mosca loop lazily against white stucco walls. Womans hands wriggle and scrape, dutifully so, and loose the last bit of peel. She takes an orange slice and pops it in her mouth, slowly rolling the flavors about. then hands the little girl a slice, who bites it quick. Juice dribbles succulent down her chin and they laugh, fittingly, Sitting in the sun, relishing their sweet fruits.

for Kit Stokes

There are things like mathematics and chemicals and brain tissues and glaciers that all seem to make lots of sense. They sit quite nicely on shelves in boxes in stacks and snap together and function. Then there are things like colors and soft furry cats and the taste of peaches and love and the universe explodes outwards forever. And there we are, on some rock mathematically defined philosophically unrestrained hurtling through light and dark forever and onwards. To claim to understand would just be rude.

for Morgan Aramburu

It makes me very glad that you know the simple goodness that is solitude. That on days which drag themselves against you, rough and crumbling, leaving you raw or days that drape themselves over you and go limp or days that slip through your hands like smoke, you know what to do. You told me. You climb a staircase up into a little space in the sky above things, and watch the sun sink; drain the day of color. Watch red and yellow fade to black, sleep, and wake to welcome blue.

for Ben Mueller

we do not fight to be free. not you and i. we fight (and oh we must fight) to keep ourselves bound. we struggle strain and stretch for grip to hold and hold ourselves to something greater. for we (you and i and all of us) are too small too blunt to handle such propriety. we cannot operate freedom. we cannot maintain justice. we are crushed by their weight, stunned by their complexity. no, we just hold and are held by Love which is just and true and whole and free.

for Alex Mosher

I may have lied (I probably lied) when I said, that it was not our last good morning (They were so warm, those morning words. They set a tone, so light like snow. I waited on them, some days, to wake me up. (sometimes, I merely wake.) ) It may have been our last good morning. But it wont be my last. And I hope it wont be yours. For many people need a today raised high above their yesterday.

for Cindy Ji
People shape lives like boats shape water. They move in and about and make ripples of smooth glass. Their course echoes, it flits and scuttles and spreads all around. Some wakes are large some wakes are small some carry very very far reflections dance and melt; light dazzles and glances, as boats stir and drag the sea Our courses are set to cross and a very delightful swell precedes you.

for Michelle Svoboda

People say a lot of things they really do not mean they curve their words and paint their words to make them shine or gleam. but if you can look past the words and see the aim behind youll see whos just a silly jerk and true friends, you will find. True friends, good people, do not slight they have no goals or things to do when speaking, they just say true things and always wait to listen, too. I say this not to warn you, kid, (for these are things I know you see), but to show you who you were, (a good person), when you spoke to me.

for Emma Phillips

Forgive me for being so forward, but if I may: Someone so gentle soft to the world and calming as you is rather attractive in the right way. Draws the best the lightest the warmest out of everyone around and plasters it up together makes a little room for folks to have tea in, chat about the weather, be together in good-ness. Goodness. It sounds odd. But its wonderful how you provide a well-lit sitting room every time you smile and say hello. You host us, gracious always.

for Quincy Budell

Red checkerboard tablecloth old coats slung on a wooden rack, slightly leaning. Cat in the corner swishing tail back and forth back and forth back and forth While careful hands pull warm apple pie out of the oven. The front door is wide open and smells trace out to the street. Dusk is on the edge, and fireflies dance about the yard. You are as warm, as inviting as this in just a passing glance.

for Kim Stastny

I hope that in all the time you keep your p(i - e)(e - a)ce of mind. Such a blatant double entendre descendre descend with me into the bowels of what should and shouldnt be. with bright black paint to cut things up move them p la c e s with curly lines and . shoutwithcolorsmovewithsentencesbreathewitheyes make what you will of everything. never be fearful never be dictated B basic words F R

for Abbie Belthoff

In spring, buds leap from trees like little children, so eager and ready to go. Delicate, they soak up sun and rain and bring a little color back to earth. Then a cool night brings frost again, and slakes the enthusiasm. But there is always one. A bud prepared, braced against the cold. That bud is you. Keep bringing color, when the rest of us fail.

