The Night Before TEEs

"Twas the night before TEEs
And all through the Corps,
The cadets crammed
To memorize just a little bit more.

Though exhausted from Army/Navy
cadets resisted their beds,
While visions of essays
Danced through their heads.

However, up in my room
The fear quickly sank in
TEEs were tomorrow!
Studying? I’ve yet to begin!

“Why TEE Week” I wondered
"Why are they so mean?"
A sleepless week’s battle
To finally Beat the Dean!

Between the coffee and Monsters
My nerves were now shot,
But with the Comma Club approaching
I brewed a new pot.

I turned through my notes
But the facts were all muddy
My mind was a mess
I simply couldn’t study.

“Some food could do it,”
I thought with a shiver
But it seemed all of Highland Falls
Refused to deliver.

Dong Fong was closing
Their last meal was made
So I turned to ol’ faithful
A party pizza from Shades.

The grease was distracting
causing burping and farts
searching for answers,
a blind man throwing darts.

A double-knock,
Then, my door opened wide
And Patron Saint Procrastinate
Stumbled inside.

His face was unshaven,
His boots were not shined,
He cried out in cadence
His game plan in rhymes.

“On Spark Notes! On Wiki!
On all partial credit!
On plug-n-chug, dump,
then immediately forget it!”

Roger, good copy.
He’d convinced me all right,
As he flew out the window,
He yelled in the night.

“The Dean always wins,
So just do your best,
Happy TEEs to All,
And to ALL a good test!”

Cow Commitment

So, after a year's worth of dreaming up the sought after romanticized lifestyle of taking a sabbatical from West Point—with aspirations to travel, volunteer, and write my first novel—I finally came to terms with the lifestyle God has intended for me to live. I swore an oath of commitment to the profession of arms. I am humbled to be so lucky to serve with and for my brothers and sisters of the most beautiful nation in the world.

When I arrived back at West Point—a week ago, this past Sunday—I still hadn't made up my mind yet. Although I'd been doing serious soul searching, and exhausting my resources in my large support system, I couldn't figure out where my place was in this world. I tried talking to professionals, i.e. professors, officers, counselors, coaches; tried talking to family and friends; tried talking to God, all of whom are incredible people, but nobody really helped me much. In fact, they just made the decision more complex by introducing even more minute details and different angles that I hadn't previously recognized. Nonetheless, thank you all for your efforts, I really appreciate everything. After a few days of contemplating, and playing chess with all the moving pieces to shape my future, I made my decision. And here I am, shortly after the Affirmation Ceremony, reflecting on the importance of my decision, and couldn't be happier.

General Reimer (Ret.) spoke exceptionally well as a representative of our fifty-year affiliation (Class of 62, CAN DO) and as our special guest speaker. He reminisced from a time during his cadet career, when General Douglas MacAuthor addressed his class, and spoke of the importance of their role in the nation. Same role, fifty years later, MacArthor's words harmonized with the voice of our guest speaker, when he assured us of the worthwhile experience before us and the sincere privilege it would be to lead, in the most profound form of the word, America's sons and daughters, to protect their dreams of a brighter future. I made a connection, a special bond with my class, my academy, my country, and my God simultaneously during that speech. The Class of 2012, "For More Than Ourselves," our class motto rang in my heart and soul like the echoes of the Liberty Bell centuries ago. I no longer desired the year off. I will always have the distant thought to experience that independent, adventurous lifestyle; however, I firmly believe my place is here at West Point. Not because I've performed on an elite level before and feel entitled to the prestige of this place, but because of the position it puts me in after graduation. To lead soldiers in combat is the epitome of leadership. Eventually I would love to be a college English professor, possibly even coach high school football, but as gratifying as it would be to be responsible for part of a younger generations development, combat leadership encompasses a higher responsibility—a soldier's moral, mental, physical, spiritual, intellectual being—a soldier's life.

As I join, with my brothers and sisters of 2012, the profession of arms, I do so gratefully. I've never done anything extraordinary in my life to deserve to be in my current situation. I've simply listened to and learned of my mentors, and tried my best in everything—with the exception of physics. And so, sitting in Robinson Auditorium, listening to GEN Reimer's speech and taking in the peripheral panorama of my classmates waiting anxiously, I found myself on the brink of tears. I thought, "Why me, God? What have I done to be so fortunate? Thank you, for helping me realize how special this opportunity is, and thank you for your personal blessings."

