I’m sitting on my back patio that’s incased with a wood ceiling and below lies a green carpet underneath all of the steel furniture. The yard tools stand alone in the corner knowing that the bulk of the work they were to endure had just past with the ending of summer, except for the rakes, whose work schedule was just beginning with the arrival of a new season. The carpet shines with a brighter green than the grass in my backyard showcasing that the colder weather has wreaked havoc on the liveliness of the plantation in the yard. A harsh wind speeds by bringing with it the feeling of bitter coldness that is to come tonight. The wind whistles a quiet song and my ears perk like a deer sensing a slight rustle in the bushes.

My father had planted a garden that measured about 15X10 feet and most of the crops had begun to wither. The tomato plants were sagging toward the ground like an older man whose back kept him from staying upright while the other vegetables clung to their life like a struggling alcoholic. The garden was not a loss though. We do not live off our own crops or count on them for a monthly income. My dad simply enjoys canning salsa every year so he embeds the garden with onions, tomatoes, green and red peppers. The garden eventually gives birth to a plush variety of vegetables in which my dad then harvests and makes a delicious, little too hot for most people, salsa.

My father’s love for gardening does not come without cause. He has been a chef for most of his life, save for 10 years with the company DuPont. The automotive giant envisioned a future without my father, so he began to rediscover his love for the culinary arts. He is constantly coming up with creations and different soups and stews that my grandma seems to enjoy more than her daily soap programs. With all of his culinary masterpieces, one evil genius combination stands above them all and its name is “shmuda”. “Shmuda” has no actual set of ingredients, but is produced with the left over ‘something or others’ that have been stored and long forgotten and now must be consumed in order not to surpass the dreaded expiration date. It usually resembles something of a stew, but it’s safe to just consider it the ‘Lost and Found’ food meal of the month.

My dog, Charlie, sits with me and embraces all of the scenery outside. He’s half Beagle, half yellow Labrador so I have in return donned him as a ‘Begaldor’. Charlie is usually a smart attentive dog, but when he is released outside he becomes less attentive to his owner and more aware of his surroundings and the peculiar scents accumulating in the air. He takes notice to a large tree that stands a ladders length away from the garden. Without hesitation he bolts like a Clydesdale in an open field. He circles the tree as if a vulture zoning in on its prey and barks angrily at a squirrel that had just escaped his drooling mouth. The hair on his back briefly elevates giving the illustration of a much more hostile pooch than what he really is. I call him back, but he just blankly gazes at me and stares. He’s probably wondering why I’m sitting in a cramped space on cheap carpet and not in the yard basking in nature and all its glory. I stand up and begin strolling over slowly to my dog. When I look back and observe the patio I recognize that I was sitting outside in an area that resembled inside.

As I approach him I stare at a pond that is about twenty-five yards removed from my house. The pond is small and is encompassed by neighboring houses and a small beach that can be used by the subdivision for an annual membership fee of seventy five dollars. In the summer, the water ripples and waves from the rambunctious behavior of small unadvised children and the calmness of nature is drowned out by the screeches and cries of those same children. The beginning of fall meant that only fishing and observation were tolerated allowing the creatures of the season to resume their daily duties.

The pond reflects the sun setting sky constructing a mirror image that blankets the water from end to end. Gnats and other small insects dance on the water creating a recital which is accompanied by an orchestra of music provided by all the wildlife. The frogs create a nice base while the crickets’ noise is so often it becomes almost nonexistent. The accumulation of bird lullabies invents a melody comparable to that of a beautiful angelic songstress. The music devised resembles that of “shmuda”, all the leftover noises of the day interacting to produce a surprisingly satisfying tune. As I’m enjoying the obscurities of the outside world, I hear a car blaring Kanye West abruptly interrupting my silent trance like a burst of laughter in a quiet classroom. In that moment I loathe the rap music emitting from the random car. It’s as if Kanye rudely trespassed into my backyard and start rambling about Beyoncé having the best music video of all time during my pond’s masterful performance of music and dance. It wouldn’t be the 21st century if some outside force didn’t diminish the quality of nature around me.

I fear for the wildlife surrounding me. I hear that they are looking to cut down the cattails that stem erratically around the pond acting as a habitat and border for its creatures. The birds and ducks will be forced out and some of the life will dwindle away, but the committee that oversees all affairs concerning the water believes that the cattail will eventually overtake most of the area. In order to cease the movement of the cattail the neighborhood will eradicate it with a repellant that they will enter into the water like the BP oil spill. In order to stop consumption of the pond they counteract with a ploy of consumption themselves. Man versus Cattail. Survival of the fittest, because corn dog grass is so threatening to our livelihood.