for Liz Wagner

Vous tes un belle fentre or something nice en Franais Qui est le plus heureux, qui est le plus evier? Que faut-il faire? I think I mean that nicely. Oui oui, je fais. Mon Franais est mal. mais le sentiment stands. Youre like this: A wonderful jumble of silly and suave. Nonsense and sense hashed all together. Delightful, hopeful, so much content. Je laime, je laime, je veux que vous restiez.

for James Kiselik

Words are small. You stack some up on paper. They get bigger. You stack those papers up on one another. They get bigger still. Then you make copies and copies and copies. And larger still the words grow. Until one would consider the words very big indeed. And then they get forgotten on back shelves, left out in the rain, torn to bits, tossed away and ink fades, blots, and withers into oblivion. Words need not be big. They cannot be for very long. They need only to be strong. By truth, by skill, by whateverhaveyou, some will persist. And some words, is all we really need.

for Kaylee Dougherty

My favorite thing is when you erupt. I never know just when but there will be times when youre in a moment and you jump up, split it open toss glitter and candy and white light everywhere and its all sparkling and vibrant and sweet and a ruddy type of ethereal. You catch the world when its being funny again while most of us arent looking at it like that. And you ride that wave of happyjoy all the way in, and drag us back out with you in the tide.

for Taryn Connelly

clichs are lifes anesthetic. Because in truth: Life is very very hard, and not all of us will make it. Its like some horrible hurricane (life), everything is flying about smashing into us, knocking pieces off and tearing parts away until we finish very much smaller than before. Again, not all of us will make it. But part of us will make it. Like river rock crack-tumbling down a stream. It will settle, roughless, a smooth stone. So be broken. Be torn. Be rumbled and rattled. Watch the edges curb down; be refined.

for Presley Stewart

If the world were to be, shortly, consumed by some raging fireball comet in the sky, or twisted inside out by some rumble in the depths, I would assume most folk would be rather frantic, if I had to guess. Dashing about, trying things, breaking things, cramming up those hours. But you. I see you baking cupcakes riding a bike with flowers in the basket drinking lemonade on a quilt in the park. How grand, to be so carefree. How precious, to be so light.

for Jessica Semaha

A little girl in a bright green dress sits on the side of the road selling lemonade from a pitcher on a box. People drive by. She waits. Summer lingers. Birds chirp. No one stops. All day, she perches on the street watching busy people bustle by selling nothing. But at days end, as the cricket sounds rise and a breeze slides in through the trees she walks up the driveway with an empty pitcher, a belly full of lemonade and a smile. We should all enjoy it like she does.

for Lilly Ragan

Junior high is pretty much the worst time I can think of. Everything is awkward and everyone is awful. Theyre all rude and inconsiderate and completely insensitive. most of them are gross and a whole lot of them had no idea who they were. The food was terrible the school itself was falling apart we didnt have any resources and somebody threw a glass bottle at me during lunch once. I hated it. And I hate it even more now. And still, I remember meeting you. And I still have a hard time believing that it was during middle school. You are that delightfully contrary to the nature of the memory.

for Nana and Grandad

O heritage, so staunch and rich, of royal isles and rolling green. I live with memories ingrained of countryside Ive never seen. I see the light inside your eyes as pearly cliffs and ocean swells. And in your conscious laughter hear the joyous peal of chapel bells. To you, I owe my daily peace and feeling of tenacity. For once a Londoner is born, a Londoner theyll always be. Ill hold a boon from you with me, though through the world perchance Ill roam. You are the soil of England in me, a solid ground, a richer loam.

for Stephanie Mahler

There is a big difference between living for something and living something. You can live a life. You cant live for life. Because prepositionally and conjuctionally for doesnt make sense without a different noun. Peace is a noun. Hope is a noun. Love is a noun. And this may sound like an English lesson. Its not. Its a puzzlepoem. Because in real life its still puzzling. But you should always life for.

for Makenzie Bennett

We walked you and I along the river (and the water was moving) (and we were doing something else) but we were talking too. Your eyes danced, they sparkled at times, which was a surprise at least for me. I dont know if you remember what we talked about, but most folks narrow their eyes, stare at the concrete, when speaking of such. I mean, the water was glistening, gleaming by and you looked right at me. I noticed, and I remember. So much honesty in those eyes.

