Kendall McClellan’s Lesson Plan: A Pandemic Miracle

CSUCI Spring 2020

Kendall McClellan’s Lesson Plan: A Pandemic Miracle  

By Tyler Lucas Mobley

We’d emerged from Baldwin and Hughes to “Let America

Be America Again” she took a brave stance behind the 

lectern and said “when I made this lesson plan back in

Christmas break, I never would’ve guessed that the day

I planned to talk about the stock market crash of 1929, 

the market would fall by a percentage that exceeds the 

record set the week that began the Great Depression.” 

The students just shift in their seats already convinced

their future is moot. This is what an education buys, 

informing you of the irony over head like a bucket of

icy water ready to drench, who’s recording?

The Diamond Princess hung on the horizon as an 

appetizer for things to come, while most were 

fenced on how Buttigeig gave suspicion that if you 

peaked inside his suit there would be dozens of 

mice pulling levers. Then it happened, the world

held it’s breath, some became deciders of 

essentiality while others never picked up their 

heads from the task at hand. 

Never more definitive uncertainty in the air 

her head recoils as if hit with a whiff of awful,

dispelling a reality she’d rather not accept. 

And then class went on, because that’s what 

we did back then. If I’d known it’d be my last 

day with her I might’ve made more of a goodbye. 

Her Way Never Lost

Today, when hungry pen brokefast to page, this happen.

Her Way Never Lost

By Tyler Lucas Mobley

Her body a sound garden, storm swept sea

passengers afloat, humming her vibration.

Carried and tossed, her way never lost

cosmic gyres full of glee, winking out reality.

afterthought: simulation, consciousness, energy ladder doesn’t seem all that off. Maude; extremely vaginal.

She’ll Be Right

She’ll Be Right

By Tyler Lucas Mobley 

These mistakes go on to make themselves, 

worthwhile experience registers of confirmation. 

Hear a buzzing hive, your best has yet beecomb. 

Nest away elixirs spices jewels and devices, 

you’ll need a good starter when space cowboys 

barter, with stows of intergalactic loot. 

Holes of my pocket, carry the flow 

I always wanted. 

Forgone conclusions sit still in the past, 

swan pond gift of reflection. 

A running bet held through stranger

danger, purpose vows to day,

how to keep your wager?

Beating drum day finds jazz into night, 

rhythms we praise with everyday change.

The Prophet Jeremiah

The Prophet Jeremiah 

By Tyler Lucas Mobley

The prophet Jeremiah blends in a crowd, mustard brushes his sleeve, 

out on divine parole, the stall line at Coachella proved larger than his bladder.  

Tomorrow’s chariot of hope was nonchalant while asking for a plumber,

civilization’s trajectory oversight required Narcan resuscitation.  

Washed up messiah got lost on the way in, 

late for his last supper he broke a thong jaywalking. 

Over the hill Lama, didn’t read the terms & conditions,   

world bearing shoulders shrug off would be miracles 

like water down an armadilla’s back (a W. Bush “armadilla” as seen in Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11 when Barney chases one down a hole).

Humanity’s reserve chute slipped the mind. 

The prophet Jeremiah holds open the door,

the willing take a noxious step off

Hook’s threshing world, into a tooth

fairytale matrix of loss as gain.  

The prophet Jeremiah didn’t ask much,

let your eyes wander and your heart 

speak, together the world listens.  

Monster’s Wading Room

Monster’s Wading Room

By Tyler Lucas Mobley  

No need to follow my path, 

don’t know how to live with

instigating death. 

A brown torrent five meters across

appeared mild as tea and cake.

Being eaten or becoming prey,

not fond of finding oneself on

the menu. 

Timeless terminators, in need of

minesweepers for submarine feet. 

There on the beach, sandals in a fist,     

we’ve all heard of Russian roulette 

we welcomed the unknown. 

The phenomenologist SAT, 

a religious act of faith, a 

declaration to life and its 

persistence. 

Breathing axioms, in up to our 

chests, a steady forward pace.

A year later a surfer at the

same crossing caught a bite in

the leg, he didn’t make it out.

A conscious choice, to allow 

the world to unfold as it will,

to put your life in the hands of

something beyond yourself.

“To dare is to lose one’s footing 

momentarily. Not to dare is 

to lose oneself.”

– Søren Kierkegaard 

Lever Room

Inspired by an afternoon at Glacier Point.

Lever Room 

By Tyler Mobley

Recrossing the boundary 

hit by murmurs of stupidity

there’s no getting there without

self assurance, same spirit of

those who opposed. 

Why? 

What if you fell? 

there is no answer,

falling would’ve been very stupid. 

Looking over the edge 

at all the air below 

the body reacts, flooding response 

as mortality is sensed.  

One small weight on worldscale 

mystery connection complete. 

All things looking of You

All things looking of You

By Tyler Mobley 

  

Ripples trail a seaward vessel

spreading curves, a rhythm we

rolled once or twice. 