I look back toward the house and that’s when it all comes to a full realization. We as humans are so preoccupied with consuming nature that we subconsciously fear nature consuming us. We eat the fruits and vegetables that the earth bears and cut down it’s greenery and at the end of the day we all return to our homes and continue our humble lives as a resident of this planet. When we arrive home we are enclosed in a tightly kept house with warmth and dinner that can be made in the oven at 425 degrees, drastically differing from the outside world. People rape the earth and it’s vegetation during the day for all of it’s bountiful treasure then retreat back to their homestead at night terrified of what ghouls and goblins nature may present in the late hours. We’re scared. As a society, culture, population, species we are scared to try to assimilate ourselves with nature in the fear of realizing that it may be more powerful than us so we continue consuming and eradicating any sort of feasible threat, no matter how small the rodent or how miniscule the vegetation.

I pat Charlie on the head receiving a nod of approval that it’s time to head inside. I watch him as he sticks his wet snout in the air and waits for any new arriving scent. I make my way toward the patio and the back door with my dog reluctantly trotting behind. I notice that when we head in he is still surveying out the back window toward the pond and its orchestra. I turn the lights on inside countering the darkness starting to flood in the sky. I then set the oven to preheat at 425 and think to myself how cozy and warm my bed will feel tonight away from the cold sudden gusts of wind that howl on the other side of these walls.

by Tyler Murdock, UM-Flint Student

Hosted by the UM-Flint Fraternity, Epsilon Mu Chapter of Phi Beta Sigma Fraternity Incorporated. This particular chapter does various service projects, one in particular is the “Sleepout for the Homeless” event, where they collect money, canned goods and clothes for donation.

To learn about the history of the Phi Beta Sigma Fraternity: http://www.phibetasigma1914.org/our-history/

———————

JeCorey Hawkins, UM-Flint Student and Member of Phi Beta Sigma Fraternity Incorporated

There’s hair upon our heads that grows back in patches,

the resulting effect of habit of yanking it out in a massive panic.

Where the forehead would usually be

is a sunburned spot, red-hot, from the headaches

and migraines that cause our thumbs to press against it

in a manic sporadic manner predicting the already mentioned habit.

Where the eyes are, black points, surrounded by colors

gotten that way from curious prey,

peering into the images and experiences

far beyond your eyes understanding

and thus drenching them with vicious color.

To either side used to be ears.

Now just tools we use to tune out the commercials

of conversations and views eschewed

by opinions briefly viewed between

takes of our own soap operas.

In front is a nose that used to be used for smelling,

now we use it to snuff out difference,

clinging to the pungency of bigotry and racism

like the sadistic, addictive smell of apple pie.

Below is a mouth,

that could be used for story-telling, smiling and adventure

but instead is employed to snap, bark, frown

and bite at whoever differs or misinterprets this venture.

To dictate the equivalency of words

instead of using them as a ship

to sail salt to others to preserve their tongues.

Below, we have arms.

Once used for the ability to wrap people

as presents and present them to

heaven in this soap opera.

Now used to bitterly push away the camera

and bring closer the substances that enhance

the picture, dramatic effects plastered in noir style-frame

to subsequent the gritty, bittersweet feelings

tucked away in invisible subtext.

A stomach that was once a crystal clear pool of welcoming

is now the front gate we use to keep out what we hate.

Legs are used for running away instead of running towards

and feet are misguided, swept off into whatever wind

keeps the heart the closest.

Where the heart is, nobody knows.

Like a cage without a bird it flew away.

Now empty and alone.

The anatomy of a human being.

Now everyone’s just like me.

***

by Kyle Clark, UM-Flint Student

Long nights with short tempers.

Short drinks for long bills.

Cut skirts pour juiced fingertips,

eyes ablaze with acting and quick quips.

While men’s virtues light to visceral.

Dialogue through car horns

and conversations through headphones

while slopped-up scragglers sing

for pocket change and we’re all

pie-eyed rebuking what we became.

Another Dive, another burn.

A torch to light the low

and lick the blow

inhaling slowly as we roll.

No whites in their eyes.

This sleazy shamus,

waiting, biting his cheek

and using his teeth to sweat the lips

his tongue rotting in the center.

A step up from Down There.

Where filaments of fog separate

the smog from the smug

and my soot connects them all.

A step up from Down There.

Where there’s no real nothin’.

Just lingering booze on breath

while honesty is buried in filters of cigarettes

that paint the sidewalks like we used to do when we were kids.

But now we lie awake until the morning comes

and we begin round…whatever.

A small step up from Down There.

 

by Kyle Clark, UM-Flint Student

 

I get chills when I’m near you
Your presence is my warmth
Your smile is my joy
You are apart of me.

You’re my North , my South , my East , & my West.
You’re my escape from the world & when I’m with you I am alive
Maybe it’s your kind heart
Maybe it’s your smile
Maybe it’s your head on personality
Maybe it’s everything
But you’re apart of me.
Whatever this is , I love it.
I love the feeling of being free and the love didn’t come free.
I start to think that I’m chasing it.
Am I chasing the thought of you or am I chasing you?

