Poetry
This weekend is being quickly consumed by a poetry workshop that I enrolled in to earn 1 credit. Yesterday we had class 5-9pm and today from 9-5. Tomorrow we meet from 11-2. I haven't written poetry since high school, but the professor teaching this class (Kathy Staples) is actually somewhat inspiring. She took us to the Brandywine River Museum in Chadds Ford, PA where we learned all about Andrew Wyeth and his family of painters. We also went through an exhibit of illustrations done by Vedder. Here are a few poems that came out of today's trip to the museum:
Simple Pleasures
Atop a barren hill, green, blue, yellow, and red
Dance around the spruce-topped maypole,
Boots crunching in the fresh layer of snow.
Whipping each other in circles,
Their innocent squeals of laughter echo
Across the silent, deserted farms.
The dinner bell clangs from below,
Ruining the day’s fun.
A Day at Work
Alone she rereads the memorized family recipe,
Lips pursed, cheeks flushed.
White cabinets, chairs, walls match
The snow and the flour in her dark hair.
Her pale skin is no contrast.
Confined to her chore, she persists.
He returns-exhausted and testy.
Together they eat in silence.
An Angel’s Love
And then, with the New Year reviving
All that had previously been hiding.
There was a veil through which she could not see
But in a brief moment it came to be.
Dropped in her lap from up above
Was an Angel who senselessly kindled this Love.
Lips were locked and hearts aflutter.
Heaven had finally joined these two Lovers.
The Nightingale began to sing his song.
Roses had been waiting to bloom for so long.
Now, each morn a thousand roses brings
And Nightingale’s song is all he sings.
He knows not why he goes, nor where
But right by his side, she’ll surely be there.
She has finally found her light:
He came shining through and consumed her quite.
Simple Pleasures
Atop a barren hill, green, blue, yellow, and red
Dance around the spruce-topped maypole,
Boots crunching in the fresh layer of snow.
Whipping each other in circles,
Their innocent squeals of laughter echo
Across the silent, deserted farms.
The dinner bell clangs from below,
Ruining the day’s fun.
A Day at Work
Alone she rereads the memorized family recipe,
Lips pursed, cheeks flushed.
White cabinets, chairs, walls match
The snow and the flour in her dark hair.
Her pale skin is no contrast.
Confined to her chore, she persists.
He returns-exhausted and testy.
Together they eat in silence.
An Angel’s Love
And then, with the New Year reviving
All that had previously been hiding.
There was a veil through which she could not see
But in a brief moment it came to be.
Dropped in her lap from up above
Was an Angel who senselessly kindled this Love.
Lips were locked and hearts aflutter.
Heaven had finally joined these two Lovers.
The Nightingale began to sing his song.
Roses had been waiting to bloom for so long.
Now, each morn a thousand roses brings
And Nightingale’s song is all he sings.
He knows not why he goes, nor where
But right by his side, she’ll surely be there.
She has finally found her light:
He came shining through and consumed her quite.