After World Poetry Day, Alligator Staff Share Stanzas

Boots

Look down at the scraped leather toes

On my clunky black boots that I’ve worn to New York, Miami, Athens, Washington

D.C. With their gum rubber

Soles worn down at crowded punk shows And biting concrete of hot city streets.

Athletic socks stained at sweaty protests.

My stiff leather footwear walked

The same pavements as rich kids,

Fascists and charlatans with their big words Like “safety” and “greatness.”

Well my boots keep me safe

and they fit me real great.

Before Colorado or Washington

I smoked pot in these shoes, and I’ve kissed Girls and worn dresses and punched my dad

In these boots.

Jeremy Haas is an Avenue writer

A Small Moment

There is a small moment,

After I walk you home

And after we kiss,

Before we say good night,

When you nestle your head

Against my shoulder,

Tenderly, your hair against my cheek, Long after you’ve entranced me,

Before we fall in love.

There’s a tiny perfect moment

When I can’t quite tell how long

Before you let me go.

In your embrace I can imagine

That you never do.

And though the moon is rising

The hour growing late

There comes this one small moment

That hangs...

That hangs...

David Billig is an Alligator copy editor.

The Widower

When I was young

He threw slow baseballs

For me to hit

In the backyard

And his voice was laughter

And he smiled

And I thought I’d be just like him.

And when I got older

Rooms grew quiet

When I walked in

And they all glanced warily behind wine

glasses

And his voice was cautious

And his smile didn’t match his eyes

And I wondered but went on.

And some years ago

Rooms stayed loud

And she threw things heavier and not so slow

And I don’t think they noticed I walked in

And his voice was broken

As he pleaded that he loved her

And I hid in the other room.

And now she’s died

And wine glasses stay full

As though she were still here

To empty them and throw them ‘cross the room

And his voice is hollow

As he still tells himself she loved him

And I pray I’ll never be like him.

David Billig is an Alligator copy editor.

There Are No Words

There are no words as yet so beautiful and painful

As when she says, I’ll see you tomorrow

Beautiful in promise of another day

Like this.

Painful for lack of that one word which

could surpass:

To have her whisper,

Stay

David Billig is an Alligator copy editor.

Flowers

Roses are red

Violets are blue,

My grandma is slightly prejudice

And so are you

Don’t worry

I am, too,

It’s not your fault, it’s not your wrong

To “pre”-judge: It’s a human phenomenon

What matters is what you do

What you say

Respect is a commitment, Not a character trait

No one is pure

Nobody’s evil (credit to Sirius Black)

Except for Rick Scott, that homeboy’s cancer

And Paul Ryan, too

Mitch McConnell ... etc.

The fact they hold power

speaks volumes to how involved we are

(We aren’t).

How sour.

Wait, didn’t I start this poem with A flower?

Be love, don’t just preach it.

You’ve got a

A cellphone

A laptop

A voice and

A brain (sorta credit to Nina Simone).

Use them wisely and with compassion.

Things are messed up, and they won’t get better

Unless you make them so

And don’t take no for an answer

But you’ve gotta want it.

You and me, we’ve gotta stay close

You and me, we’re already close.

After all, we’re 99.99999999999 percent the same DNA already.

... or something like that

(credit to Carl Sagan and Neil DeGrasse Tyson)

Where was I again?

Flowers!

Love and roses

Violets and prejudice

Life’s constants

I’m bad at conclusions

RIP Harambe.

RIP the motorcycles Smith Meyers tipped over.

Oh yea,

And mint-chocolate is God’s punishment for man’s sins.

David Hoffman is an Alligator copy editor. He is single and ready to bang ;)