Archive for Thursday, April 8, 1999


April 8, 1999


These "poem sketches" were inspired by word groups which the student writers incorporated into the poems. They were written by Lawrence High School students in Joy Clumsky's creative writing class.

The Divine Image

The Dawn was silent,

Mystically so.

The horizon was tinged

By that fiery orb,

Chasing shadows and nightmares

And souls of black.

The water it rippled,

Gold colored swells;

On its heels rode hope.

Looking down to that pool

With its liquid delight,

Watching his image

Spiral and dance,

Was the ancient magician

And his wise old smile.

As he pushed back his hood,

His hair spilled forth,

Shimmering, molten-silver

And captured moonlight.

The scarlet-robed ancient

Turned his eyes to the east

With fascination and awe;

Watched he the sun rise.

That smile crossed his face

Laced with wisdom and pleasure,

And walked he toward the sun

With the tiniest of chortles.

This was his destiny;

Here lay his sign:

Toward that liquid-fire globe

And over the rise.

-- By Nick Jacob


Here, my darling baby,

Lay down your heavy head here

For angels' tears have cried their last,

And winter's hands

Hold you no more.

The snowflakes embrace your body,

As your soul searches

Far, far away from here.

The opal gates are waiting,

Wanting to set you free.

No longer am I able

To provide for you.

So, go, my darling baby,

And rest eternally.

-- By Kate Frick

Shining Shadows, Breathing Death

I found a glistening shade

Under the willow.

Soft branches tumble downward,

And leaves hang heavily, feeble, exhausted,

Under the willow.

Sorrowful the seemingly homeless, lonely trunk rests.

Rooted in a cemetery,

Under the willow,

Some lay slain,






And broken,

Under the willow.

Yet, still the sun rises,

Still the sun sets.

Still the rain pours,

Still the mist settles, luminescing a rainbow,

Colors seven,

And still the soft branches of the willow

Tumble downward.

-- By Nathan Bachert

Unpleasant Light

On dark, dreamy nights,

When magic swirls around me

In snake-like movements,

Through fragile hands of nature,

The river of my imagination

Flows high to reach the sky.

I close my eyes to dream

Of moonlight flowers.

They're red, so dark and evil.

An angry lightning lights.

A heavy stone drags me underwater.

The bloody moon will never part

Within my secret wound,

My heart.

-- By Marina Siltchenko

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