The Poets Ch. 01

My third book of poetry,Running From The Light, was just published by the university press. I'd never made much money from poetry, so it was always gratifying when a stranger told me how much they liked my work. Alas, few did, since sales were usually limited to a few students and less fellow faculty members.

As one of the older professors on campus, I figured one day they'd find me slumped face down on my desk thus ending my life and career in one simple act. And it seemed poetic in a strange way. "He looked like he was napping," someone might say.

The buzzer signaled the end of my last lit class for the week.

"We'll have a quiz next week on chapters six through eight."

I stood up and drew a line on the chalk board under the assignment.

"I want those papers in my e-mail in-box by Sunday night at five."

As I shuffled the loose papers on my desk and slid them into my brief case, a young woman from the back of the class approached me. She was a petit red head with translucent, porcelain skin and striking blue eyes. Her shoulder length curly hair bounced as she came down the steps. She was unfamiliar to me.

"Excuse me, Dr. Warren," her light crimson lips turned up in a sweet smile. "I purchased your latest book yesterday, and I was wondering if you could sign it for me?"

She had it tucked under her arm, and she held it out to me. Her smile and the sparkle in her eyes were infectious, and I blushed slightly when I returned the smile. I cleared my throat.

"I'd be happy to. I hear sales are brisk," I laughed and waved the book. "I've sold one whole copy."

She didn't find it humorous. She shook her red curls from side to side.

"No, I stayed up all night reading. It's wonderful. I'm recommending it to all my friends."

"Oh," I blushed again, feeling foolish. "Well...thank you. That's very sweet."

I looked up into her blue eyes. Her skin was lightly seasoned with freckles. Damned if I didn't blush again. This was an unusual reaction for me. Coeds didn't for the most part stir things up inside me. This lovely young woman, however, had a presence and quality about her that captured my attention and made me feel in a way I hadn't felt in years. The effect was immediate, and I had no idea why. It was a little scary, and I dismissed it as nonsense.

"What's your name?" I asked avoiding her eyes. "I should know it by now, and I apologize."

"Leah," she said. "But I just transferred in, so you probably haven't had time to notice me."

I began to write.

To Leah.

Embrace the poet within.

Good luck,
Martin Warren.

"Do you write poetry?" I asked as I handed the book back.

"All my life," Leah said. "I have reams of 'Dear Diary' written in poetry, from haiku to limericks." She laughed. I smiled.

"That's wonderful. Poetry can be art and therapy all rolled into one."

"I was going through some of the earlier poems from your first book,Life Like Candle Wax," she said. "They're very moving. I really like a couple of them."

"Oh, which ones?"

This time, she blushed. The crimson flush across her face and neck nearly matched the color of her delicate lips.

"Ah," she stammered. "The ones about...love." She kept her eyes down, very self-conscious of her embarrassment but finally looked up and met my gaze. I smiled.

"Love, sweet, love," I waxed poetically. "Like breathing. So damned essential; so easy to take for granted."

"And so illusive," she added. "Like a tiny bird afraid to stay in one place too long."

That brought a huge grin across my face. She returned the smile.

"Very nice, Leah. I think the Muse has touched you too."

She blushed profusely and looked back down. She folded her hands in front of her. I reached out, took her chin in my hand and raised her head. Her eyes grew wide in wonder.

"Keep your head held high, Leah. The tiny bird may flutter in your heart, but let your eyes be those of the eagle." She responded with a smile, but her eyes began to glaze over slightly. I let go of her chin feeling awkward yet thinking how soft her skin was.

"I'd love to read some of your poems, if you're willing to share."

She blinked several times and said, "I'd be honored."

"Send your favorite to my in-box."

"Thank you, Dr. Warren. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

I laughed and bowed my grey head slightly.

"The pleasure will be all mine."

She turned and bound up the stair risers of the lecture hall door. At the top, before exiting the room, she looked back, smiled and waved my book.

I sat down, took a deep breath and thought about my reaction to her. It was crazy, of course. I was in my early sixties and she was in her early twenties. I could be her grandfather, for goodness sake. Not that I intended on becoming familiar with her. I just hadn't felt this way in a long time. It had been years, even before Doris had passed, that I had these kind of tender feelings toward a woman.

Leah was an extraordinary beauty and it was only normal to be aware of it.

I'm not dead yet, after all.
But she's a student. I'm a professor.
Still, she is an adult. I am an adult.

