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Archive for Thursday, December 31, 1998

STUDENTS FIND NEW WORDS IN ARTS OF OTHERS

December 31, 1998

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These poems were written by students in Joy Clumsky's creative writing class at Lawrence High School. The writers were challenged to select a work of art that "spoke" to them on an imaginative/emotional level and to interpret that art through free-verse or rhymed poetry. These poems demonstrate how creativity in one form may generate creativity in another form and that springboards to the imagination are everywhere and are ours for the taking.

How Long, My Love?

Console me, My Love,

For I am saddened.

I have an unbearable burden

Holding down my heart,

Flooding me

With great misery and agony.

Comfort me!

Hope has vanished,

Vanished into thin air

Like yesterday's fears,

Yesterday's dreads.

Tomorrow, you sail,

And miles apart we'll be.

How long,

I nervously wonder in dismay?

I'm frightened

By the blackened, concealed answer.

How long?

Each day

I'll long for your touch,

Your presence,

Your tender-loving voice

And await the day

I can embrace you,

Forever possess you,

And never let go.

How long, My Love,

Must I wait?

-- By Marci Attig, inspired by Edouard Manet's "Argenteuil."

The Battle Beyond

Starkness assails

The crippling slope

As battalions march,

Trudging with clay-crusted boots.

A murderous stench oppresses

The hesitant troops,

Gnawing at their foolhardiness.

The brilliant trumpet blasts

Sounding attack

Seem as whispers

Above the tromping

Of mounted stallions.

The cruel climb entices

Anonymous anxieties

Among the silent soldiers.

Comfort enters not

The hearts of these men

Who have been misled

By apocryphal war assumptions

Based on military grandeur.

-- By Fletcher Hamel, inspired by Pieter Bruegel's The Conversion of Saul.

Over the Valley

The sun soars high

O'er the rounded emerald mounds,

And the cattle graze in the glen.

Speckle the hillside,

The tiny town does,

As the dawning brightens the structures.

The birds begin chittering

And the honeyed breath of Mother Earth

Crumples leaves like a paper bag.

The countryside is alive

With the fresh fragrance of rain,

And dew drops caress the greenery.

The serpentine stream seeps,

And the world is waking.

As day goes by,

The soft stillness is interrupted.

Shattered is the perfection of this place

With the drums

Of the Gods' and Zeus' bright light.

Then fall the teardrops

To quench Mother Earth's thirst,

And perfection prevails anew.

-- By Amanda Woodward, inspired by Grandma Moses' "Hoosick Valley (from the Window)."

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