By Necessity

Sitting alone in a hotel suite, spread out on top of a hard bed with torn notebook papers covering the comforter and the sun setting outside of Sioux Falls and feeling inspired, charged.

Haven't eating anything but trail mix and ground cherries from the downtown farmer's market so perhaps that has something to do with the way the world looks right now, vibrating and soft around the edges. Television news passes in and out of my auditory periphery; ambitious men and women preaching for power, games and gossip and the falling price of corn. I need to do laundry, eat a meal, shower ... will probably go for a run before any of that. Cut the chords with my own momentum. Maybe grab the butternut squash someone planted along Skunk River, catch a few innings of Little League where the trail wraps around a playground and park, collect smiles and wild sunflowers.

Shoes, shorts, shirt ... paper and pen.

I am alive, for this I will celebrate. Me, you, us. Avocados, river stones, wild-flowers, grape juice, wolves and stars ... beginning with I and ending with love. Let the wind whistle between pauses and dust collect after every thought in the hopes that a mountain may one day rise out of those dear spurs, burps and flashes.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep. ...

Eyes Wide Shut

Wanted to share ...

A student in my AP English class printed this exchange out and brought it to me today. These emails were sent between the two of us last summer, prior to our first meeting in August. At the end of last year, I gave the AP students several assignments to complete over the summer, one of which was a choice of two out of three recommended books to read and write a comparison paper on. As this is now the final week of classes for seniors, this student thought it would be funny to remind me of our first interaction.

First, this is the email that he sent to me in June ...

Hi Mr. Doyle,
This is Cole Montgomery from your new English Literature class. I started reading The Kite Runner, and it seems to have been written by a negative person. I haven't even started chapter 4, and I have read several instances that are cruel. One instance in perticular is a thought from the author in the story, where he says he wishes that all the orphans died with their parents (pg 18, 1st paragraph). I can understand that this is a true story and some things will be the raw truth, but this just appears to cross an imaginary line that people shouldn't cross on how far to go in a story. I apologize for disrespecting your homework to us but I would like to read another book instead.

He sent another email the following day before I had a chance to respond to the first ...

This is Cole Montgomery again.
I apologize about the last email. I figured I could let it go and I continued reading the story. I reached page 75 the last paragraph and realized something. The last comment I said about crossing the line that shouldn't be crossed was wrong; this is the part that it is applied to. It is sick, disturbing, and a little too graphic for me. My own mother agreed to that. I don't care if this is a true story; it is getting more mature than I am ready for or ever will be ready for. Therefore, I refuse to continue the book until an explaination is given as to why high school students are reading a highly mature book as explicit as this one. If I read further, will I encounter more explicit content? Are the other book choices given to us going to be the same way? I apologize if I sound mean but I just want some answers.

That weekend, when I had time to reply without being rushed, this is what I wrote back to him ...

Cole,

First, thank you for taking the time to write with your concerns and I apologize for not getting back to you sooner. It's been a busy week and I wanted to make certain that I paid adequate attention in responding. You are not disrespecting the assignment by voicing your opinion, and I commend you for expressing your views so readily. While I don't want to seem at all to contest your evaluation of the text, I would like to do my best to justify the assignment and why I selected that particular book.

In an AP course, we will be dealing with books that I would consider to be at a higher level than most you have read previously in your other English classes. This includes content that may be considered more mature than texts previously read under the auspices that the students enrolled in the class would be more suited to dealing with such topics with an open, yet naturally critical, mind.

While for some the issues and themes presented in this novel may be seen as controversial, it comes down to the fact that these are real life issues and themes which do exist in the world, if not directly in our own personal lives. The Kite Runner puts a human face to the recent events in Afghanistan that we would not always see in the news. It opens a reader's eyes to another experience, another culture, even another way of thinking. And if these critical themes and issues are not deemed safe to be explored or acknowledged in the abstract literary form, what implications can this have for how these same issues are dealt with in reality? Unfortunately war, rape, violence, and cowardice all exist in the world just as they do in this novel. Please do not feel that the author is encouraging or applauding such negative behavior by bringing attention to it; his intent is just the opposite, in fact.