for Ian Hewitt

When we were young, (not small, but young) we traipsed about my yard fighting some unnamed war in the last few days we could actually see such things. Anti-aircraft took our chopper down by the shrubs in the side yard. I laid down cover fire as we dashed from the charred wreckage to the corner of the house and crouched. You threw your rifle into the flower beds. I checked the pockets of my jean shorts. No ammo. We peeked around the rain spout, ducking bullets, and saw a trench. We looked at each other. You ripped the last grenade off your t-shirt; bit out the pin, dashed around the corner, and took the rest of them with you. I still dont know why you did that. (There was probably a supply cache in the back yard) But even in a silly fantasty, you made sure your friends were ok. Consider this your medal.

for Ken Moore

sometimes poems play around all silly like; as if they are just light things that we do not really need, but enjoy. some poems are just toys, shiny flashy wonders. sometimes poems are solid things. things with purpose that move people and leave marks. good poems are something light and solid. fun and useful. good poems are like good people. they work; they play.

for Tom Foisy

Not in so much as speaking did you sway me, sir. You did not carve my squaring sholders with your smooth breaths and mouthsounds. For to a point the most clean cut of terms may fail to burrow deep into a youthful souls tawny beating chunk of life-muscle. But you were funny and exciting and not formal at all. Nobody had been that to me. Nobody had shown me that maybe God doesnt act/speak/wear Sunday clothes. That God can be the deal, not a big one. In a good way. As in my tone of voice could stay the same when praying as when watching football.

for Elaine Wilson

I ask you to dance through life like a superhappy viscous thing. To run through youth with a stick in hand and crash about make noise and laugh and clatter. Spin stories like yarn, knit them up into thick sweaters and wear them on cold rainy days. And age. gracefully. Bring it into your living room, sit it down on the sofa, offer it a biscuit, a cup of coffee, enjoy having the company. Then, when age goes down to the rented basement grab your coat a home-knit scarf your best pair of shoes and hit the town abuzz at night. Revel in the golden light, the sound, the smell, let it permeate. Never stop dancing.

for Teresa Clark

This poem is more of a shrug because honestly Im tired of writing poems for people. Ive written a lot and theres a lot more to go and I feel like I dont have much left in me at the moment. Which sounds rude but I know first hand that you take peoples shrugs and their sighs and their aches and you warm them up, smooth them out, and fill them with a sunny new color. Tint them vibrant again. And its the greatest gift I know. So here. Take this crappy deflated poem. I know its bad. but watch what you do with it. Better than what I could say anyways.

for Li Chang
I remember fondly hours that we shared. You grafted in so wonderfully and infused that fall with welcomes and fantastic premiers. You seemed so fearless. Facing up to every opportunity with a smile. So new, yet so familiar. You handled yourself like an explorer seeing all that you could see. My friend, you were a piece of our home. My brother, or nearest to it, I hope I hope that we will meet again.

for David Gardner; two limericks*

The man who spends time having fun, has work that never quite gets done, he may lack some money, but oh is he funny, and friendlier twards everyone.

Limericks have rhythm and cadence. They rhyme and they match and they make sense. They follow the rules teachers teach kids in schools but in the real world some things dont work out like that and you just have to go with it.

for Thomas Hagen; in haiku

You came to my house, were polite and quite civil, manners are good things. But you laugh so loud sometimes it disrupts matters that are important. But you make others share in your raucous laughter. A good gift to give.

for Reilly Scott

Hiking. Honestly, its a bunch of walking and walking and then youre back where you started. Again. So the reason we hike has something to do with movement, but not with going somewhere. It has something to do with seeing things, but not with staying there. Its a very fluid thing, hiking. Its oh so very good, and oh so very hard to figure out why. Do more things like that. We all should.

for Suzi Bryan

Line up 100 reasons why you cant do something and watch them blow over as you go past. Reasons arent very heavy it doesnt take much to move them. You unstoppable force. There is no friction. You float, you glide, you soar through life like some iridescent jet plane. Its good. Dont slow down. Because as much as speed isnt that important. There is something to be said for consistency. So dont let life drag you back. Dont let things grab at you. Keep momentum.

