Archive for Thursday, June 17, 1999


June 17, 1999


Students in Joy Clumsky's creative writing class at Lawrence High School were busy this past semester creating poetry. This time their efforts focus on Chinese poetry, which explores the writer's inner and outer worlds.

This Place of Mine

In this place of mine,

Filled with guitars, tapes and recorders,

I fight the drowsiness to play another tune.

My scribblings become songs

As my guitar becomes

A magnifying glass

Poised over my emotions.

The work surrounds me

And begs for a home.

The notes carry me

And soothe the soul

For nothing fills me

Quite like their sound.

-- by Joe Kelly

Wondering as I Wander

The firm earth holds my hand,

Leading me to the future.

I wander like a wren migrating,

Knowing not my fate.

Sinking suns abolish my past,

Bringing the hope of a new day.

Through this society that remains black as onyx,

I spin, clasping to my convictions.

-- by Sarah Wertzberger and Jesse Anderson


In the slowly dwindling shadows

Of dusk,

Dew drops of inspiration

Snake through my mind.

The eve is dark,

And as mysterious

As an eloquent pair of eyes.

The trees cast shadows,

Deceiving to my eyes.

My soul leaps about,

Entranced by everything.

A man passes,

And this poem I scrawl,

With a worn pencil

On wrinkled paper,

In the slowly dwindling shadows

Of dusk.

-- by Ian Duermeier


I vault to place myself

High upon the bridge's ledge.

I look down to see a waterfall.

To myself I think,

What would become of me if I jumped,

To end my life here and now?

Sprinkles of mist fall from the gray, cottony clouds.

The day becomes a dreary dark.

The leaves have fallen from their skinny, naked homes.

I think to myself, Should I leap?

Should I end it all?

A rabbit hops past,

A broken silence in my reminisce of pain.

To it I nod.

He acknowledges what I am thinking.

He silently screams to me,


The foliage around is frowning.

Limestone becomes a deep, muddy gray.

I know what you must think of me,

My dear forest friends,

As you silently scream to me,


-- by Lea Marcum

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