Personally, I believe that this novel's strengths surpass its potential flaws and feel that such content will necessarily elicit strong reactions from readers (as is evident in your contacting me so quickly) and that this is a good thing. You do not have to agree with any suppositions made in any text we read. In fact, it is often true that readers do oppose one or more of the themes presented in most examples of advanced literature. Critical evaluation and such visceral responses as yours will no doubt encourage a very thoughtful and engaged thesis in your paper and I look forward to reading it. However, there is something to be said for finishing a story or delving deeper prior to passing final judgment. In the author's own words, "The overall message of the novel is tolerance, love, friendship and forgiveness. It denounces bigotry, it denounces violence, and hatred and discrimination." I think that if you continue on with the book through to its end that you will see this clearly.

In retrospect, I should have provided a disclaimer along with the summer reading packet that these texts cover some sensitive issues. If you decide to not continue on with the book, that is your choice and I have no problem whatsoever with you selecting two of the other three books to read and compare instead. I think you will find them less polemic. Just let me know what you decide and feel free to contact me if you have any further questions or concerns. I look forward to having such a critical mind as yours in class this coming year. It is so often that we see students apathetic towards their own education that it is refreshing to know those with strong opinions and voices are there as well.

I hope you are enjoying your break,

Daniel Doyle

He never responded and about two months later (the week before classes started for this school year) I received his completed paper, a comparison of Angela's Ashes and The Kite Runner with these comments ...

Here is my required work for AP Literature.
I will turn in the rest the first day of school.
Have a nice day.
Cole Montgomery

His paper was very articulate and expressed his initial apprehension but eventual appreciation for the books as works of literature but also respect for the stories that were told and their messages of compassion and understanding.

Blink.

oy

Your presentations must be a minimum of 10 minutes and no more than 15 minutes.

Hand raise.

"If our presentations are less than 15 minutes do we get penalized?"

Next question. Hand raise.

"So, if our presentation is 12 or 13 minutes we good?"

Moving on ...

wide awake and dreaming ...

it's always a trip to look at yourself through the lens of another's camera or in the mirror of someone else's eyes and note the impressions we make, at times fleeting and others lasting, upon the surface of their self.

got two messages today, one via email and another via facebook (ironically, it was from a 60+ y/o on facebook and a peer, at least similar in years, through email). both of these are people that i have had relatively few and limited interactions with yet what they had to say today in two totally unrelated exchanges struck a chord with me that is vibrating into the afternoon. maybe it'll incite me to play ...

the elder is a relative of a relative of a relative ... so not, as far as we classify it, a direct relation to me but by marriage only, and then marriage again. i've met this person at a few family gatherings and our conversation has been limited to small talk from what i recall. she was simply asking how i was doing and what life in the south is like (as if i can comprehend it, let alone explain it). i replied, we exchanged a few messages throughout the day (apparently she spends a lot of time in front of a computer at her current job and uses much of it to track her younger family members' comings and goings and doings and other things on facebook)and a couple correspondences later she wrote;

"Since you will be in the south for a bit, I do think it's time to begin your novel. You have an incredible gift for words and you have an inner feeling for people that draws others who are open to you, and you to them. I don't care if you write fiction or non fiction, humor, self help, sadness, tragedy, etc. but start writing! Write about the people who you met in life or the students that you teach. Write about anything but just begin to write. These gifts we are given are meant to be shared and I hope to see you share your insights and deep love for people with the world. I believe in you and I know you can make the NY Times Best Sellers list." ... she also mentioned that she would be the first in line at a Water Street Books signing. made me laugh, but also made me pause ... and think.

