Author: clydemg

Hello! My name is Clyde Granzeier, and I am a senior at the University of Michigan majoring in Creative Writing and Literature and minoring in History. This is Wolverine Stew, a weekly poem blog about the strange, stressful, and fun parts of life here in Ann Arbor. Each poem will cover something different, ranging from D&D with friends to the jack-o-lanterns across campus to the trumpet-shaped and puffball mushrooms that pop up in the Arb after it rains. This will basically be a stew of experiences (pun absolutely intended) from my time at U of M, and I hope you enjoy! P.S. No wolverines were harmed in the making of this stew : )

Wolverine Stew: Travel Log

clydemg 1 Comment

There was always going to be a list

First wandering far past downtown to

A bus stop where once I walked westward with

Mud-caked boots and a rain-soaked umbrella

And two friends, all doing our best to flee

The Hash Bash haze awaiting us

And at that point I made a goal

To cover every cardinal direction

And see how far I could wander

East had long been done, a loop

That sent me past the first flowers,

Mannequins, ant colonies, and mourning doves

Of a spring with five false starts

But one always welcome all the same

Travelling together, time spent speculating

About what makes a “good” scary

And in between my trips I stopped

For a moment amidst tabletop memories

Or going through the graveyard, daisies blooming

Or an overlook of Shakespearean summers

Or a last time wandering the Arb for me

And the first for another

Before I made my way north, by bus, by foot

Into that setting sun with turkeys in the trees

Deer in the dark, raccoons by the road

Each a reminder of my final walks

As I took in the same stars

And finally, I decided to

Replace that chance to

Take a southward route

With a carnival, one more roll of dice

And a “see you later” to

Friends I go through the witchlight with

Because I’ll be back to finish my goal

Of four ways to wander

And start a few more trails anew

After all, I remember the paths

And the ones I walked them with

Wolverine Stew: Same Stars

clydemg 1 Comment

This begins with a question

How to thread a handful of years

Through a thousand words

And at first, I went for that

Sunset over Palmer Field

Over the classes where I learned about

Bioluminescence and serpent hoards

And what to do when a screw’s

Let loose through the fan of your laptop

(Which is mostly panic, by the way)

But I couldn’t quite catch the wisps of

Orange giving way to the night

So down I walked past

Two theatres, tonight with no moon,

Halls formed from paper monsters

From which celebration echoes

A courtyard of black-feather leaves

Where first this all began

Where I found a world of

Strange music and a good few

Kind words of encouragement to

Try this all out in the first place

And I kept on going

Stumbling upon the

Pothole pock-marked path

Taken in a parade of maize and blue

Trying to keep the cold at bay

I ended up before the stadium

A family necessity when our weekend came

Where I realized that the screams of a crowd

Are quite contagious

And I smile with the static

Still singing in my ears

But this isn’t quite it

So I wander a little more

And the sky darkens in

The sweet scent of shadowy lilacs

As I turn my attention upward

And there it is

How do I write a goodbye?

How could it hold

Every last thank you for the

Laughter I was let into?

I think of every

Walk with a friend spent trying to

Rot each other’s brains when

They became too full of phantoms

Every evening spent shouting at dice

Made of benevolent stones and troll skulls

With the friendliest chaos one can conjure together

Every post-it note needed to make a

Smile that stood in a window for a semester

And maybe one more that stays a little longer

Every mask I carefully made

As I joined in the revelries of

The one night each year I start to come back

From the ghost I can make of myself

Every strum and song and

Wild of words hustling towards happier trails

Every moment before the lights dimmed

And showed their rising beams of dust

Because each scene was built beforehand

And sung of afterward, the words a flash

Across a screen we all crowded around

Scenes made of plastic trees and hot glue gun thyrsi

Pinprick green constellations and roses, real and parchment

And all the days spent

Going from forests to films

To markets to midnight vaults

To arcades and on across Ann Arbor

Always with those I will be

Grateful to call my friends

All of that

How does goodbye hold all of that?