I couldn't help but speak softly; repeating our Commadant's words of the oath, and feeling, already, the worthwhile experience GEN Reimer so eloquently described moments previous. I could take the sabbatical and explore the wonders of the world, write my book, publish some poems, go to school, teach, coach, raise a family, and be happy. But when my children read about this war in their history books, and ask me what I did during that time, I would be embarrassed to say I gave up the opportunity to play my role in it and leading forty of the nation's bravest. This war, agree with it or not, is the event of our generation, and the outcome of which could have a powerful influence over the world for the generations to come. That is something special, and something to take seriously. I may not have the military competence to be the most decorated infantry officer of all time, but I don't want to be. I want to play my part, lead my unit into and safely out of the fight. The only way I know how to, the way that somehow has landed me in the position I'm in today, listening to and learning from my mentors, and trying my best in everything I do. Because the people for whom I do my best, America's children, and for the future of those same people and my children as well, deserve my very best. The sense of gratification I gain from honoring my commitment to serving them is more than enough for me; and, I am absolutely confident my classmates, just as those for centuries before us have felt, feel the same honor I feel to serve. It's not for us that we do, not for what '62 "Can Do," but it's, "For More Than Ourselves," 2012.

Saturday Night

"Hey man, what're you up to tonight?" I texted my buddy from home.
"not too much goin to this lil party..Jasmine wants to have a few drinks few dances..you,"
"Atta boy. Hm, nothing really..watching a movie probably."
"haha no party tonight?"
"No, not tonight. It's a quiet night here. It's a Saturday."
"haha yea i bet..arite bro i'm bout to pick her up. dont have too much fun ;)"
"Oh I'm going all out tonight for this movie...popcorn AND candy! Ttyl brother."

---

"Hey what're you up to? Want to watch a movie? :)"
"Heyy..I would but I already have plans. Sowwyy :("
"No worries. Have a good night.."

---

"Yo you want to split a pie for dinner?"
"Dude, just ate bro..stuffed"
"Haha alright. Later man."

---

"How was vacation? :)"

. . .

---

"Heartd you hit a homerun today! Atta girl! Feel good?"
"lol yea thanks. then they walked me twice so that was gay. mom tell you about the ipod?"
"Lol that'll happen a lot this year. Try to be patient.. No, did she find it?"
"yea i will. yea she said she wanted to check with you to make sure it was the right one tho"
"Ok, thanks. I'll give her a call tomorrow then. You doing anything tonight?"
"just hanging out with Jen and Angie"
"Cool. Alright kid, have a good one. Congrats again on the homerun!"
"thanks"

---

"Ay girl, you want to get a wrap and watch the games tonight?"
"Heyy actually I'm hanging out with my roommates tonight..sorry"
"Girl night, it's cool. Enjoy.."

---

"Yo hope you're enjoying your weekend out of here! Drink one for me!"

---

"Hey Mike, ya want 2 want to go to IAmSecond tomorrow morning? 1045"
"Yea. That'd be cool. Thanks.. Meet in your room?"
"Ya sounds good"
"Cool, Thanks Liz. Have a good night. :)"

The Wrestler: Heart of a Lion

Hundreds of large, fluorescent lights in the gymnasium's rafters brighten time to stand still at high-noon for men to scrap all day in a climb to glory. From 0630--when wrestlers wake their drained bodies into a sweat just heavy enough to read their respective weight-class minus .2 lbs on the scale before they can replenish their electrolytes--and for the next twelve hours the gym is alive with the thrill of competition. Spectators fill the bleachers as wrestlers leave their post weigh-in picnics for the mats to start preparing for their first match. Wrestlers leave the stands and the gym is split into two halves. The wrestlers form a human wave pool with a hundred or so circling the perimeter, with the classic white Ear-bud crawling out of their sweat suits and injecting motivation through their ears; while the rest stretch and drill take-downs in the middle of the mats. The emotional participants of the day overtake the bleachers; territorially like wolves, marking a specific diameter of seats for their pack.

As the warm-up winds down, the wrestlers return to their areas in the bleachers for more nourishment, the stands become packed and ready for action. A panorama of the fans is checkered with the different colors of school pride. Royal blue of Buffalo, traditional brown and white of the proud Lehigh, Big Red Cornell, and the bold black and gold of West Point. These sections will later create a discontinuous wave that flows through the crowd periodically throughout the day, as each section gets its chance to stand, whistle, and cheer in victory, as one of its own earns it. But for a short time, after a momentary pause of the music, a synthesizer suddenly blasts from the speakers with the famous tune of "The Final Countdown," and the man behind the microphone greets the gym with a thunderous, "Ladies and gentlemen, arrre you ready!?" After a short introduction of the competing teams, he asks all to rise, and honor America for the playing of the National Anthem. As the crowd stands, all the different teams and colors temporarily unite and blend into one team's spirit, Team USA. When the final note is played, the announcer kicks things off, "Llleett's get ready to wresssttlllle!!!" And with the sudden blurt of a referee's whistles, the tournament gets underway.