especially since earlier the same day i received a similar, in a way, email from another acquaintance whom i have had very limited interaction with. now, i'm a huge fan of fate and the implications that apparently chance occurances have on our lives if we choose to pursue their complicated webs of possibilities, and i met this girl on a rainy night in williamstown while i was working a shift for somebody else at the gym front desk. i was a senior (finally). she was visiting town on a tour of the berkshires with her elderly mother, from texas, and since it wasn't pleasant weather to be walking outside she decided to come work out ... she was beautiful, of course i let her in without williams id. we spoke briefly, went out that night to a bar with a few of my friends and kept in touch such that she came back the following weekend (she had graduated a few years earlier and was now working in hartford, ct). we spent the night together, but around 4:00 am she suddenly grew self-conscious about waking up in a college dorm room (though my room was pretty incredible and not at all typical, unlike the tapestry-hanging, black-light days of an underclassman) and decided to leave (did i say she graduated a few years earlier ... more like ten). we've had limited contact in the three years since ... just the occasional text message. she emailed out of the blue last week to say she'll be in texas for a while and was wondering how far away from austin i lived if i wanted to visit. i wrote back (too far and poor timing)and mentioned that i was still teaching though getting tired of the hamster-wheel of bureaucratic incompetency in public education, particularly low-income/high-need schools. she replied ...

"it saddens me to even detect a spec of cynicism from you as I know your heart to be so passionate and driven to improve the lives of everyone you touch in a positive and educational way. Dan, knowing you has impacted my life in many positive ways...rea ipsa loquitor... and, we haven’t even begun to unravel the yarn of intricacies of one another yet. you simply exude love of everyone and everything. i would go on but have limited time. so, just know that I think very highly of you, care very much about you and know how much it means to you (or, I think it does) to be a leader by example for any and everyone you interact with in this world in hopes of influencing the minds, bodies and souls in a way that promotes positivity, energy, questioning/pondering life, choices, education, etc ... I’m just babbling here (sorry)!"

i need to emphasize at this point that all our relationship consists of is that first night at the bar and the second evening a week later when she visited, both several years ago, then roughly one or two texts per year since.

ariadne's thread is long and might lead me back to the same place where i started, but i'm sure i wouldn't be the same person upon arriving there. i think, what i fear the most, is that i am seemingly no longer free (via responsibility) to pursue those threads ... and that ipso facto (to piggy-back upon the latin maxim usage), i fear the comfort that disregarding loose ends, or sitting on a particular terminus, might imply.

that aside, my mirror on the (facebook) wall and my message in a bottle (of google goodness) made me a little happier and a little sadder today.

here's to promotions, new beginnings, old dreams, turning corners, turning back the hands of time and turning 27 (like all birthdays, a sweet juice with a bitter after-taste).


pax.

PA

"all mphs students caught at second street park, you will be arrested, courtesy of the moss point police department. starting today, if you are a mphs student you are not allowed to go to the second street park."

Nobody is perfect ...

but everyone is beautiful.

false alarm

sat through another counselor (talent search) talking about all black scholarship this or that today. she comes at least once per week to take 5-10 minutes out of my classes to talk to the seniors about scholarship opportunities. the vast majority of them are offered to african-americans only. anywhere from 5-10 students in each class i teach happens to be white. i almost hate to do this, but put yourself in their shoes for a minute. they are just as, if not more, poor and marginalized than any of the blacks in our classrooms, have just as few opportunities and are just as disadvantaged ... some perhaps more so ... does nobody black see this as direct and blatant racial discrimination? it is the responsibility of the majority, black or white, to be sensitive to such discrimination. ignorance is not an excuse. why can't tougaloo, etc offer their scholarships to anyone who applies, with essays more like "explain how being a minority has affected your life" rather than "tell me what being black means to you". anyone can answer the former, not the latter.