I shook me head trying to clear the thoughts that nagged me.

"Knock it off!" I muttered. "You're an old fool."

I stood up, grabbed my brief case, and left the class room.

After a late dinner with one of my colleagues, I checked my e-mail before turning in. I was hoping one of my sons would have dropped me line, but instead I found a poem from Leah.

Dear Dr. Warren,

Thank you for your book signing, but more than that, thanks for your words of encouragement. It meant a lot to me. You are such a gifted writer, so coming from you, it was extra special. This is my favorite poem. I wrote it when I was a junior in high school. I don't think it's very good, but I like it anyway. It was how I felt at the time, and still do every now and then.

Sometimes I feel smothered
By the weight of who I am;
Each time I try and break out,
I'm pushed back down again;
Where did I come from?
Who made me this way?
Can I be a different one
Or must I hold and stay?
The path that leads to freedom
Seems hidden from my sight,
And yet I hope and pray,
I'll find that path tonight.

Still hoping tonight's the night. 
Thanks again,
Leah Parsons

I replied.

Dear Leah,

I loved the poem. Honest, straight up and from the heart. It's easy to be a critic. I don't take much stock in poetry critics. They're as useful as bucket of hot air.

Well done. Feel free to share some more. You might try some free-form verse without any rhymed words.

Sincerely,

Martin Warren

I didn't expect to see Leah again until next Friday, so I put her out of my mind. I found no more poems in my in-box. Mid-term finals were coming in three weeks, so my days were busy with preparations.

Wednesday morning, as I cut across campus, I stopped at a coffee kiosk for a large cup of much-needed caffeine. As I waited for my order, I felt a small tap on my shoulder and turned to see Leah, radiant and smiling.

"Good morning, Dr. Warren." Leah took one step back.

"Well, hello," I replied. "So you're a coffee junkie too."

"No, I just saw you across the quad. Thought I'd pop over and say hello."

"How nice." I paid for my coffee and realized, once again, I was blushing. I became very annoyed with myself, and I was a little tongue tied.

"Nice weather," I said lamely and disgusted.

"It's gorgeous out. I'm rereading your second book," she held it up in her hand. "All your nature poems. I love the one about the empty sky."

"Ah, yes," I nodded. "Lost in the blue translucence..."

"Like the eyes of a beautiful girl," she finished the verse. I laughed.

"That was written years ago when I was much younger and prone to gazing into the sky and the eyes of a beautiful girl."

"You don't any more?"

"Which?"

"Both," she said. "Gaze into the sky and a girl's eyes."

I was suddenly speechless. At that moment, I desperately wanted to look into her eyes. Instead, I stopped, tilted my head back and gazed into the sky. She stopped next to me, and I became painfully aware of her nearness. I took a long, slow and deep breath. Without meaning any silly dramatic move, I slowly lowered my head, turned and looked into her eyes. They were glistening blue pools slightly darker than the sky. After a few seconds, I broadly grinned. Leah blushed but held my gaze. A few more seconds passed, and she retuned my smile, turned and started walking. I followed.

"You know," she said. "There's something to be said about gazing into a man's eyes too. Yours are a dark, green-brown hazel, an earthy rainbow and equally as deep."

"And the sky upholds a mystery that's found in the young girl's eyes." We threw our poetic lines at each other.

"Mysteries to be unlocked," she said, elbowed me and ran off at a right angle. "See you Friday Dr. Warren." She giggled and waved.

My brain went numb, and I continued walking in a straight line for several feet until I realized I'd missed the turn to my office. I was so flustered.

"Get a grip, Martin," I mumbled. "She's only a vision of paradise, not an angel of mercy. More an angel of torment."

For the next three hours, I sat at my desk trying to structure the coming mid-terms. I wasn't making much progress, so I opened my e-mail in-box and sorted through the papers my students had submitted. As I filed them in their appropriate class folders, a new e-mail pinged in from Leah Parsons.

Hi Dr. Warren. It was great running into you this morning. I've never meant anyone I could recite spontaneous poetry with. I think it would be fun to do more of that. Don't you? Here's something the Muse just whispered in my ear. 

Sky and eyes,
Both boundless in mystery and depth;
They lure you
In equal measure;
One to the soul of another;
The other to the soul of Life.

