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bobby burns Mar 2016
upstairs and downstairs, like a frazzled owl character in my third-grade reader
in the doorway of my 200-level on sub-Sahara where we talk only of Nigeria
holding the elevator for my superior in the lobby of a too-tall edifice to man

a college student.
an ABD.
intern.

backstage at your high school graduation ceremony, your mortarboard won't stay on your head
in a food court where your mother doesn't get it when you say you can't wear pants anymore, or get your bimonthly haircut
when you're skirting the poverty line after your family business was sued but your FAFSA says parent #1 earns six figures

initiate.
neophyte.
not-quite-other.

the female body as a threshold between worlds, channel betwixt boundaries
Schrodinger's cat simultaneously in separation and marginal phases according to van Gennep
divorce papers signed but not sent, enclosed in manila at the bottom of a cherrywood desk

continuum.
spectrum.
a line without points.
on liminality
Carl Velasco Sep 2017
I’ll never forget.
MiniStop, Intramuros.
2016?
I had long graduated, the mortarboard
now a naked head of hair. The gown
now dilapidated jeans, and an overfitting
shirt. The fancy shoes now knockoffs
caked with mud and grime.
The little store was hot. Small.
On walls: baby cockroaches took chances.
Trash bags dog-eared below snack concessions.
A brown goop spun, the tungsten overhead
made no noise. Was there music? Was there
some commentary about love or crudeness on the radio?

Always self-conscious, I retreat to
the inner racks. Magazines lay there vacuumed, unpurchased.
Outside the picture window, an afternoon beamed its sun kiss.
I think I didn’t end up buying anything, because before I could,
some college boys entered. At the instant, I turned to them
and felt curiously incensed. This odd duality of envy and sympathy.
I was you, I’m me now. I want you, I’m not you now.
To look that young yet mature, to have a schedule.
To saunter inside the store before, during, after class. The
choice to enter, to parade, to be so vital.

The college boys, their plackets, collars,
their image. These hot-blooded men finer than me, stronger
than me. All handsome, winsome, reckless and brimmed with
swagger. Me? I stood examining the force, the association.
We’re all merely similar men, and I’m at a similar age, and I can
be a similar form factor. Mimic their teflon skin; shed my stucco,
leatherbound flesh.

And as soon as I attempted to undermine their specificity,
I lost my own place. I found that there’s no connection at all.
Other than I know nothing about the boys,
and the boys know nothing of me.
Ours is to provoke thought , stir lively conversation , relay life experiences on every occasion , brushed with a tad of fantasy tinted on the mortarboard of creativity and brilliant imagination ...
Quiet walks through country lanes that come to creation before the storytellers keen eye .. Cicada filled trees , blackberry thickets , strawberry dreams and Esquire rabbits ,
June Bugs on shoulders edge telling tall tales , Sir Bullfrog in character at the wishing well !
Relaying truths to conjure hope in the layperson , with austere poetic compilation , guidelines and hardened steel reserve commitment to excellence before my peers !
Copyright January 23 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Let the Earth receive the music -
of the lonesome eve calling , sung before cranberry ,
fuchsia , Monet renditions of sundown ,
before crystal garland evergreens , Hickory
tinsel , alabaster hillsides from the mortarboard
of 'Divine Creation' , odiferous rosin cementing
the grandeur of distant dark Sugar and White Pine
The conviviality of countless starlight from dew
wetted plain o'er boundless ****** night* ...
Copyright October 1 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Kat Schaefer May 2020
Mama tells me you’ve been at night school
You make your living from 9 to 5
I know you like to burn the midnight oil
You study physics just to feel alive

Daddy says you spend too much time
Trying to prove that you’re above this town
He says education won’t get you nothing
Except a mortarboard and a gown

But I say forget mama and daddy
I love to see you sparkle and shine
How you talk about dystopian literature
When you come home for Scrabble and wine