also today our school's fire alarm went off three times throughout the day. the first time it went off, my students looked at me and i quickly got them up, in a line and heading down the hall towards the nearest exit. after about half were out of my room, the alarm stopped, so we turned around and went back. not a single classroom besides mine even attempted to evacuate. only 2-3 other teachers even looked into the hall to see what was happening. most just ignored it. that's what i did for the second two that afternoon. not once was any announcement made or email sent explaining or directing how to react. let alone apologizing for disrupting our classes ... yet we get chastised if an administrator happens to walk by our room a minute before the bell rings and our students aren't engaged in "valuable instructional time". am i the only one getting mixed signals? i think any educator or social scientest can explain the importance of consistency in education/training ... or fireman (or anyone with common sense) would emphasize the importance of fire safety recognition in children.

this happens at least once per month. which explains why most teachers and students ignore them completely (as difficult as that may be as they bellow through the rooms and halls like angry air horns).

stop. drop. keep rolling.

One Love

MPHS Drama Club BHM Program 2009 from daniel doyle on Vimeo.

Step in the Name of Love

Been a while since I've posted, though plenty post-worthy has happened between then and now, but I have an empty classroom and a impulse to vent for a minute ...

Most of my students are out visiting a nearby college campus for "Bulldog Day", an event put on for all Gulf Coast seniors. I would guess roughly 1/3 of the senior class actually goes, the others just take a day off ... fine by me. I think more than a few of them had enough of Shakespearean sonnets for one week anyway. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" ...

Second period, not a soul in my room, so I'm reading the news online (have about 12 NYT window tabs opened at once) and in walks a special ed teacher who also happens to have a son who attends our school who also happens to be a member of our drama club. He's a junior, shy but smart and definitely a social outcast. Ginger to the bone. He transferred here earlier this year, roughly midway through the first nine-weeks, after his parents had a messy divorce over the summer and his father decided he was too busy to take care of his son. His mother is an emotional/psychological mess, but cares about her son. She saw the type of students that I had coming after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays for our weekly drama club meetings, all very bright, creative and generally good, non-judgemental kids, and eventually convinced her son to start coming. He had a blast and they welcomed him immediately as the environment we have established is amazingly open and carefree (I say amazing because our school is in the deep south and it is a high school after all). Some days while she is busy with work, he stays after Drama Club with me and a few others who want extra help on research papers or college applications. We listen to music and talk about all sorts of things, as those who typically stay tend to be some of the more mature, intelligent and inquisitive at the school. I found out he is a die-hard Jimi Hendrix fan who could play most of his songs on the guitar. He hadn't spoken very much prior to then.

The last month, particularly the last week circumstances as they've been for me, we've been getting ready for the annual Black History Month program. "Why they put a white man in charge of Black History Month?" one student jokingly asked. I killed it last year. We had probably one of the most amazing programs the school or community has ever seen, and I reveled at the opportunity to impart so much that I find important to teach through use of exposure to such a wide audience. Be it original poems, songs I selected, or short skits that I wrote, I chose everything that was included carefully and we did NOT focus simply on black history or celebrate "blackness", whatever that is, but instead focused on several bigger issues. Like a celebration/recognition of all minority groups generally ostracized by societies around the world. Like focusing on topics such as unity, tolerance, compassion, equality and the importance of speaking up for yourself/using your voice. Like challenging the audience to think, not simply to react. Like embracing all races, not being just about black or white, but being about humans, people first and culture, heritage, religion, gender and all else second. It was incredible. And this year was as well. From the opening acapella solo of Kevin Michael's "It Don't Make Any Difference" to the curtain call as the entire auditorium sang "Lean on Me" in unison. I hope to eventually get the video footage and put it together online, and hopefully after today I'll at least have a photo montage posted.

Everyone loved it. Again. To hold two assemblies, each nearly two hours long, with a packed auditorium at this school without a near-riot starting is a feat itself. But we held both groups, upper and lower classmen, at attention the entire performance. We had them laughing at times, cheering at times and at times hanging in silence on every word. The parents who came in the evening (as expected, a poor showing; with nearly 50 students in the show we had perhaps 30 people in attendance ... meaning most of the students performing had no parent or guardian show up) gave them a ton of compliments after the show. This was last Friday, nearly a week ago now.

