Summer of Poetry 1: "You, Reader," and SoP Introduction

You, Reader
~Billy Collins~

I wonder how you are going to feel
when you find out
that I wrote this instead of you.
that it was I who got up early
to sit in the kitchen
and mention with a pen
the rain-soaked windows,
the ivy wallpaper,
and the goldfish circling in its bowl
Go ahead and turn aside,
bite your lip and tear out the page,
but, listen -- it was just a matter of time
before one of us happened
to notice the unlit candles
and the clock humming on the wall.
Plus, nothing happened that morning--
a song on the radio,
a car whistling along the road outside--
and I was only thinking
about the shakers of salt and pepper
that were standing side by side on a place mat.
I wondered if they had become friends
after all these years
or if they were still strangers to one another
like you and I
who manage to be known and unknown
to each other at the same time --
me at this table with a bowl of pears,
you leaning in a doorway somewhere
near some blue hydrangeas, reading this.
- - - - -

http://www.flickr.com/photos/mookio/2705873215/
- - - - -
Poetry's lines I used to not cross,
believing I only had a saccharine boss,

but now with some practice (and prodding from 'Loo)
I'm willing to try it... now, how 'bout you?

I'm taking 'spiration from poems that I read
over the summer, and I'd sure like t'see

what you all think, or take as spark.
Won't you share poems this season-not-dark?

Peek at Paintings

Alright folks, get ready to tilt your heads in unison and appreciate fine art.

Back in the 50's, some people claimed that some abstract expressionist works, like those of Jackson Pollock, was Communist propaganda or something.

-tilts head slightly, mildly confused-

I don't know about you, but that up there doesn't exactly scream "COMMUNIST" at me.

My friend Watween, on her trip to the National Gallery in Washington, thought this painting looked like a friend of ours.

Because she'd also brought a voice recorder to document her trip, after describing the painting and deciding that this looked like our friend, she tried to talk "her" down from the hill. "While I must compliment you on your lovely hair bow, you're really gonna fall down into the ocean, and probably hit that tree on your way down," she admonished.

I agreed.

I've always liked this one:

It reminds me a bit of Hemingway's short story, "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place." Besides, it's just so neat-looking.

Now, here's something I don't get. How is it that this...

...is considered "brilliant," "genius," or even "art"? I think nearly anybody can do something like that. It's like taking a sheet of paper and hanging it in a museum, or composing a piano piece of four minutes, thirty-three seconds of silence (that's true, there's a piece called 4'33". Creative name, no?). Sure, some art can be done by us untalented masses, but... -tilts head until is nearly upside-down- I dunno, that's a bit of a stretch for me.

(This gallery is not liable for any art-appreciation-related neck injuries or discomfort)

Housekeeping

Alright, just to keep all y'all informed:

- I'm planning a revamped look for this fine blog. Not quite sure what that revamp will entail, so I'm open to suggestions!

- After school gets let out, I'm going to go on another "poetry frenzy." As part of my AP English summer assignment, I'll be finding at least one poem a day. I'll share that poem here, and I'll write a poem of my own* as well. Two poems for the price of one! All summer long! Yay!

- I'm also going to step up my reading this summer, too. If I come across something really good I'll share it with you guys.

*quality not guarenteed.

The Hopeless Romantic

Hopeless romantic's a bit of an oxymoron
How can a romantic be "hopeless"
If they see beauty in just about everything?
Or can entertain facets of an idea
For hours at a time?
Doesn't sound hopeless to me.

Of course, this attitude may lead
To the fall of these Great Gatsbys,
Pursuing beauty at the price of "reality."
But I think that if beauty is appreciated,
Little and insignificant as it may seem,
It's just worth it.
------
Can I help it if standing in the rain for the sake of standing in the rain inspired philisophical poetry?

Sonnet III: A Bit of Confusion

I wonder who could this little sprite be,
This shy little creature of 'destine ways
Who wishes to make known esteem to me,
While hiding from me 'dentity, I'd say.

Upon two posts o'th's blog two marks were left
Declaring a kind of affection on me
The first a statement, the second a poem crafted
Will anything else follow? We'll just see.

Who is this Secret 'Mirer? D'like to know
The myst'ry and suspense is startin't wear
me out. I want this personn to self-show
I'd like to know who's showing me their care.

Oh, just a final question for this part:
What soul on earth'd give me their passioned heart?

Metaphors

What is a metaphor?
What does it look like?
Does it have texture?
How does it smell?

What is a metaphor?
How do you extend it?
Can you take it in your hands,
And stretch it, like Silly Putty,
Molding and bending it to meet
Your needs?

What is a metaphor?
Is it our own brand of magic,
our own way of turning
one thing into another?
Is it an earth-bound sorcery
Enabling us to change a speck
into an island,
a man into a mountain,
a candle into a star?

(05-14-09)

Some Drawings

Alright all, I wanted to share some drawings I did recently. I don't draw all that often, and the results can be mixed, but I rather liked these.





Most of the time my shading's pretty iffy, but this actually came out fairly decent. This teacup was just on the table, it looked nice, and I had pencil and paper. The above ensued.





Yes, that is a lamp and a set-up you'd probably find in an interrogation room. No, they don't have anything to do with each other. I was just bored, alright? Besides, I like it.

This I drew before math this morning. I'm not sure why, but I was thinking of Archi Teuthis, so I drew the squid; then during study hall I wrote the poem, which goes something like this:

Two bright, curious
eyes
Peering out of the
dark
Making sense of
the abyss
Comprehending
chaos
~
Ten long, lean
fingers
Reaching out into
nothing
Feeling the
intangible
Understanding
irregularity
~
One quick, creative
mind
Meandering into
imagination
Letting it wander in
surreal,
disjointed,
linear
brilliance