for McKenna Morgan

We baked bread once to celebrate a birthday and since then Ive noticed that you bake cookies and cakes and brownies and more breads and pies and snacks and you dont do any more celebrating than any other people. Youre just really good at actually doing it. At remembering. Preparing. doing something a little special. Not that the food doesnt taste great but my favorite part is that notion that you do it completely unrequested. That courteous intention is like being given too much change while the worker just winks and smiles.

for Sara Tikker

You wear a smile like a little child wears a little hat. Imagine, if you would, a small boy wearing one of those little blue sailor suits with the white stripes and all. Flashy sun out, hes trotting on the beach with a red balloon in his hand. But hes wearing a real sailor hat a big one and it droops over his eyes. staggering he trips and lets go of his balloon and it floats away. Poor kid. Should have been wearing something that fit.

for Ashley Basura

I like to think (if youve read more of this, you know) that people are like poems. Each their own. With shapes and sounds and reasons for being as they are. Some languid, flowing rhyming things some short snappy quick ones Some fun some make you think some are both. Some are simple. Some are complex. And some, you cant figure out. They stick with you, they intrigue you, cause you to wonder, Say why or what if. Those poems might be the best ones

for Pam
To write the poem that is you is to roll a bunch of big words and important words and welcome words into something fun and friendly. In the best of ways you percolate down into the day and thrive there. You stick people together with this effervescent aptitude, its yellow, very yellow, such delight. It gets me all up mixed, you see. Cramming sunshine and democracy, because they seem so disjunctive until you make bright of heavy matters. And people take notice. So soon when youre far and known and being more of you I will point proud and say She is mine. And I am yours. Forever and quite strongly there will be us two.

for Katrina Noud

There was orange light and cracking metro stairs and cool air swept round us. We walked, we wandered, chauffeured by city sounds through some beautiful paint smear. Some dash of color. So quick. So visceral. Time was not moments but moments stacked on moments stacked on moments slipping by and away. Memories so rich they tug at your self from beyond the sea. A week in Paris is so much denser. And while we were there, so were we.

for Haleigh Sims-Douglas

I wonder what binds us to the everyman what lops off our ankles and shoulders and bundles people up all tidylike. Stacks us up all one on another on another in neat little rows and sections feeds us grey paste and slurry matter. Why do we twist and contort to cram inside the pipes? When we force our squareness through round holes where do our corners go? Well whatever it is Im not very happy about it. But Im happy about you. Because you can move and you can twiddle you have corners. Keep them. Flaunt them. Be something else.

for Morgan Fisher-Uriarte

You stood there, surrounded by stories (staunch heavy ones) stacked up on the walls, and curled out your own. Air in there is thick, breath of thousands whuffs inside your head, crushes up the crevices, pushes everything tighter and you stood there, Pealed out words and tore my heart to shreds my body to dust so small as to be nothing and everywhere. So you are on my shelf now. A select few who crush and not compress me.

for Morgan Hand

There are a lot of people on Earth and I only know a few of them but to me its a big few and you are one of the small few who actually stick by what they say in that you act and not acquiesce. As in: Each seed of a dandelion holds a promise to grow and then they take to the air. Some dance and twirl and float so lazylike and free and fanciful but soon theyre far and gone. I have so much respect for the one seed that stays that falls gently to the ground and begins to foster a new flower.

for Emily Ellis

You sing with your heart move with your soul and talk with your eyes. A lofty creature you breathe in the world and exhale something sweeter. Condensed and saturated. in song. There are a lot of things that I do not really understand like why things exist or how silly things make us happy or how the universe is expanding or why there are different colors of bendy straws but I do know and I mean that I really know that you do speak with your eyes.

for Cameron Owen

If Im not mistaken an acoustic guitar works mostly by being empty. The strings vibrate, sure and theyre the ones making the actual noise but you can hear it because the wood is hollow, it allows the sweet sounds to resonate. It is best, if Im not mistaken to be much like a guitar. Carve yourself out be daringly empty and find what resonates within your very soul.