So, today. This teacher walks in and closes the door behind her, "I need to talk with you Mr. Doyle. Do you have a minute?" Of course I do, come on in. She's visibly nervous and won't look me in the eye. Over the next ten minutes she alternately explains and apologizes that her son may not be able to continue in the drama club and, in fact, may be getting pulled from the school ... because of our Black History Month program. It appears that she, incredibly excited as I had witnessed last week leading up to the show that her shy and awkward son will be performing in front of the entire student body and local community, had invited her ex-husband to see his son on stage. They went for pizza after the show, and all his father did was yell.

Let me explain the routine her son was in. The students had wanted to do some dancing, so I had selected two seniors to help me choreograph a series of dances. West-Side story style, it would be a dance off ... between a white group of students and a black group. One from each, "the leader", would start off alone gesturing and challenging the other then call out their crew. Alternating from either side, the two groups would take turns dancing to, admittedly, stereotypical songs ... Walk It Out, Soldier Boy, etc for the black group and Cotton Eyed Joe, Disco Fever, etc for the white. As expected, it was HILARIOUS and the crowd absolutely went wild. All the white kids, who were at first terrified to dance, got by far the biggest round of applause after each song and their confidence shot through the roof (just want they all need, this woman's son included). In the end, we had both groups come together and hug then dance, all on stage at this point, to the Cupid Shuffle, Jump On It, and finally partner up (black with white) to Step In The Name of Love. As pairs pealed off into the wings of the stage the two "leaders" were left alone stepping with one another and eventually seperating after exchanging, in-sync and still stepping, the male's suit jacket (thanks for the move, Maurice). I saw it three times on Friday, and was in tears laughing each time. It was perfect.

At a school that is decently mixed - approximately 75% black, 20% white and 5% hispanic - there is still an incredible amount of self-segregation. Sure, most are civil, even friendly, towards other races but very few actually spend time outside of class with one another. They still see one another as fundamentally different. I hope our program, this routine and all the other components of it, helped shed light on the fact that we are far more similar than different and that though we may be unique, these distinctions are not necessarily in opposition and make up only a part of who we are.

And what was his father yelling about? That his son was dancing with a black girl. Not slow dancing or hip gyrating, but simply holding hands and stepping. He was, in fact, even furious at the fact that his son was in a club with black kids in the first place or, for that matter, had to go to school with so many black kids. He told his wife he was taking his son out of the school and putting him into a private Christian academy about 40 minutes away in Mobile, AL. We only have two months left for the school year. Apparently he had missed our message and, in his immature, unfortunate reaction, proved how necessary such a message still is, especially in schools and communities like ours.

Before leaving my classroom, she thanked me for all I've done for her son explaining that drama club was just what he needed and how much fun he's had, that she nor her son share her ex-husband's racism and that her son has not been sleeping as he has been so distraught for the past week. I told her I would talk to him today after school (our next drama club meeting) and hopefully calm him some.

2009.

The ignorance is staggering.

the evolution of dance (or something like it)

shit

just when i was getting fed up enough to really, and i mean it, start thinking seriously about what i want to be doing with myself next year and down the road ... just before i start to send in applications to grad schools or other jobs ... just about the time i am frustrated enough with the bullshit that goes on in public education as i know it in mississippi ... just as i get sick of the lack of options, of ideas, of ... life ... around here and think i'm finally ready to scratch the itch to open my arms and let the wind carry me to some place else far away that's more exciting and interesting ...

i get this ... a text after spending some time tonight talking with a student and their parent at our school's parent information evening.

yes, i get texts from kids all the time. i've not only made known my phone number but pretty much advertise it on a regular basis - particularly when student's claim to not have understood the homework ... and you know, in three years i've only had one instance where i've regretted doing so. and at the same time, i receive at least one text per day (some days as many as 15-20 when major assignments are due). none are inappropriate or a waste of time ... simply legitimate questions about school, class, drama club, etc and the occasional solicited "life advice" ...

so, anyway ... while at my desk after the last parent has left and debating whether i want to work a few more hours or get up early tomorrow morning ... i get this, probably from the smartest student i've taught so far in my short career. a brilliant girl i had last year as a tenth grader and this year as one of the select few eleventh graders in my senior ap course. she is easily the brightest in the school ... unfortunately, moss point is the equivalent of a cloudy night so it isn't easy to shine at all.