L

I couldn't stop my hands. They hovered over the computer keyboard as if the Muse herself had directed them. My fingers twitched a few times. I hitReply and typed:

One Super Soul,
Threads itself through eyes and sky;
Weaving all together in a
Never ending tapestry.

I stopped and fixated on the flashing curser, lost in a trance. My office window was open, and the chirping of birds filled the air. I could feel the blood pumping through me.

I hitSend.

The poetic words stared back. After several minutes, I looked away from the computer screen, rocked back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.

"Okay, Marty. This isn't going to be anything more than mentor and mentee, the old poet encouraging the young poet, so everything is okay. We can go along with this as long as we keep a proper perspective."

My in-box pinged.

Once the thread is woven,
It's sealed by the kiss of fate;
Nothing out of order;
Perfect in every way.

I read and reread Leah's words. I desperately tried to steer my thoughts away from thinking she was attracted to me beyond mentorship. But a part of me wanted to think other wise. I silently curse that part.

"Of course she's not interested in you as a man, for Christ's sake! Compared to me she's still a child. Knock it off!"

I hitReply.

Eyes and sky;
Mirrors of each other's perfection.

Click. It took a couple of minutes, and she responded.

Two mirrors facing each other,
Casting an image into the infinite.
Breathless in their union.

Breathless by the exchange, I typed and sent a smiley face response and closed my e-mail window.

"Crap! I can do this."

No I can't.

I folded my arms on my desk and lowered my head.

"She's just a talented student. I will help her, mentor her and that is all."

Of course, it would help if she were ugly.

I looked up and out my window. The quad was filled with students crossing back and forth. After a heavy sigh, I shoveled my papers into my brief case and stood up, feeling my sixty-four years in my back and hips.

That night, my sleep was restless, and in the morning, I awakened from a beautiful but disturbing dream. I dreamed I was looking into Leah's eyes and they reflected a sky filled with fluffy white clouds. What disturbed me the most was the fact I had a huge erection. That isn't terribly unusual. Men frequently awake in the morning with an erection. But coupled with the dream of Leah in the context of our poetry, I felt a deep ache inside me. And a tremendous burden of guilt.

I closed my eyes and took my swollen penis in hand. The image of Leah immediately popped into my mind.

"No!" I shouted, threw the covers off and sat up. I dropped my legs over the side of the bed and cursed.

"Don't complicate this," I said directly to my penis. "You are not going to perv on that pure, innocent girl!"

By the time, I finished my morning bathroom routines, the erection had dissipated. I brewed some coffee, blended up my usual fruit and protein smoothie and retrieved the paper from the porch.

As I drank the smoothie and read the paper, I flipped open my lap top. My e-mail in-box was filling up with student papers, one of which was Leah's. I verified that hers was this week's assignment and filed at appropriately. The final one that had come in early this morning was also from Leah.

Hi Dr. Warren. I just want to thank you again for being such a great teacher and sharing your personal time with me. Poetry is one of my passions, even though I am a Computer Science Major-English Lit Minor.

Something weird happened last night, and I know it was just because of the poetry we wrote and recited together. I dreamed of you, and I could see a beautiful cloud filled sky reflected in your eyes. Nothing else happened. I just remember your eyes, and the clouds drifting by in reflection. It was so real, and so beautiful. I woke up with a big smile on my face.

You probably think I'm a crazy stalker coed, but I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth. I'm not crazy at all. LOL

It's just that, my favorite high school teacher told me on my last day of class, find a college professor you admire and learn all you can, because you'll never pass that way again.

My admiration is genuine. My respect is enormous. Thanks again for sharing your time with me. I'm a lucky stalker coed. 

Leah

After a minute or two, I realized I wasn't breathing. I exhaled sharply and took a deep inhale.

"Wow! I need to talk to Harry."

Harry Hasting was a fellow faculty member who always had a coed lover on hand. He was discrete and clever, and so far, after ten years at the university, he was successful at keeping his affairs hidden from the administration. I didn't want his advice on how to seduce Leah. Goodness no! I just knew he was experienced at handling younger women. All of his affairs were initiated by the coeds. Hopefully, Harry could give me some advice on how to keep things above the board with Leah.

I dialed his phone number.

"Harry? It's Marty Warren."

"Hey what's up, doc?"

"I need some advice concerning one of my female students. Can you have lunch with me today?"

"Let me take a look at my calendar. Ah....ya, that should work out. The cafeteria at 12:30?"

