William Whitlock

Published: October 17th, 2015

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William Kyle Whitlock III is a sophomore at Penn State University.  He chooses to tell people that he is majoring in Creativity because it sounds more fun than being undecided, though he knows that if nothing else, he has a passion for literature and theatre.  William takes his tea loose, not bagged, and drinks it often. 

What I Lost in Norway

I fear that my word will never reach you,
But I could never forgive myself
If I didn’t at least try to say
“I’m sorry.”

I knew that I would only be around for a week,
And I wasn’t planning on falling in love,
But once I met you, I lost all concept of time.
I felt like I had an eternity to spend with you.
We met on my second morning by mere chance,
And yet, from that day I looked forward to nothing
More than getting to see you.
My day didn’t begin until we were together,
And as soon as you were gone,
I looked forward to seeing you at breakfast
The following morning.
We went to castles, to parliament,
Rode boats and trains, busses and trams.
We even had a picnic together
In front of the royal palace.
On the day of my departure, I could tell
That something was wrong.
You showed up so later to our meeting,
Looking somewhat disheveled and upset,
And I could tell that you wanted me
To take you back with me.
I knew that I would rather be with you
Than without you,
And so I decided to find you a spot
On the return flight.
On the way to the plane,
The streets flooded with activity
As the city came alive.
We had a late start and were forced to rush along,
Though that was no excuse for what I did.
I truly thought that you were with me.
How could I have known that you had fallen behind?
All I remember is suddenly feeling your absence
And turning to see you, fallen in the streets.
People were too caught up in their own frantic pace
To pay any attention to you,
Right under their feet.
I do not know what has become of you,
But I do hope that you are alright.
I deeply regret having to leave you behind,
And without you, I just feel so empty.
You will forever stay in my heart
As the best salami sandwich I have ever had. 

My Constellation

I always pictured my ideal night
as the two of us
perched atop some countryside roof,
staring at the bedazzled sky
whose light could never compare
to that of your eyes,
as we traced clumsy constellations
that only the two of us
could possibly give names to.

The image that comes to mind now
is the two of us
lying on your living room floor,
listening for the clock to chime,
as if waiting for an atom bomb to drop
and wipe out the purest form of existence
that we two could eke out on our own.
That night,
the only stars that I saw were those
gleaming behind your clear and sure eyes,
as I got drunk on the moonshine
of your words.
You are the only constellation
that I need in my life,
and your name is the only one I will ever sigh
when I feel on top of the world,
dreaming into eternity.

An Ode to the Flapjack

You are a true man,
one of the grittiest nature,
who still sticks to his guns --
stubbornness personified.
While the rest of the world
has made its way to waffles,
you scoff at those pockets.
Sure, they seem convenient,
but some day, people will realize
that convenience is the weak man’s way.

Flapjacks are whole,not full of holes.
Soon enough, the world will see
how far they have strayed.
People call you pancake,
but you are mightier than that;
You had your name legally changed.
Take out that pansy cake crap.
Now, you answer only to Jack.
Flap Jack.
A name those waffle-loving sissies
will someday come to fear.

Variations on a Greenhouse's Day

I
How strange it is, that a building meant to contain
and raise that which is green stands surrounded
by so many of its tenants on the outside.  It appears
more as a thin line of rugged stone and peaceful glass,
fenced in on both sides by vegetation, than a home for plants.

II
The walls sing with the sound of breath,
not issued noisily from lungs,
but instead with the peaceful exhalation of plants-
a small breeze that rustles
through their thin, green fingers,
impossible to capture.

III
The sun glances off of the glass
and metal of this magnificent confine,
allowing entrance only to what is needed to nurture.
The plants are granted an endless view,
raised up on their holy plastic pedestals
and given the choicest of views through the
all-encompassing barriers to the elements.

IV
With a sea of sensations abounding,
it becomes a blatant crime against self
to only breathe through the nose.
When air is drawn through the mouth,
it comes tinted with the warm, moist flavor
of the soil the plants grow in,
seasoned with an abundance of sun.

​V
It stands as a constant testament to the human condition.
A rough and rugged outer façade on first view,
designed for protection and preservation,
that gives way to the smoother,
yet still cold surface,
allowing for the viewing of distant possibilities.
Finally, it ends with the warm and inviting inner dwelling,
a sheltered clearing filled with a fragile soul,
the gentle promise of more to come,
and a plea for the forgiveness of its seemingly callous nature.

Comic Sans

If I could do anything with my pen,
My first goal would be to remove
Poor Comic Sans from his embarrassing banishment.
We are often told not to judge books by covers,
But for the less fortunate land of fonts,
Their looks are all that they have.  
If I could do anything with my pen,
Comic Sans, good old C.S. Not-Quite-Lewis,
I would scribe an epic poem
Fit to house your spirit and proclaim your glory.
Ours would be a structure referred to for years to come,
A great Comic Sans middle finger to the rest of the world.
Unfortunately, I cannot do anything with my pen quite yet,
And I have homework and other responsibilities
That would prevent me from writing something
Of quite epic length.  So, in the meantime,
I wish you all the best while I focus on writing my resumè
In trusty Times New Roman.