"My dad says you seem like a really good teacher, and he respects that you care so much more than the rest of the people in moss point. LOL you impressed him."

"ha, thanks ... i try"

"It shows. You're really the best teacher i've had. I'm so thankful you came to moss point cause you've changed a lot about me."

"you changed a lot about you ... i just helped you do it"

"LOL but i don't think it would've happened if you wouldn't have shown me how to. You define teacher. You taught me how ... LOL"

"i know plenty that would disagree, but thanks. students like you make it worthwhile"

"You're welcome, and i'm glad. I would hate for you to get sick of us and leave. LOL our school sucked before you came here. Ask anyone. You must think you're ordinary but you've changed a lot of us LOL"

"just tired ... stop texting and go read a book"

"i'm studying for a history test! LOL"

"good. and i would never get sick of you guys ... you all are the only reason i'm still here."

and it's true. i can't imagine staying another year ... but neither can i imagine leaving these kids.

preach!

"... so I be written in the book of love
I do not care about that book above
erase my name, or write it as you will
so I be written in the book of love."

Sunflowers crawl up glass cheeks

A world of purple covered butter cups
And iron clad daisies
Speaks volumes of how you
Picture yourself
When the ivy describes its sunrise with a hard consonant sound
And the bubbles blow babies
Starts sounding profound
When the whiskers on evening and the elephant's dreams
All wind up for dinner or coming over for death
With a sidecar and a box of sugar free kisses
Or a note from your loved one that is signed
Paperclip this
Refer to the man who prefers to be me
Unless wishing for golden giggles at approximately here
So suit up or get down
Whichever the wind sings
By boxing in a beautiful shadow or walking along on thin air
Beneath the sunrise of a rose’s nervous blush
I can’t count the times I’ve made rubber confessions
Or pretended to believe I was drowning in drawers of tiny trees
But believe in the pen that can scream from its knees
Pink hungry hope pancakes
And a glass of cold teeth.

Playlist

And she's chosen to believe
in the hymns her mother sings …

Words are flying out
like endless rain into a paper cup …

Caught by a wave my back to the ocean.
It knocks me off my feet …

I'll get used to this eventually
I know, I know …

Then the light begins to shine and I hear those ancient lullabies
And as I watched this seedling grow, feel my heart start to overflow …

Couldn't find it in your eyes
But I'm sure it's written all over my face …

I don’t know why nobody told you
How to unfold your love …

And though your dreams may toss and turn you now
They will vanish away like your daddy’s best jeans …

And the streets don’t change
but maybe the names …

And we'll bask in the shadow of yesterday's triumph,
And sail on this steel breeze …

I know we can’t all stay here forever
So I want to write my words on the face of today …

And just as I find my footing
here you come again …

And the things you can't remember
Tell the things you can't forget that ….

When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, got no secrets to conceal …

Well if mercy's a business, I wish it for you
More than just ashes when your dreams come true …

Whatever colors you have in your mind
I'll show them to you and you'll see them shine …

And the gift she sends to me
a solitary way …

I changed
by not changing at all …

Will the wind ever remember the names
it has blown in the past? …

Freedom is just another word
for nothing left to lose …

So hold nice and close once you get down to your soul
So that when it is cold you won't feel so alone …

'Cause nothin' lasts forever
Even cold November rain …

And maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep
But singing works just fine for me …

Far from a round table, but not from Arthur Street ...

Laying on a damp bed of cool grass
My heavy head held in a bowl of fingers
And heavy lids about to confess
That they haven’t yet seen all they had intended
But it had been enough.