Well, it doesn’t

So instead, I’ll thread a hopeful “see you later”

Through the thousand words above

And look to the streetlight

That we’ll pretend is a sunrise for now

Because no matter what

For all those memories and people

That a goodbye could never hold

I’m under the same stars as you

Wolverine Stew: Moon Over Michigan

clydemg 1 Comment

I know it isn’t full yet

Missing that faint yellow glow

That let’s you see the craters and

Haunted wonder at its silent ascent

But this has been eight months

In the making, a note from the first

Evening spent walking out from a

New room where I could watch the stars

And you never know quite when the clouds,

When the cold, will return, so now

I stretch my arms out and let the

Waxing moon shine down on me

Trace the Big Dipper I can find in that

Space the lamps don’t quite reach

Think of those last few scenes of

Dragons, monochrome zombies, and laughter

60s celebrations and musical mockeries of Apollo

At two theatres I remember

Through stored ticket stubs

And see how the marquee and the moon

Mix together tonight

Wolverine Stew: First/Last Thawing

clydemg 1 Comment

As the days go on, I can see

Carpenter bees and painted ladies

Fly from one pale blossom to the next

As a chorus of frogs sound in the

Marshes I’m just now beginning to

Wander through

Seeking those new paths from

Picking a direction and wondering

How far I can go with a friend or two

Tulip sunsets blooming from patchwork city soil

And curated reminders of maize and blue

And I’ll go through graveyards and theatres, cafes and Kerrytown

One more arboretum trail, one more crafted carnival, one more night

Walking the same loop, tracking constellations in those

Spaces between lamps, singing together after the stage lights go dark,

Rolling dice and trying out new names

Enjoying that welcome that was always there

With the ones who gave it

Trying to take it in as the clouds start to clear

And it will hurt to miss it all

But that means there’s something worth missing

And I’m glad I get to celebrate it in the sun

Because I know both will be back soon enough

Wolverine Stew: Graveyard Eclipse

clydemg 1 Comment

I follow the path of quills and daffodils

Blue ground-facing stars and yellow suns

A spring soil night as the sky above

Turns dim, a growing grey

But a welcome one in place of

The gloom that has begun to break

And as I walk I see dozens of others

All with their glasses that turn the sun

Into a campfire crescent moon

Celebrating on every patch of grass

In the front lawns where

A cracked, plastic skeleton rests in a pile

I end up at the cemetery, fellow sky-gazers

Sitting amongst the headstones as

The trees begin to bud, robins rushing between them

Starry blue flowers sprouting beneath

As moss creeps across the polished names

And lichen-loved stones

Like faces and upturned mushrooms caps

And just in time I find a place

Where the branches part

Where I feel welcomed to sit beside the graves

Where the sounds of my eyelashes

Against the dark film that guards them

Sounds like rustling in the pinecones and dry leaves

And the chirp of birds reaches its crescendo

As that waning crescent almost gives way

Before waxing yet again

And I spend a few more moments

Planted in the grass

Before making my way out of the cemetery

I pick a direction, and on I go

Because as the sky brightens

There’s so many

White-winged moths, wolf spiders, cranes, colonies of ants

To spot along the path

And I hope to see them all

Before this day ends

Wolverine Stew: Slow Growth

clydemg Leave a comment

The air feels cool, not cold

And I think this time

It might be here to stay

The Diag corner canopies now filled with

Reds, yellows, and pinks budding

Even as the sun hides behind

The walls of windswept clouds

As the day goes on

Rain turning to mist turning to

Fog that covers the entire street below

I still think my windowsill garden

Growing each day with

Spiral-potted sprouting succulents

Orchids in an amanita green glass vase

Mushrooms resting dormant

And chamomile seeds yet to split

Will carry on

I got a real rose from a paper garden

As my goodbye from the theatre

And until I find a vase

I improvise with plastic

And a good bit of tap water

But I think it holds up well

Because this garden is far more

Stumbling than sowing

But in the end, I still think it grows

And more often than not

I see a patch of blue in the sky