Dewy garden mornings find web woven 

portraits by Picasso legged spiders, 

“a fly for the effort.” 

Birds gather in honor,

Roman starlings perform under twilight,

fluttering human forms sing songs

of dedication, they knew 

you always listened. 

A name glimpsed in bubble

breathes held on a tub floor,

before bursting nevermore. 

A lasting adieu with

all things looking of you. 

Cosmic Lottery

For frame of reference: https://youtu.be/I0rVovLWCXw

Cosmic Lottery

By Tyler Mobley

The initial burst of laughter startles, plexiglass didn’t see you there.  

Jumping out of my seat at the top of the track, reaching for the 

volume knob, the worst passing before appropriate reduction. 

Why is it every time the engine turns over laughter fills my cabin?

Spooky technology, a street thief affair, pocket picking entanglement. 

The phenomena has evolved, Aces High had its hour, RKL enjoyed 

a spot then Ache with Me was out alphabetized by Dane Cook’s 

Abducted. Comedic concrete, cementing the three minute bit into 

my mind is worth the occasional inconvenience. 

Nothing better than nailing the spaceship landing sound effect

in real time, not confusing it with the summoning sound of the blue beam. 

An idea forms, shaping a path I didn’t realize I was on, becoming aware of a 

tune being played on my most personal strings, Ahab’s lampoon, 

spotlight meaning. How “Sometimes I’d just go hang out in the woods,”

 becomes “God damn it they’re huge Indians, alright good game America,” 

hits home in inflection alone. A long ago listen at gas station along the 

Gulf of California I snapped my fingers twice and said, “country country,” 

a friend in the car shouted, “Spain” thinking he’d been put on the spot. 

No, just reenacting American foreign policy. 

There is no way of knowing who put this flying saucer on this shirt. 

A token to when algorithms began listening in, the shirt advertised

on my feed seemed summoned from Cook’s bit. Blunt, bold 

“Get in Loser” over the silhouette of a man being sucked up by his

chest in a beam of light through a grove of trees. There came a day 

while wearing said shirt, on a hike through the woods a passerby 

would say, “I like your shirt,” insert life achievement notification, 

the moment years in the making. Immediately a cone of light 

strikes the ground disappearing the complimenter.  

Bones say uwww searching for ground, an image of Earth recedes to black. 

Familiar with the Earth rise perspective it took awhile to realize this reality 

was no reproduction. “Wait, wait, is that? That’s really?” Silence, a door opens

with a hiss of escaping air, words never make it out, shocked stiff locking eyes.

Said Shirt in Yosemite

Down Ain’t Out

Down Ain’t Out

By Tyler Mobley

A corner crowd across from pier 39 in the bay stands in puzzled admiration, witness to a king of pop cover performed by an unlikely pair of troubled souls. These men hadn’t just fallen on hard times, they defined them, yet here they were bearing it all to anyone who’d stop to notice. From a lone weathered acoustic guitar played with hands disgraced by society, and a gruff voice from a scruffy face came the tune of Billie Jean. A sloppy chord change here and there, perhaps due to the Bud Light seated behind him, the song looped from the first verse to chorus, anything beyond was either forgotten or not bothered with. His performance partner, a dynamic fire to his structured ice, repeated a series of dance moves through the circle, theatrics poured out as Bud Light was poured in. The grizzled man flowed in what were probably the only clothes he had, commanding the audience with a repertoire of Michael inspired moves. Tall can in hand the man of the streets danced like nobody was watching, in rhythm with the high hum melody, flaunting shoulders, crotch thrust, and jelly legs. An awakened inner star destined for the spotlight. His unrefined moves only enhanced the charm and confidence perceived by the crowd, or maybe when one has been down and out there’s nothing left to lose. Captivated by the pairing of the familiar from the derelict, arose a humanizing moment across boundaries of have and not; or no longer. The meeting on musical grounds bonded those around in life’s simple pleasures. Yes, his dance moves were more comical than choreographed, but therein lies the beauty, not there to impress only express. Yes, his voice would never sell records, so he played because he could. They gave all they had, making of life what they could, and found the enjoyment was mutual. This was freedom.    

We Stopped Just to Hear the Silence

Went for walk today, you may call it a hike, with my mom. We take our time to indulge in the beauty.

We Stopped Just to Hear the Silence

By Tyler Mobley

We stopped just to hear the silence 

see the sky a blue we’re thankful for

a radiant pure blue 

essence of blue 

a blessing blue 

our defining act blue 

atmosphere filtered for our delight blue

life blue 

birds singing blue 

fluff spotted blue 

kiss giving blue 

savor blue 

a reminder blue 

life our gift and breath our work 

each day blue. 

Happy blue  

nothing but sky blue 

watchful blue 

heaven blue 

tip toe in from a late night dancing blue 

your eyes singing blue 

raw genre blue. 

For blue 

of blues 

we know because it is 

a blue for all.