Inspirational Haiku

[Preface: Homecoming is quickly approaching. With this in mind, I can't help but reflect on some of my fondest memories as I amp myself for next month's festivities. Homecoming is about more than the game, the Yard, the stepshow... It's about seeing the people who helped you through some of the most trying experiences in your life. It's about those long nights you spent in your BFF's apartment laughing or crying, cramming or drinking... And now, while you may be seperated geographically, should you need your dear friend, they are only a phone call and plane ride away. It's about trying to re-live your college experience in all of three days. ::Smile:: Why isn't it October yet?]

A long, long time ago, a group of college friends sat around after returning from senior year spring break. We were all well-tanned from the Negril sun, and anxiously anticipating our last few weeks as college students. While midterms were finished, and we only had a few finals to complete, our love lives had consumed us. We were intelligent, hard-working, beautiful, successful twenty-three year olds who were focused (with astounding tunnel vision) on the respective objects of our affection. Some of us had recently ended long-term relationships (with ex-beaus who had already acquired new girlfriends), and others of us simply longed for untameable men. All of us, in some form or fashion, were subtly bitter.

But instead of walking around campus as angry black women, we channeled our frustration towards a creative outlet - poetry. Haiku to be specific. Dionne told us that she was writing a book of inspirational poems, and that we should all contribute to it. The book was entitled (drumroll please): B!tch, You Worth Somethin'. Don't Let That N!cka Ufck Up Yo' Life...HO: A Book of Inspirational Haiku.

You have to excuse her sometimes; she's from Memphis. Anyway, I wanted to share a handful of those Haiku with you. While creative expression should never be limited to instances when you're down-and-out, those can really be prime times for creative energy to flow. Using the 5-7-5 guidelines, we poured our hearts, souls and and not-so-subtle jabs at men into a collection of fun poems.

They reek with profanity, but take a gander if you like...



Who is She?
How do you know her?
Why is she always around?
Tell that b!tch to die


That Ho Gone
One day she will die
I know because I killed her
Locked her in the trunk


Just Go
You can go to hell
Mmm, yes. You can go to hell
And take her with you


The Garbage
She looks like pure trash
You know what we do with trash
Throw that b!tch away


Shrek
Your girl looks like Shrek
You must have low self-esteem
Get that b!tch a leash


LOL! Man, in retrospect they sound pretty bad. But, in the moment, when you have a room full of emotionally drained women, a bottle of wine, and a desire to laugh - this is what you get. Fun times! Fun. Times.

The Single Aesthetic: finding ways to creatively express your anger, disappointment and hostility without breaking, punching, slashing, hitting, or smacking something (or somebody). What's better is having a "book" to reminisce over years later. College memories, man. Nothing like 'em.


Look for the Employment Version coming soon!!

Just a Taste, Pt. I

It was like perusing the last ten years of my life, while sampling the tastiest cuisine Chicago has to offer. Or, visiting a museum of sorts… but with better concessions. As soon as I hopped of the plane, my linesister/honors fraternity brother/dear friend picked me up in her Honda, which I fondly remembered as a party-mobile from our college days. I was beaming. I had never visited the Windy City before, and I could only imagine what the weekend had in store for us.

We dashed home so that she could change/recuperate from her evening. Then, we headed to The Taste. At the entrance, one of my BEST friends from high school, “Matthew” was sitting, waiting for us. He called my name, I spun around, and there he was. He was as tall and handsome as ever. He still had that broad smile. His foreshadowing grin alluded to inside jokes we would revisit over the next few days and new anecdotes from both of our lives that would keep us in stitches; it signified a genuine love between two strictly platonic friends whose bond had survived over a decade.

I made the introductions: “high school friend, meet college friend,” and vice versa. As we made our way down the crowded street, who did we stumble upon but more high school friends. Guys I hadn’t seen since Christmas – whom I hadn’t expected to see again until Thanksgiving. The world is so small. “Heeyyy!” we smiled and cheered. Half-embracing, half-leaning back to get good looks at one another, we simultaneously began pulling out our cameras to capture the moment. Phone numbers were exchanged, etcetera, etcetera. It was time for food.

Round Two began shortly afterwards. This time, I was embracing, and getting a good look at, and photographing my college friends. I hated to make Matthew feel uncomfortable… but I hadn’t seen some of these people since I graduated, which was over two years ago. There’s just something about being in the midst of intelligent, fun-loving, driven, well-rounded, jovial, smiling black folk… particularly when, the moment you see each other, you’re transported back to your college years. No, we weren’t standing between the pizzeria and fried chicken booths; we were on the yard, at noon on a Friday… A First Friday, no less, which meant we had plenty of time to kick it. And, though our memory session lasted for only twenty minutes, it provided a glimpse, a taste, into everything I had loved about my college years. Man, I miss my alma mater.

Fast forward to that evening where even more fellow alumni surprised me. One guy, whom I considered a mentor and big brother as a freshman, was at the club videotaping the crowd. He was working. He was one third of an entrepreneurial production company called Hear My Vision which he and his colleagues had established in college. I was shocked to see him. His locks were longer, but his smile hadn’t changed. After doing a double-take, I staggered towards him, half-drunk and half-amazed, for a warm hug. He was engaged! The wedding was in September! His fiancée, his long-term girlfriend from school, was someone I had known from my dance ensemble at school. I couldn’t have been happier for them. They had survived undergrad in a place where some the most intelligent and most attractive black people resided. Congratulations were definitely in order. We exchanged numbers, promising to keep in touch, and parted ways. Had I really just seen him?! Was I in the Twilight Zone? Could I press “pause” and just stay here for awhile? Could we all just move here and re-live college happily ever after? PLEASE?

Saturday was a blur:
Woke up.
Cooked and prepared for the Bar-B-Que.
Showered.
“Ashlyn” made some magic punch with Everclear, pink lemonade and Raspberry Gingerale.
Guests arrived.
I started drinking.
I can’t remember the rest.

Sunday, although I was hung-over, was amazing…