A loud sky finds the back of bare skin
Overwhelmed by the stars and the wind
Which both make more sense
Than the young thoughts that carried my feet to this place
Or the old dreams that will carry them back.

Once the wind settles, the voices grab on
Flickering prayers and steady hopes swim with decent fears
In and out of time like the tides in a tiny glass bowl
Rocking itself to a restless sleep
Before another breeze blows them all away again.

A touch. Maybe it was a kiss. A forgotten chore.
A full night’s duty to the coming day
Sworn to protect and honor what it chases but hasn’t met
And may never know
With a life that was never meant to be it’s own.

Then a song, quick and interrupted but painfully proud
In its defiance of the night, the voices
And sleeping, suffocating giants without concern for the stars, the wind
Or nearby tidal waves of reality
But desperate in its duty to honor what it can no longer defend.

A stampede of love, a cold tear from heaven and a heartbroken cricket
Remind me that it’s not possible to be lonely
Without the burden of regret
Or to sleep soundly without giving yourself up
To the night.

learned a new trick today ...

does that mean i'm not an old dog?

“A guy and a girl can be just friends, but at one point or another, they will fall for each other...Maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time, maybe too late, or maybe forever” ~ dmb

.~. close your eyes .~.

written in the early morning hours after a caffeine-induced all-nighter staring at computer screens under penetrating fluorescent lights. still don't dream like i used to ...

haven't been this inspired in a long time ... think it's time i did something about that. listening for a voice ...


laying on the edge of sleep
between blankets of shit undone
exhaustion breaking down the walls
Ive kept up with caffeine and adrenaline
too tired to be anyone but me
or to feel anything but this
deep desire to hold you
as if at any moment you might be blown away
and I might wake up alone again
another night gone by
but here, between next and now,
I cant help but believe my arms were made to fit around your waist
tracing the line of your pants with a painters grace
pausing to lay my palm against your warm skin
listening to our heartbeats synchronize
smelling your special blend
of vanilla and apple scent
closing all space between the small of your back
and my chest
my lips are called to their prodigal purpose
dancing along that space on your neck
just below your ear
that I cannot kiss without making you squirm
you whisper my name unconsciously
your beautiful voice coming to me from memory
and just as im about to slip away into darkness
to meet you on a familiar beach at sunset
with white sand and long shadows
the stars so close im tempted to pick one out of the sky for you
and let it glow in our room like a constant candle
how about the north star? Or orions belt buckle?
nothing but the best I would say
and as I drift off wishing this were more than a dream
your fingers find mine and our hands embrace
and I know
that I'll never sleep so well again

Propers

Been meaning to throw these up for a while ... couple of postings from Big Poppa E's LiveJournal Blog.

The first was a post he wrote just after visiting Moss Point last May. Cheris Smith, a senior in my Creative Writing and Poetry Club, had been corresponding with him via email in the hopes of getting him to come host her Poetry Slam - which I had convinced her to put on for her Senior Project since she was such a natural with the pen. Within a few months, I was driving to New Orleans to pick him up and am still being inspired by him today.

The next one is an article published in the MS Press Register just after the show. Here are two video clips from the show he posted (which aren't working at the moment but he has assured me would be again soon) and the letter of recommendation that I wrote which he posted on his site as well. I threw it together on my off period one day months later, rushed between meetings and deadlines, and am a little embarassed by some of the errors but I guess I got my message across.

Picked up a note today in between classes off of the tile floor.

Usually balls of crumbled paper go straight to the trash bin but sometimes curiousity gets the best of me and I open it up before throwing it away. Here is the heart-warming exchange I read between second and third period ...

Are you going to give it up?

I said no.

But he said I love you.

I said so.

gO 'BAMA!

Watching college football on a slow Saturday night at the Yacht Club bar and one regular turns from the television in disgust to ask for another Coor's Light and shout ...

"Only thing I hate worse than niggers is Alabama."

The room was filled and nobody said a thing in response. Just kept watching the game ... and drinking their beers.