Po(e)tpourri (multiple authors)

Po(e)tpourri

Animal Facts – Vol. II

 

Patrick Fritz-Morkin

 

Undergraduate/ Information Systems

 

Ben Villwock

 

Undergraduate/ Environmental and Public Heath

 

The Scottie is the only breed of dog that has lived in the White House more than three times.

The dog with the largest ears in the world is a Basset Hound named Mr. Jeffries. The dog's ears are 11.5 inches long, and are insured for $47,800.

Camels have three eyelids.

The longest recorded lifespan of a tapeworm was 35 years.

The world’s termites outweigh the world’s humans 10:1.

You are more likely to be killed by a champagne cork than a poisonous spider.

Just like fingerprints, every cat’s nose pad is different.

Some hummingbirds weigh less than a penny.

Unheard Confession

 

Kara Wisniewski

 

Junior/Social Work

 

That final night I wanted to tell you

But I couldn't word it in such a way

That I wouldn't be afraid for you to hear

 

I could have tried to stop you

I wanted to stop you

But my mouth couldn't form the right words

And my legs couldn't move

So instead I watched you walk away

 

So with nothing left to say

I turned my back on you

And I became the one that was the coward

 

Photo(synthesis)

 

Daniel Saffert

 

Undergraduate/English Literature

American goddess, sad synthetic harlot,
you are the grove whose fruit plucked
quells the endless hunger of these droves,
countless patrons pithy lust spilling vacuous seeds
upon your tired, infertile soil.

With a shutter I could steal you,
fasten your bones, possess your body
ravish you, your instantaneous self.
It is the privilege of our collective mind,
the rained depravity that makes her verdant,
embellished but still divine, perched.

Her glorious decade will usher us
through worn anatomies, painted faces,
to the germination of a new Venus, growing
on discarded limbs through whose embrace we once breathed.

 

Fuckin' Love

Lisa Brancaccio

Undergraduate/ Print Journalism

i will not fight
for your attention
and i will not
strive for your
perfection.
your perception
of perfection
is fucked up
and full of
rejection.
oops,
let me make
a correction--
there is no rejection
in your perfection,
only misshapen ideals
and fantasies,
but when i sought
your attention
i did find it in
a fuck.
oh, that one fuck.
you motherfucker.
you want me,
but you want to
change me
and in exchange
for my change
you will give me
that fuck.
you know it’s my
weakness,
and this week you
laid an egg in my nest
(insert winky smiley face here)
do you enjoy my
cheesy jokes?
they’re just a part
of my fuckin' charm.
i like to laugh
when i’m upset
and i enjoy
making you chuckle
when i’m craving
a suckle..
..on my tits.
i apologize.
that came out wrong.
so wrong.
(and yet so right)
i think what i meant was
i want to be on your cock.
shit. fuck.
this is coming out
all wrong.
I WILL NOT FIGHT
FOR YOUR ATTENTION.
I WILL NOT STRIVE
FOR YOUR PERFECTION.
what then,
am i searching for?
someone who can handle
my imperfections
(they’re endless)
and connections to
all the men in my past
(they’re endless, too)
and my perceptions
of love and lust
and the good ol’ American
fuck?
perhaps.
shit. am i waiting for..
...love? SHIT. FUCK.
things are not looking up.
this ‘love’ cannot erupt
for it will shake me
until it breaks me,
forsaking everything
i’ve learned to believe in.
this shit is beginning,
and it’s screwing me over,
so please, good sir,
allow me to recover
my emotional state-us
as being alone,
on love hiatus.
don’t fall for love,
for love will ask
you to change
and all you will get
in exchange
for your change
is a broken heart
and a fuckin' bad fuck.

 

 Requiem for November 10

 

David Riesch

 

Undergraduate/ Undeclared

 

To those Marines who’ve come and passed;

May your conquests forever last.

Your dedication, your discipline,

Strengthens your country for whom you win.

Sacrifices paid to uphold order

Leaves your cause no less shorter.

You have the commendation of us all,

Our praise is in the flag as your pall.

 

Flying

Emily Diehl

Undergraduate/Print Journalism

I thought of you
when the song woke
me, a vibrate jive refusing
to yield.

Where you will be, I cannot
follow. I can image a place
for me, but it’s like the skin
wrapping a scar, the visit
lasts short, and a trace
remains.

A beam of “maybes” and
books to share; I find myself
singing, you are a good friend
of mine.

I’m dripping breath faster
than I’m dripping love.
Tell the weatherman
that it’s pouring misery.

I must always empty through
the crack and trickle the stone
walls and wooden fences.

I have not lost who I am, but
I search for the barrel
that has distilled my form,
a vanilla, caramel inhale and

I think you are an Angel’s
share, evaporated and
draping the shed.

The sweet hazel water cuts
my teeth and rubs my gums.

Waiting for the finish,
it’s nameless.

you will see every corner,
and see this year,
see every hello, and say
every goodbye.

Your long smoky finish
siphons the clear off
my still.

Terrible Talent

Scott Suring

Undergraduate/Graphic Design

I have a terrible talent.
The power to hurt people,
I don't use violence, I just use words
I do this because I know that they hurt way worse,
especially when they come from a friend.
I hate the fact that I'm so good with words,
because I know that it’s never the right time to hear them
I don't think about them they just come naturally.

I can't control my powers,
I can't control when I use them,
or who I use them against.
It’s always the person with good intensions
my best friends,
sometimes those who seem to be more then friends

I know I should be saying this to them
but I know I won't

That’s my other talent.
The ability to cut people out of my life completely.
People who are my entire life one day
are nothing the next.

I have the talent to make myself look like the victim
I can twist words to make negatives positives
to make me look better
and make them look like the one who is obviously wrong

I can't control my talent
it's a God given gift
but hopefully someday I'll learn
but for now I'll just be the kid with the terrible talent

Heat

 

Katelyn Derricott

 

Undergraduate/Education and Dance

 

Turquoise watery eyes

They aim, they fire, they nearly kill me

I'm sure they could quench my thirst

Help me escape the heat for a moment or two

That smirk of yours

 It knocked me out onto the carpet

And I had no time to tell myself to catch

I wish I knew your name

Like that would let me see inside your soul anways

But oh I know you right now...

Your hands are rough and you could cut glass with those eyes

You'd probably feel nothingness

and I would feel the same

I wonder what your hand would look like next to mine

I wonder what your nails would feel like in my back

I wonder what your shirt might look like on the floor

I can't really breathe today

Air comes in and out, forceful and rude

Pushing into my lungs

Making itself known

I wonder what it would feel like to breathe you for a minute

You'd probably feel nice and cold

 

Lakeshore Dreams

Zeke Witter
Undergraduate/Creative Writing

Violence abounds at its origin,
a place of sun-bronzed skin
and splooshing hand-slaps,
where the resounding chuckles
of childhood still echo harmlessly
off tree trunks and mountain tops,
where the best efforts of mind
can only recall vague memories
of a valley, a pond, a tire swing.
The outer edge of a ripple lulls,
like the nodding head of an infant,
and disappears on the sand.