Loyola University Maryland

Loyola Ju-Jitsu Club

Student's Poetry

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We come to know the rising and falling early.
Though not yet born we sense that life is Breadth and
an often twitching motion not quite our own.

We make ready the possibilities for our growth.
Like so many dusky hills on a fertile plain, we lay waiting
abuzzed with a nervous curiosity.

Feigning the sleep of our forefathers we long for a motion all our own.
Becoming attuned though ever so slow, we begin to strain against our
jell-like sheath.
We listen with embryonic ears, with what feeling and sensation we then are
capable, we begin to hear a certain rhythm within ourselves, and find that
it is the Wind-

That the pulsing fans us, that out of nothing
comprehensible we possess a warehouse of energy
in our minute, threadbare veins.
Knowing this we're no longer content to stay tucked away in the corral bed.
Our mother's hopeful sighs, the ebb-flow rocking of their dream-laden
breasts no longer pacify us.

We develop a need to imbibe the power of Breadth,
and thus, we venture outward.
We make our way for hours, days, centuries hence, we still scale
the cliff-walls that would plunge us down, back to our oblivious haven.

Struggling, we come forth finally,
like a buoy amidst a lingering light-
How it must have felt when the wind escaped
and scattered-
How we cried out in the alien chill
still clinging to the promise of sight
-Peter Chhim Sensei

How it must have felt
When the wind escaped and scattered
How we cried in the alien chill
And clung to the promise of sight
-Peter Chhim Sensei

Be free to behold the deep sky in mid-autumn. Be free to breath i the breeze of May. Be free to smell the daisies in the meadow. Be free to listen to the sparrows on the birch. Most of all, be free to choose your one true self.

Body lying flat on a last bed, Voices whispering a few last words, Mind watching a fial memory glide past; When will that drama come for you.
-Viith Dalai Lama

I am a woman whose body shows the way a woman shapes the air around her and takes up all the space she wants

An artist who stirs up form ideas mime poet plumber unclogging pipes in overloaded minds- not the rabble rousing punch and kick stuff splattered on TV

A women who balances action and word weaving shields of spiraling air not bigger- than like like a movie screen but the real-life woman clearing some space to breath.
-Janet Aslfs

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