"I'd rather meet off campus. Say Kelly's Pub?"

"Well, sure, doc. Am I guessing where this is going?"

"I doubt it, Harry. You just have a wealth of experience with these young women. Hopefully you can give me some advice." He laughed.

"Okay, Marty. I'll see you then."

"Thanks, Harry."

I couldn't help myself. I stopped at the same coffee kiosk, mentally cursing, and purchased a coffee I really didn't need. Leah never showed. I loathed myself all the more aching to see her again.

The morning dragged on and on. Fortunately it didn't require a lecture, and at 12:15, I crossed campus, cut down University Avenue to Kelly's Pub, and found Harry waiting at the bar.

"Thanks for coming, Harry. Let's grab a booth."

Harry Hasting was ten years younger than I, and the coeds swooned over him. He was tall, handsome and athletic. I was as tall as Harry, but sported a little mid-body bulge.

"So how the hell are you, Martin?" Harry asked as he slid into the booth.

"I'm well, Harry. How 'bout you?"

"Couldn't be better, doc. What's up? Is a hot little coed hitting on you?"

I chuckled. "Not quite. Well...maybe. I'm not sure. She a terrific student, so far, anyway. And I can see a legitimate mentorship happening, but I keep getting these little twinges of..."

"Twinges from you or her?"

"Aha...ya. That is the question. Maybe the both of us. Frankly it scares the hell out me. She's very attractive, vivacious, intelligent, attractive...did I say that?"

"Oh boy," Harry said with a grin and leaned in toward the center of the table. "Sounds to me like you're in deep shit."

"Thanks," I replied and leaned my head back against the booth just as our waiter asked for our order. When the waiter departed, I leaned in.

"What if she comes on to me?"

"Do you want her to?"

"Of course not! I mean...listen, I'm not dead. There's a part of me that wants to be swallowed alive by her. But for Christ's sake, Harry, I've never done anything like that with a student before. I'm three times her age."

"Well, doc," he said and put his hand over mine. "You aren't getting any younger. Maybe you should live a little. Pick the fruit from the tree and take a bite."

I lowered my head. Maybe Harry wasn't the best person to come to for advice.

"Harry, I only had one lover before I married Doris. We were together almost 40 years. I wouldn't know what to do if she came on to me. I probably wouldn't even recognize it when it happed."

Harry laughed. "You are in deep shit. You're twitterpated!"

"I'm what?"

"Twitterpated. And nothing fixes that until you pick the fruit and take a bite."

After lunch, we walked back to campus together. Harry wished me luck.

"If you think she's coming on to you, or you want to make a move, call me. We'll talk again then. There are some simple basic rules, and if you both follow them, nobody gets hurt, nobody finds out and everybody is happy."

I thanked him and assured him that nothing was going to happen.

I had a late afternoon class on literature in film, and as I headed for my office, I noticed Leah sitting on a small garden bench near one of the many campus fountains. This one was secluded by a ring of shrubbery and trees. She didn't see me, so I stopped and observed her from a distance.

She sat very still, pensive and gazing into space. Splashes of sun light filtered through the trees moving gently with a light breeze. That light danced on her illuminating her red hair. Leah's beauty was breath taking. She wore a pale blue sweater and a white skirt.

Harry was right. I was in a deep shit. My heart swelled for her. The voice in my head cursed. The last thing I wanted to do is turn away. She might see that move out of the corner of her eye, and I didn't want her to feel rejected.

Pick the fruit and take a bite.I could hear Harry's voice in my head.

"Fuck you, Harry," I mumbled, swallowed and started walking toward Leah. When she did look, I was about twenty feet away. Her face lit up and she jumped to her feet.

"Dr. Warren! I was just thinking of you."

"Hi Leah. I was just going to my office, and I saw you sitting here quiet and thoughtful. I hope I'm not intruding."

No, not at all," she said blushing slightly. "I really was thinking about you."

"Sit down," I said. "This is a lovely spot."

"One of my favorites," she replied. "It's out of the way, so most students don't hang out here. I like the solitude."

I desperately wanted to ask her what she was thinking about. Instead, we sat in silence. The sound of the fountain, and birds and the breeze through the cottonwood trees was lovely. From the corner of my eye, I could see her bare knees next to me. Her skin was milk white and covered with freckles. I had a painful urge to touch her bare knee. Resisting that urge made it all the more painful.