for Jonathan Wheatley

We packed up a blue truck and we crawled into the mountains and the screen door creaked shut and it was quiet for three days. The speakers were up late at night and the river was gurgling and rushing pots and pans clanged in the kitchen laughter and music interjected throughout. wind swished through pine needles and rocks crunched under foot and then the engine burbled up and we left back to town to work. But while we were there everything seemed more enticing because it was less pertinent. a quiet trip to the cabin doesnt have a lot to do with sound.

for Will Burgin

life might be some gigantic whirling clockwork. A precision matched machine that hammers on hammers on into oblivion. Some folk do not like such talk. They say it makes them less human, or something. It doesnt. It just makes humans more of a means and not an end. A cog in the system, not the product of it. It seems you appreciate machines. Good. We need more people to help the universe function.

for Grace Gibney

If eyes are the window to the soul then words are the door. When you write when you speak when you sing you open that door and you beckon to all come along, come along for there is so much to do out here. And thats the trick. The inside becomes the outside because The soul stretches so much farther than the sky or the waves or the trees. A boundless expanse of dazzling brilliance, the soul maintains its magnanimity. It fosters hope and offers it so free. So wonderfully curious, then how we must descend deeper within to broaden our horizons, to experience fullness, to see.

for Robert Tighe

I want you to buy a typewriter and sharpen up each letter. Roll yourself in the back and punch vigorously at keys. Feel the words cut your flesh let it bleed. I want you to get a tattoo gun and etch essays into the blank pages of your skin. Pierce deep and let the ink flow. Force it far beneath the surface. Tear some of yourself up. The pages with sticky keys, typos, slanted handwriting. Get rid of all of them. Shred bits of yourself. Burn bits of yourself. Throw parts of yourself away. Then brandish your scars your bruises your ink. Good writing should not be easy. Good writing should be worth it.

for Austin Kirkham

If light is time and time is air then where to all my words go? Because between the theories and conjectures of time and life and matter one begins to feel quite weary. At least I do. For I cannot take the constant tumble of man through subjectivity and so at times I close the blinds and water my little plant in its little pot. But it seems to me you wrestle here and there and rummage through a warping universe almost always. And I cannot tell what there is to search for or why there is to search for it but I like that you do those. And maybe Im weak or youre strong or Im at peace or youre aimless I really dont know. But I wish us all the very best.

for Lilian Li-Chen

Dont believe the system or they rules they have you playing by. The road to wisdoms nothing but a set up for a diatribe. They postulate and pessimize until a concepts concrete. Then use it as a paving stone to burn the soles of more feet. Its a stupid game they hype and hype so much that people actually listen. But you cant cram free thinking inside green-curly walls and choose who gets in. Its ridiculous. Its impossible. The world is wide the world is tall the world does not condense well. Finding how to get a grip on that is what learning really is.

for Michaela Barr

Wind rips through tired concrete blocks and icy snow barrels around corners charging left and right and everywhere. A hushed light is seeping into the edges of the sky as it screams and howls and shudders, tinting the flakes metallic silver. And from grey to grey and white to white the streets the blocks are empty until A woman jogs by. Head down and arms swaying she trundles through the sparkling fright. The only person awake. The only person in the whole city out and unbattered by the storm.

for Kateri Bilay

Truth is nothing like a fancy shirt. You cannot stitch it up or iron out the wrinkles. Truth is nothing like a newspaper. It cannot be torn up or tossed out to recycle. Truth is somewhat like a garden. Some plants are nice. Some plants are not so nice. You go into peoples gardens and pick them bouquets that smell so sweet; bouquets that sometimes, they had forgot they had.

for Garrison Lewis

A lot of the time I see folks scurrying and scuttling and worrying and fussing about anything. They shudder and twitch and twitter and ramble on and on and on and on endlessly all for things that just dont matter. And thats where you differ. Ive never seen you fret over nothing. And thats good. Show people what it is to stay calm.

for Joe Harper

There are moments, sir when words simply will not do. For all their worth, for all their weight, there are some magnitudes to which they simply fall shy and it is not poetic at all. For they wrap up concrete things real concepts and sometimes those break and dissolve and the words remain. an indelible inconsistency. But I suppose it cuts both ways. For when things slip beyond time into forever, there are the words, remaining. A monument. So speak your mind, good sir. Or dont. For to be impervious to be fragile are both to be. To be at all, that is ones magnum opus.