Wrestling mats cover the gym floor, which from bird's eye looks like an array of two-toned circles from wall to wall, within which wrestlers seem to be diving, twisting, flipping, and throwing each other. But zoom in closer and one can see the details of the action, which only those who have personally experienced can fully appreciate. There are two men in peak physical condition, exhausting themselves with blows to the head, knuckles across the face, torquing joints in an unnatural way that would make any witness cringe. Such barbaric actions make the casual viewer disgusted, and the curious viewer wonder why these men put themselves through fight after fight. For anybody to attempt to understand, he must look beyond the brutality of the sport, for the deeper meaning behind the suffering weight-cutting, bloody faces, and torn ligaments. Because wrestling is the world's oldest and most respected sports for a reason; it is why the wrestler is. Step up to mat side, and take a good look...

Mat one: a returning All-American who hasn't stopped thinking about, or training for his next trip to NCAA's, who dreams of topping the podium this time around, is faced with the swagger of a young hot-shot on a mission to stake his own name in the history of the great sport. Two men, two different styles, strengths, weaknesses, and experience, have the same, singular goal, victory. Two men, warriors representing everything their team stands for, but defending their respect alone. No star player to depend on for the game-winning shot, nobody to pass the ball to when the pressure is on, no time outs in order to re-strategize. He is on the battlefield alone. 100% responsible for failure, 100% responsible for dreams to become reality, he takes personal pride in making his own destiny, his legacy. The wrestler carries the weight of the world as he knows it on his shoulders alone. His sweat. His blood. His tears.

Mat two: After a scramble leads the two men out of bounds, the wrestler in black is slow to get up; he takes a few seconds to adjust his constricting knee brace and reflect: down by four points with thirty seconds left. He knows the tall task ahead: having to escape and take the guy down twice, just for a second shot at victory in overtime. But focus your attention on his face as he stands tall to jog back to the center line, and you'll believe he can win, just by the look in his eyes. Because two knee surgeries couldn't prevent his senior-year campaign; so, physical exhaustion and a four point deficit will not slow him down either. He tells himself, "I will not be denied my dream. I will be victorious." When his eyes meet his opponent's, he sees that his opponent is desperate for the thirty seconds to expire, because his will to battle any further already has.

On each mat there are two wrestlers, and there is a story behind each wrestler. Different paths have led them to that single match, and afterwards they will go their separate ways, possibly to cross paths again; but in that moment, one man's strength and determination stands in the way of another man's dreams. Often times the winner is determined by pure talent--many great warriors have fallen to the sword of Achilles chiefly because he was a better fighter than them. It's not a knock on a man's character to fall to a superior competitor. It's about what happens during the match that defies a man. When limbs are numb and shaky, drowned with blood coursing through expanding veins, and lungs are exhausted, and the mind is at its breaking-point, champions prevail. Every part of his body has ceased normal function, and his mind has recognized his body's desperate need to stop, and even agrees--it is at this defining moment that a champion's heart will last longer, and inspire from within.

Tireless training upon endless hours of concentrated will-power is what the championship caliber wrestler lives through along his road to victory and history. He sacrifices the luxurious pleasures of the life of a young adult, and rather dedicates two hours to watching former great champions' film than two hours to the latest TV show, or coolest new movie. The wrestler understands commitment. He appreciates the value of blood and sweat. He is a unique athlete, not necessarily the strongest or fastest; but possibly has the strongest will. The Greatest preaches that the will must be stronger than the skill. The wrestler has heart. The wrestler is.