Miss Carol says you’re wasting your energy
That an education won’t bring you a man
But if you live your life like Miss Carol
Being alone is part of the plan

Pastor Jenkins warns you of temptation
How knowledge often leads men astray
But I know God wouldn’t have made the path
If it meant you couldn’t walk your way
sansksksksk Jun 2020
a stray mortarboard lies
crumpled in a heap under
trampling feet
and the scent of
unchecked ambition
Lee Holloway Jul 15
I wore a beret to the office today, and people had **** to say
I wore a baseball cap pulled down over my injured eyebrows
I wore a sombrero on an Edwardian picnic

I wore a beanie to bed every night and I think it helped a lot
I wore a balaclava that was frozen to my mouth
I wore a bucket hat because it fits my face
I wore a fedora before it was cool Reuben
I wore a kippah and family pearls
I wore a trucker hat that said
    BRIDE
while my wife wore a button down that read
    QUEEN

I wore a trilby then, and of course one smoked
even if one didn't enjoy it

I wore a kufi and a Public Enemy T-shirt
I wore a Santa hat and each child took my picture
I wore a homburg hat, carried a bumbershoot umbrella
I wore a panama hat to a polo match on a cloudless day
I wore a mortarboard and robe, looking tall and clear-eyed
I wore a tam o'shanter, and had Brave **** written on my back
I wore a pillbox hat to my wedding and still get compliments to this day

I wore a visor and brought a sarong with me every single day
I wore a top hat, a ripped up suit, and dead flowers in the pocket
I wore a deerstalker most of the day Saturday, and I never do that
I wore a stetson with crossed sabers, yellow cord and sgt stripes
I wore a dunce cap and was summoned to the corner for the rest of the day

I wore a boater in summer and a beret in winter.
I did not look as good as this girl

I wore a pith helmet, a veil, a bee proof space suit,
leather gloves up to my elbows

I wore a Phrygian cap of doeskin lined with otter

I wore a turban then. In a flash we were
in each other's arms in an unrelenting hug
diploma acquired magna *** laude – double entendre

Xlv years elapsed since
I (former long haired pencil necked geek)
bid alma mater adieu,
the quietest kid, who never said boo
nobody discerned handy dandy blues clue
what yours truly thought,
cause figurative blanks he drew
remaining quiet as a Unitarian church mouse
never uttered a dog gone peep
extrovertedness he did eschew
even now two score and five years

after donning mortarboard and gown few
and far between words spoken
courtesy me, a former
Norwegian bachelor farmer
Lake Wobegon mine imaginary home
solely without friends grew
impulse to become linkedin
through schizoid personality disorder
offered solitary existence
alone within emotional wilderness hue

cannot imagine loneliness
(analogous to be bajillion miles
from nearest neighbor
while housed within igloo
mattered not whether gentile or Jew)
at tender growing up age obliviousness
suffused every cell constituting
Matthew Scott Harris
interestingly enough yours
truly quite outspoken

thru dimpled cheeky
adipose characterized kazoo
flatulence courtesy pop slop
incorporating secret ingredient
intended to ward off licentious
pheromone exuding females loo
sing hormonal secretions,
anyway said unmentioned
quite tolerant spouse,
(who remained faithfully

married enduring quarter century)
despite incessant husband
buttuck blasting - courtesy moo
ving odoriferous soundcloud waves
issuing *** him tote across avast spatial plane
resultant impact on par with nu
cull lee air fallout ooh
noxious human air pollution pu
tress hint smell as natural deterrent
to ****** reproduction, nevertheless
***** aligned (alphabetically

by athletic prowess) think queue
able, eager ready and willing to
increase chromosomal revenue
blaring semper fidelis
as lucky ***** pierces zona pellucida
wee acted ***** yule us,
when call of the wild – bald truth
found me to ******* and spew
sticky goo, and stopped reproducing
after daughter number two
me unbiased, but both offspring
attractive in their papa's view.

— The End —