for Mariah Moore

We would drive home from school the same way a lot and I would see you in your car. Sometimes you noticed and smiled or waved which was nice but it was nicer when you didnt. Because I would watch you in your car when you didnt think anyone was. Most people, when in their cars, pick their nose or yell or burp or yawn real wide (I notice these things) and seem altogether uncivilized. But you seemed rather pretty. Smiled, toyed with the ends of your hair, leaned on your window, nodded subtle-like at the radio. You were quite yourself in there. And that takes a special person. Who knows no show time. A real person. (I hope this isnt that creepy)

for Matt Dayton

Without a doubt I have my doubts with plenty of things, doubting included. Which makes about as much sense as I can make out of it (not much) but its kind of goofy so I thought you might like it. But if I put it this way: Theres more than one kind of goofy. Theres the guy with the broken briefcase walking through a blustery day papers blowing to and fro and hes bumbling about frantic reaching for stuff and its funny but sort of sad. Then theres the guy walking through said day with a spring in his step throwing a paper airplane and then chasing it all back and forth and around. Its a much more jovial thing. To be happy about the lack of control. Its rather refreshing.

for Selma Delic

Politicians dont really know how to throw a very good party. Theyve got balloons and streamers and lots of people and cake and buttons and confetti and while it might look very festive, it never really looks that fun. Because you cant be serious about fun. It doesnt work. Get a nice little box and paint it bright colors and tell fun to hop right in. You cant tell fun anything. It isnt hanging around waiting on anybody. Fun is out there doing all sorts of things. People dont realize this. No matter what you do, you cant plan on fun. (Its bad at keeping a schedule) You have to go places, do things, and hopefully find fun somewhere. You seem rather good at that.

for Britini Smith

water does this thing where it changes but it stays the same thing its always water. And how, I sort of know. And why, I do not know. But more importantly, I implore you not to be like water. We do not stay the same. Yes the world chips and breaks away at us and paints over us but it also dumps us in a beaker with plenty of other people and things and we get all blended up and certain thoughts fuse to ours and change the way we are. It is not bad to react. It is not bad to dissolve. It is not bad to morph. Because life is not about the principle or the product it is about the process.

for Victoria Gray

There once was a girl who focused and focused and worked very hard. She studied and read and had shelves and shelves and lived there in words in her room. Her neighbors grilled steaks watched sunsets, laughed loudly, stayed up late, watched movies, went dancing, skipped breakfast, and she scoffed at the lot. She learned and learned contained so much and at the end knew the secrets the meaning the purpose of life but she never lived it. While the neighbors didnt know that they knew.

for Valerie Barker

Out behind houses as twilight hugs softly the edges of the earth and fireflies swell into the sky a wonderful thing begins. The porch chairs sag comfortably and folks meld together into a rich sort of collective realm; past and future together and then some. And on it proceeds, as lamp lights flicker and sprinklers turn on the voices they murmur and roll so patient, so timeless, at peace. Your days Let them linger, simmer, bask in fading warmth and share them with everyone. Live each day like a back-porch story.

for CeeAnna Derouin

You would do this thing in class every so often when I would lean slowly obtusely out of my desk to pick up a pencil or when somebody would say something silly over and over a few times never get it to seem any less silly or when somebody (sometimes me) would say something with sound but not words. You would shake your head, say something along the lines of youre weird and laugh a little bit. Im glad you do this. Because youre absolutely correct. People, at their very core, are strange, fleshy, lost, lofty little things. And if you can get joy, or at least amusement out of them, youll do just fine in this life.

