Weekender2_AlvaroAzcarraga

Poem: The Schoolyard

Callused palms, and grass-stained elbows. Their cheeks flushed with afternoon play. My heart jolts in my chest at the sound of pierced screams, before I look up to see them laughing. They tug and swing on shined monkey-bars, daring each other to kiss the girl next to them.   I
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UCBerkeleyCampus

13 haikus for National Haiku Day

Happy National Haiku Day! Yes, the day we’ve all been waiting for has finally arrived: the day we get to use the oh-so-simple three lines and 17 syllables to express our deepest thoughts and feelings. We at the Clog thought we’d share our own haikus about the life and times of UC Berkeley
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lindsaychoi

Lit with Lindsay: Living poetry

Cars zipped by, headlights burning trails in the dark, as I walked with a workshop leader from CalSLAM along Bancroft Way, from the basement of Barrows Hall to Caffe Strada. At that moment, I desperately wished that I, too, were driving somewhere far away, as I tried to think of
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Erum Khan/File

An ode to Tele-BEARS

A drowsy morning up for class, with sweatshirt on, coffee to go, Your laptop on, but busy with things more pertinent than writing notes, You scan ScheduleBuilder and BerkeleyTime to feel the tiniest bit more prepared And run out of lecture halfway through to go complete your Tele-BEARS. It takes
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Read Aloud: Dirty Limericks

A bit less than 200 years ago, Edward Lear sat down somewhere in England and wrote a particular series of poems in a particular style that eventually was dubbed “limerick style.” As an isolated event, this was not particularly revolutionary. But the effect was big! After Lear published his compilation
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Poetry: Dancing Myself Clean

Dancing Myself Clean   Wild grief sinks Like those bronze Stalin statues That stood in my backyard   Or museums on mountain peaks With karma temples in their eyes.   Tripping down macaroni aisles My elbows are peeling like a cheese grater That melts into my drifting thumbprints Because my
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Scan 10

Poem: Love along the Way

This would be easier if I shed data, sought torture or was looking for love along the way. Doing the 9-5, the rattlesnake on the sandstone gets nicked by everything churning in the wind. The July sun tunnels overhead. My van rusts where the paint’s chipped. Steel, the desert must
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unnamed

Three Poems

Cartoon Sunrise A kid walking barefoot to Los Angeles rarely moves faster than traffic. The wind comes, and is like students rushing to class. Silence is swiftly abandoned. In winter, the hissing and fangs on the low-slung rails can only be the electrical towers, their turf doubling as soccer fields
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