To the Captain of R111: an Ode to DW

Not much needs to be said to introduce this poem I wrote today.  It is dedicated to one of the best professors I've ever had.  Without his extreme teaching methods and without him pushing me in practice and class just like any sports coach would, I wouldn't be the musician or the person I am today.  He may not have been gentle, and it may not have been pleasant at times, but I needed every bit of it.  Dr. Wilhoit, we, the few seniors of the music department, miss you.

Professor of dread,

Wielding mighty baton,

Stealing souls, leaving dead,

Will to proceed gone.

To some a threat,

To the older a friend,

On your soul bet,

Else life comes to an end.

Office's icy blast,

As door opens wide,

A student's lambast,

Mere husk of their hide.

In spite of his terror,

I love him still:

Cloak passed to new wearer,

Only one trump on the Hill.

Leaving horcrux behind,

He'll infinitely live,

Echo of his horn's wind,

No more wisdom to give.

A new conquering force,

Imploding our home,

Cry till I'm hoarse,

Made bow to their throne. 

Soon away I'll fly,

Away from disgrace,

Ignoring their lies,

Destroy this place.

Dearest professor we love,

We'll follow you soon,

Seniors booted with a shove,

Refusing Stevie D's tune,

There may be only two,

Standing on these desks,

Nothing else we can do,

To prevent this ugly mess.

Standing tall, cap in hand,

Farewell younger bliss.

O Captain, my Captain,

You will be sorely missed.

The Setting Rising Sun

I’m sitting at my kitchen table, at the home in which I’ve spent most of my life.  I’m sitting in my Dad’s chair at the head of the table.  I’ve been doing that a lot recently.  It isn’t because I feel more powerful or anything here…I just get to watch the sun set.

I am watching the sun set on my last day at home, of my very last winter break.  It’s sinking very low in the sky, reaching the point where it makes all our trees look like silhouettes on the horizon.  The sheer poetry of this moment drives me to write to you, after such a long absence.

I have no poetry for you this time, as has been the case for the past couple times.  I have spent my winter break meeting new family, sharing good times and good traditions with old family, caring for a sick girlfriend, and thinking about my future.

Tomorrow, I head back to school for the last time.  This May, I will leave that period of my life behind, and as I watch the sun set from my kitchen window, I feel as if I am hiking along the edge of a cliff.  I can see my life splayed out below me, gloriously basked in the golden setting sun.  I can see far enough from this cliff that on my right, to the east, the tip of the sun begins to rise even as it sets.  It is an awe-inspiring sight.

It is cold up here, but it is beautiful.  The glacial winds of the past blast at my back, but the bright rays of the future spring up before me, beckoning me to press forward.  This year has simultaneously been one of the most difficult and terrifying yet wonderfully fulfilling years of my life.  And I would not have it any other way.

Two days ago I accompanied my father, brother, and littlest sister to the stock yard, where we sold eight of our goats.  There, we were the youngest by at least 30 years.  We walked through the old concrete and wood halls and stalls of the stock yard which was rustically stuck in the 70s.  We listened to the talented auctioneer speak in a near-incomprehensible language (to us), to his listeners who silently communicated back to him with the wink of an eye or the small twitch of a finger.  I looked over at my Dad, who grinned at me.

“I’m glad you’re a country boy, son.”

I am too.  I am proud to be a Southerner.  I’m proud to be a Creasy-.  I’m proud to be my father’s son.  And I’m proud of the way the Lord has used this year’s trials to make me a better man.

Tomorrow, I start the end of an old journey, and look forward to a new trailhead.  One down which I cannot clearly see, but am positive will be magnitudes more fulfilling than what I have experienced so far.  Old traditions are coming to an end.  But new ones are about to begin, and that makes me excited.

Dear reader, thank you for putting up with my rants.  Thank you for crying with me, for laughing with and at me, and for understanding me.  Thank you for supporting me.  Words cannot express how eager I am to share this New Year – this new path of my life – with You.

Tightening my belt, hefting my pack, and take the next step into the future.  My world is basked in a unique, golden light; all around me the land turns a beautiful hue.  It is the setting, rising sun.