for Hannah Shirley

When I say pretty things, they tumble out of my mouth and slop into a pile on the floor. Heavy lead things, they are. Theyre nice, people like them (sometimes I like them) but they always seem to me such a mess. When you say pretty things, they slide out easy and hang there in the air a bit before fitting into some sort of lock like a key to the whole damn city. Some universal important piece, they are. Theyre good, and people like them. (I like them) Yet you seem so quiet when you say pretty things I like that too

for Justin Sands

It seems to me that you have a pretty solid understanding of something that I am not entirely sure how to phrase. But you seem to sprawl comfortably through life, like some big worn-in couch. Shoes kicked aside, pile of dishes in the sink, fan circulating air, and youre lounging so profoundly. I think its because you know better than most that even if you put the work in life doesnt always work out. But it has this funny way of working. And you throw your feet up on that thought Not lazy-like but stress-less, and watch the fan twirl.

for Blythe Spiers

I don really know that much about animals but I know a little about this one thing called instinct. Birds can fly south without compasses. Cats can usually land on their feet. And salmon they can swim back from the ocean up streams, jumping rocks and fighting current covering really far distances to get back to where they were born. And so no matter what happens I want you to know that at the bottom of it all there is something inside all of us that guides us sets us right and directs us home. Call it what you may, you have it and so you will never ever fail.

for Danny Ciaccio

Friggin I dont really know why we dont wear clown noses and big floppy shoes to church. For real. Giggle and chortle and make folks shimmy in their little suits. Boisterous and all. Cause its not some bad thing. (Im not that funny) But you are. And if God is who everyone says God is, then Hes funnier than all of us. And nobody thinks about it that way.

for Juan Bernal

Pretty sure it was freshman year (Im terrible at remembering things) we played dodge ball in P.E. and you were very good and dodging things. We had this strategy where we would run about and duck and weave but rarely would we throw a ball. And we made it pretty far. And I like that concept. Because we mightnt have won very often but we didnt concern ourselves with that. We concerned ourselves with staying far from trouble, not causing it. And as unbeautiful as it sounds we cant win this game. But we can keep ourselves out of trouble and thats an honorable thing.

for Taylor Stump

Crystal clinks and warm brass quivering over red satin and thick oak black and white and buttons for all brewing lightly around linen trays bumping and swooning with another swirling around the dazzling center perched so high and far light catches and splits a thousand different ways glass teardrops glinting off gold and glimmer black and white and diamonds. How magnificent. How marvelous. How positively splendid. And then I can see you arriving, dragging me off the floor into the brisk pitch night pointing at the sky and shouting diamonds diamond diamonds. How stunning, indeed.

for Connor Ellis

In life, there are men who will tease you. They will pester and pummel and squeeze you. They will yell and berate you, tremble and hate you, and I would advise you: say nothing. For men such as these, who pummel and tease only resort to such violence, because they cannot bear the icy cold stare of the entity we know as silence. They make noises and shout, their voice scuttles about, because they fear something so pure. But you, my brave man, in sweet silence can stand, so good and so fair and so sure. And if people keep teasing and poking and squeezing for the lack of the things that you say, look them right in the face, and with style and grace, turn and slowly, unmoved, walk away. Then wallop them with a rubber chicken while they sleep

for Alexander Bell

To know the woods is not per say to know them. Because they spread and climb so very very far. The forest is the keeper of such a mysterious solitude that is aimless and timeless; the foremost bastion of an overwhelming vastness tucked away tween branch and fern. Something impressingly large and complex nestled deep in shadows, curated on sweet pure air. To know the woods is to open yourself up to such a vacuous expanse, embrace the seen and miles beyond, to nod yes yes to the large unfathomable. To know the woods is to know yourself.

for Carlos Luna

Life might be a whole lot like a crowded swing-set at a very small elementary school. Theres the few kids who get to swing and the bunch of kids who stand around waiting. Some of them talk and kick rocks around some of them yell and the kids swinging every once in a while theres a kid who so badly wants to swing that he offers to push just to be involved. They move back and forth back and forth until recess ends. And theres always that weird kid by himself with a bucket on his head spinning around and running crazy through the field out past the swing-set. And everyone else may laugh. But hes swirling and careening about the grass going different places and hes having more fun than anyone.