As I get closer and closer I breathe pure air.
Pure air in this polluted world.
Crazy right?
Over a billion people in this world and we breathe different air
Air filled with love
Peace within our veins
Melody within our hearts
At ease within our minds
Again your apart of me
We connect not just with a touch but mentally
That mental connection is what I desire
The physical connection is what I crave
Every minute
Every second
Every month
Every day
Every moment
It’s a blessing.
***

by Re’Shae Sneed, UM-Flint Student

Climbing aboard my airship, launched form the ground, not knowing if I’ll ever come back. Too many cats on my tail. Yesterday was a blast, but I packed my bags. All I had to do was pilot forward. Goggles secure to keep my eyes from burning out upon reentry, scarf wrapped around my head, this madness grows fonder.

Passenger Zero all dressed up, ready for take off.

Tell all the rats I’m gonna miss them terrible. Running my fingers over the smooth controls of this sleek machine. Switching 2A into 3B with hydro-dynamitic overdrive, watching the stars fly by.

Skipping along the Milky Way in one fine vessel, searching. All I could ever desire contained in a capsule out there somewhere, just waiting to be got. Personalized and custom. To possess the very meaning, immortal and sane.

That’s how I found myself searching for it.

Fighting my way through a myriad of worms and bishops and phony husks. So many phony husks. I made my mistakes. Cruising along, it sounds like this ship might rattle loose, but there’ll be no failing now, she’s been a faithful companion, a character in this epic romance.

This ship is gonna crash and nobody knows when. This ship is heading straight for the big star, headed to be swallowed by the universe. A handful of random notes in a homemade music box. It’s time to attack infinity. Shouldn’t there be a prayer? Feels like so much falling. It was too easy to take the shortcut. It almost worked. Almost.

***

 

By Jesse Malouf, UM-Flint Senior & Education Student

Guarded with Innocence

I am more than my hair and my skin color. I am a fierce writer with attitude.

You don’t ever want to cross me because you’ll be that person I’m talking about in my book. You know that irritating character no one likes? That’ll be you.

I am more than my smile and my peace sign of hello and see you later. I am the one that knows all of your secrets.

You know the thing you did with such and such? Yeah I know it, but I’m not telling anyone but my readers. They don’t know it’s you though. So calm down, take a deep breath.

I am more than being quiet and sheltered. I know way more than you think. Playing dumb and naïve isn’t cute, it’s quite irritating.

You just have to know how to play the game correctly. Who am I?

I’m someone who knows how to play the game correctly. Will I get caught? Probably since I wrote this. Do I care? Not one bit.

 

By Earlexus Dixon, English Major

We used to be so close straight out of the womb.

All through my toddler and adolescent years I fought with you and you always won.

Through my teenage years I did what I could to avoid you, but you would sneak up on me at all times of the day – in class and right after school were your favorite moments to come and to just “pop up.”

In my twenties I avoided you like you were the plague…We would go days without each other.

People warned me I’d regret mistreating you later in life.

Now that later in life has arrived, I not only need you, but sometimes I feel like I want you more than air.

I miss you Sleep. I’m so sorry for avoiding you. Trust Me, if you come back I’d be sure not to mistreat you.

You’d be my grass to my dirt, my ebony to my ivory.

We’d be inseparable, just come back…I’ve learned my lesson, this isn’t funny anymore.

Believe me we were meant to be together!!!

 

By Theda Simmonds, Psychology Major

 

Irish Blessing

May You Always Smile

More Often than You Cry.

May the lows Not Be too low

And The Highs Not Too High.

May You Play With Your Wings

‘Til You Learn To Fly.

May You Say All the Right Things

At All the Right Times.

May Everything You lose

Be Everything You Find.

And Tonight Love, 
May the Dream You Desire

Dance With The Stars 
Inside Your Mind.

 

By Eric Doerr, UM-Flint Communication Studies Major

 

Ode to Punisher

You came into my life very suddenly; I didn’t look for one second

Then as quick as you entered my life, you left

See, for so long I kept you chained to my side

Held you safe in the pocket of my heart so I could never lose you

But I lost you

I reached for you but all I found was the space you left

I tried to convince myself you were replaceable

But the stitches of your soul were something no one could replicate

To this day I don’t know why you left

Maybe you had suffered too much loss for one lifetime

So you tri-folded your identity making sure I wouldn’t grow close

But I did

Maybe you felt like the anti-hero of this story

Maybe you put up a moat around your castle so I could never reach you

Maybe you were too filled with vengeance that you had no room for love in your heart

I know you solve problems with utter finality

But the only thing that was final for me was the hole you left in my heart.

 

Poem by Melissa Emery, UM-Flint Communication Studies Major

*This creative poem pertains to the Marvel Punisher Wallet she lost.