Graduation Poems

For Kate

There may be truth to find in soil science,

but why just scratch the surface when the tools

spelunkers of the soul’s ambivalence

require are merely JSTOR’s knowledge pool?

It’s great to have you in our Christ alliance,

you, humanist from Hudson chose my school!

As never have I heard the word said “Orahnge”

In such a way for me to think it foreign.

Our Kate has nothing at all to prove,

except perhaps how coolness amasses,

she knows the good and bold, and always shoves

away from Hubris and his advances.

She’s not as puritanically above

accepting advice from Dionysus,

I know no other who delights with wine,

Tight-scripting essays quick while slouched supine.

It’s all for purpose, learning liberal arts

or so you’ve reassured my soul’s unease.

Our hospitals have X-Rays scans for hearts,
But only you can make them still believe.
I wish you love in Christ and man (an Abelard!)
To go along-side you as Eloise.

May God anoint such faith with Libation,

(Least not your man to risk emasculation.)

Along with Tom, you battled bats and mice

To be the ‘fellow rift with strength and poise.

From pulpit, Macbook, or bedside, any device

you use within and with your joys,

the pedals, flow’rs and bikes, (least not forget our Christ!)

for anchored faith in windy Illinois.

A man may work his toil from sun to sun,

But this priest’s ministry has just begun.

To Hattie

Who knew the south may rise up strong again?

Or maybe some rise straight up to the top

On to my home and native land, Wisconsin,

Where liquid barley is our fav’rite crop.

Comparatists, you tell me how words pop: 

Be weary of Germans baring gifts;

don’t bring your card to the librairie shops.

How awful living life locked in the Stagnant!

Embarrassing as telling Spaniards you’re pregnant.

I realize the sun goes part-time in

the winter. Trust me, I can feel your pain.

But that you chose us o’er Wash U.’s chagrin,

we all feel keen. With you, one rule germane

the greatest sin lies within the mundane.

Just as a Vegan never loses tempah

I never see you losing face or brain.

The best from Mid-Town’s streets, I must attest,

Most excellent in fancy, infinite in jest.

I hear that graduation’s Latin for
“Now get a job!” resume those résumés,

Just don’t embalm yourself with the Peace Corps.

The only advice I can think to say,

life’s more an open mic than cabaret,

You’re a wind chime to our northern cow belles,

If April is the cruelest month, here’s to May!

And as you leap across adulthood’s fjord,

I leave you to the grace and favor of the Lord.