for Megan Konzelman

I cant really tell right now if were at the edge of the precipice or the foot of the peak but were at some notable destination. And perhaps even thats not entirely correct. Because I know people tend to label life an a to b when it isnt really like that. Existence is so much more spatial. Yes there is a lot ahead. Yes there is a lot behind. There is also much at either side. All around everyone, is everything in particular. life crisscrosses and ripples and blooms and all too often we funnel it down into a line. Do not do such a thing. Do not live fixated on the horizon, but dwell among the moments rich and full. You will be continually surprised by the worlds proximity. I, and others, will be forever close by.

for James Suchy

There is a young man who lives in an old clocktower in a village by the sea. Every day, he wakes and he cleans off the top of the tower bird poos and cobwebs and all even though the clock does not work. The townsfolk they see him. Some laugh, some pity, some scoff all belittling his toil in the morning. Until one day the most beautiful of girls moves into town. Other men buy flowers nice dinners, fancy coats. They strut and they swoon and they yearn. But no one else can offer such a spectacular view of the clouds and the skies and the waves.

for Timi Koyejo

Shall I compare thee to a summers day? For I have known them all already, known them all: But thy eternal summer shall not fade, when I am pinned and wriggling on the wall. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean though wise men at their end know dark is right. Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed, do not go gentle into that good night.

You see, to form a sound of sweetness takes not aim but careful planning, thought, perhaps a colon. Some poetrys an art and somes a game, for every piece of beautys somehow stolen.

for Mom
you reach beyond reaching with arms forever wide like as to embrace everyone. some marvelous sweeping curve that says welcome welcome never calculating but always so sincere. you wrap us up and roll us out in some expert fashion that I have never gotten the grasp of. some delicate timing that knows when to do everything. you harbor from the world and shuffle folks back in so well. seamless. As in: you always know when to hold or to release or to push me. love

for Dad
you contain multitudes that are completely in alignment. you teem with knowledge, wisdom science, progress and never spill over. the widest expanse folds up inside your pocket and you carry it like car keys, some average thing. you do not lurch or strain, even gleam in holding such. you sit still, unassuming and just have it at the ready. you do not protrude; you do not waver; you are a calm quiet with magnificent rolling clouds inside. you are special, you act it not, which makes you more so to me.

for Meghan Phelps

You are the night listening as I drive by to nowhere. and You are this permeating dust you hover in rooms and make the light scatter all soft and slowly. and You are roll upon roll of unused film waiting so justly for exposure and development. To capture a moment is so very beautiful. To hold its place in time and surround it fully, experience the bends and curves of light and shadow let it all in, let it all impress upon you, let it wrap your neck your face your eyes. How beautiful indeed. You are all this and more and you will always always be.

for Sean Nelson

My checklist for living a good life: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. Thats the honest truth (the dishonest one has a lot more words) but in a nutshell none of us know what were doing. And I find it of the kindest condition that you made me feel like I might have something of worth to say. But really, wisdom does not flow downhill. Wisdom is the dry dust at the bottom of some mountain and sometimes the wind blows it around. Welcome. Join the subtle mixing. And wait with us, for the small trickledown of melted snow.

for Logan Hansen

The way fog moves is such an interesting one. When its heavy it folds and fills between earth and evergreen, curls around and swells and billows thick and wet, it drapes over everything so strongly. And then a light breeze comes and ever so gently it spreads its airy arms and lifts away. Floats off and dissipates, tailing and leaving no trace. Something so present leaving so quietly. Good men have a lot to learn from fog. to be strong to be quiet To be present, but gently.

for Gabby Gore

There is a certain way that a bird approaches the sky. Moment before taking to the air it aims its head right up, it rolls its sort-of shoulders, so quick and concise-like and makes a definitive up. Unabashed and unapologetic a bird flies. Sometimes, you wear that confidence like a white checkered peacoat on a drizzly New York morning. And it is so becoming.

for Clay Jones; an English Sonnet

Take care, my friend, to use your time so well that those with whom you spend it are amazed. Fear not the sprawling world beyond your shell, for to the corners lay your trails, unblazed. And on your way aim always to progress, be true to you and live a life so free. At times your path may not lead to success, at those points, friend, be happy just to be. For wandrers, we all are, so none can boast Though some may get to places far and high, and claim themselves the best, the first, the most, that gives them just a what and not a why. And in the end the what will all be gone, but echoes of mens whys will carry on.