Idealoveogy

I've been a romantic guy my whole life. Pre-school crush on Stacy and Trey, two of the Day Care's workers, I'd pick lilacs from the trees for them during outside playtime. Kindergarten through forth grade Amanda owned my heart, I literally chased her for years--more recess fun. But my first puppy love was in the sixth grade; and, it was the first time I was slammed with heartache. Middle school was the battle ground where my journey for love began. Unfortunately, she too soon grew tired of my poetic nature, and cute notes; and bed time stories weren't cool enough anymore. She hit me with a dream-shattering line that I thought would be the only time I'd ever hear it, seeing as it isn't really provoked by many, "You're life isn't a movie, Mike. This is real life." I'd heard stories of true love, saw it in movies, and I wanted nothing less than that, "can't eat, can't sleep, reach for the stars, over the fence, World Series kind of stuff." But here I started to learn that not everybody else wants that, and even more saddening is that not everyone could believe in that kind of love. Now ten years later, crazy as it may seem, I've heard that same exact line three times. But regardless of those I've loved and lost, and for those who didn't believe, I refuse to let go of my lifelong dream. True love exists. She's waiting for me to sweep her off her feet, and I'm waiting for her to live the dream with me.

She exists in Ms. Bennett. She refuses the idea of marriage unless it's based off crazy, head over heals love. Unfortunately in this place we live dubbed "real life" by so many cold-hearted, not everyone agrees with her. Marrying for reasons other than true love is like vehicular cosmic-magnetism. It happens. The only way you stop it from happening is to stop at every traffic sign, and look both ways carefully, fully expecting that blast out of nowhere. Because if you don't see it coming beforehand, and you don't refuse to settle for comfortableness and security, you'll find your love life a total wreck.

She exists in Bella Swan. The very reason I stand whole-hearted as a proud member of Team Edward is because of their burning desire for each other. It can be argued over Jacob and Edward who is the safer, more comfortable, more fun guy; however, it is irrefutable that Bella is passionately in love with Edward. She is unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him. That's the love I believe in.

Unfortunately, I've also walked along the other side of the line. To be the one lesser in love is almost as painful. I have had to look a girl in her teary, confused, innocent eyes, and apologize for not having a better reason for my heart not choosing her. There is no explanation for having a beautiful, smart, funny, exciting young woman throw herself at me, and have my mind tell me how perfect of a lover she would be, but my heart not respond. And I will always hope a girl can keep her faith in love, and her eyes open for her Romeo.

Love is uncontrollable. We don't consciously decide on a girl who fits all our ideal qualities in a girl. There is no check list to be completed before our heart dives in--athletic, well read, witty, cute facial expressions, check check check check, OK she's good; I can love her now. There isn't a formula, it's not a science. In fact, love is the most unexplainable, irresponsible, irrational... yet most magical aspect of humanity. Love is the reason for our creation, our purpose.


And so, despite failed attempts, strike outs, and heartaches, I remain a believer. Never settling for comfortableness or convenience, but living with hope for only the most romantic story. Sure, a "movie-like" story, a "happily ever after," a "dream come true," can become my reality. Why not? Who says it can't be so? It can happen. I can have that, "can't eat, can't sleep, reach for the stars, reach for the stars, over the fence, World Series kind of stuff." But not just for my sake, also for hers. Because she deserves nothing less than for me to ride to her, as her "knight in shining armor," on her "white horse," and treat her like the princess she is. Because we all deserve to live the fairy tale, the "happily ever after" story.

Sex and Poetry

I'm sitting at the bottom of the ski slopes at 2:00 a.m. with my two friends Orion and Mills. We're discussing the reasons behind my "life failure" with women as Orion so politely put it, and they decided that maybe it was the stark contrast in some of my thoughts on life and women. They joked that "sex and poetry," could sum up how I felt about women. Both fantastic parts of life and women for that matter, but apparently I need to work on creating a smoother blend between my poetic and animalistic nature. And so, I will do my best. Nonetheless, this poem aroused out of a jovial conversation, during a juvenile act, with two of my good friends. Thanks guys, for being so honest and cold (pun intended).

Sex and Poetry

Sex and poetry are two forms of love-making.
I can sex you up with words so sweet,
or perform those sexy words between the sheets.
Because sex and poetry are erotically breath-taking.

Sex with poetry evolves sex to the next stage.
Whisper sweet words while I commit to poetry-in-motion,
that intimate iambic-pentameter locomotion.
Sex with poetry give passion to that lustful crave.

Sex in poetry gives the romantically inclined a hit of ecstasy.
"Oh love, come hither between thy thighs,
and with thou sex bare true and true, for in bed thither is where our love forever lies."
Sex in poetry allows the ex to see the sex she's missing out on without thee.

Poetry in sex is to sexy express.
"Oh baby, make me burn like fire,"
to feel free to confess sex your deepest desire.
Poetry in sex is the Lovesmith test.

Poetry is sex without the physical touch, words reach deep to the soul.
Sex is poetry of unspoken words, a bond to make two parts whole.