Archive for Thursday, September 6, 2001

Open to interpretation

Student photography inspires student poetry

September 6, 2001

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These "darkroom poems" are a collaborative venture by Lawrence High School students.

For the project, students in Angelia Perkins' advanced photography class anonymously submitted a photograph they had taken to Joy Clumsky's creative writing class.

The creative writing students selected a photograph and interpreted the image by writing a poem. The creative writing students were not given any information about the images, so they had to interpret the image according to their own ideas and emotions.

Here are a few samples of the students' work.




The steady creak of Mother's rocking chair grated through the air,
While the drifting smoke of Father's favorite pipe swirled high
above. The steady thump of a child's worn baseball pulsed in the
night, While the drifting drone of radio commentators filled his
imagination. A porch light shone, Illuminating the summer night
like the stadium itself. Suspense mounted as the pitcher set and
wound. A tense hand released its grip; A worn ball fell into the
evening sky, And down the porch steps A worn ball rolled. by Lydia
Windheuser

The steady creak of Mother's rocking chair grated through the air, While the drifting smoke of Father's favorite pipe swirled high above. The steady thump of a child's worn baseball pulsed in the night, While the drifting drone of radio commentators filled his imagination. A porch light shone, Illuminating the summer night like the stadium itself. Suspense mounted as the pitcher set and wound. A tense hand released its grip; A worn ball fell into the evening sky, And down the porch steps A worn ball rolled. by Lydia Windheuser

October 13 has come Driving, I am, feeling my heart slowly pound
Against my empty chest. Arriving, I am at the gate With vines
embracing the iron. Like her own child, Strolling slowly through
the graveyard I am, My eyes filling with water As I see his grave.
The sun breaks the dawn sky, Illuminating his grave, Drawing me
closer, Like a sailor to the shore. On my face, a smile arrives.
"Happy Birthday, Grandpa," I whisper. by Chris Kelly

October 13 has come Driving, I am, feeling my heart slowly pound Against my empty chest. Arriving, I am at the gate With vines embracing the iron. Like her own child, Strolling slowly through the graveyard I am, My eyes filling with water As I see his grave. The sun breaks the dawn sky, Illuminating his grave, Drawing me closer, Like a sailor to the shore. On my face, a smile arrives. "Happy Birthday, Grandpa," I whisper. by Chris Kelly

Downward I gape as I am strolling home. An autumn leaf I do
discover positioned there, abandoned, A single, solitary autumn
frond, Without any loving acquaintances in the vicinity. As I pause
there, I whimper for that golden leaf. The tears I shed are not
ordinary. They are empathetic tears Because, when looking At the
solitary leaf, I know. It feels the same way as me. by Jennifer
Porter

Downward I gape as I am strolling home. An autumn leaf I do discover positioned there, abandoned, A single, solitary autumn frond, Without any loving acquaintances in the vicinity. As I pause there, I whimper for that golden leaf. The tears I shed are not ordinary. They are empathetic tears Because, when looking At the solitary leaf, I know. It feels the same way as me. by Jennifer Porter

Smile for me. Smile for the camera. Smile for the world. Paste a
grin On that pretty, pretty face, Like everything is going to be
all right; You are only an ignorant, innocent doll. Pretend you are
happy. Don't let others think That you could be Anything less than
perfect. Do what they tell you to do. Don't question what they ask
of you. They have been Hardened by the wicked world, And you are
but a girl, As vulnerable as a little lamb Among a pack of wolves.
They know what your life should be; They know exactly What will
make you happy. So, smile for them Never lose that plastic grin.
Come on, baby, Smile. by Ashlyn Buck

Smile for me. Smile for the camera. Smile for the world. Paste a grin On that pretty, pretty face, Like everything is going to be all right; You are only an ignorant, innocent doll. Pretend you are happy. Don't let others think That you could be Anything less than perfect. Do what they tell you to do. Don't question what they ask of you. They have been Hardened by the wicked world, And you are but a girl, As vulnerable as a little lamb Among a pack of wolves. They know what your life should be; They know exactly What will make you happy. So, smile for them Never lose that plastic grin. Come on, baby, Smile. by Ashlyn Buck

Am I a diamond, To glimmer brilliantly in the sun? Am I a marble,
To be molded into an elegant statue? Am I beautiful, A gemstone
whose life Was meant for platinum? No, I am merely a rock, A stone
by the shoulder Of your house. Am I ordinary? Am I nothing special?
Ah, no. I know that I am sublime In my very own way. by Mandy Johns

Am I a diamond, To glimmer brilliantly in the sun? Am I a marble, To be molded into an elegant statue? Am I beautiful, A gemstone whose life Was meant for platinum? No, I am merely a rock, A stone by the shoulder Of your house. Am I ordinary? Am I nothing special? Ah, no. I know that I am sublime In my very own way. by Mandy Johns

His eyes, so clear, Are full of trust, Warm irises embracing Starry
pupils. Ten thousand orbs Of love and light Are spinning In their
depths. The tip of his tongue Touches saccharin lips, Tasting the
last kiss of ice cream. His ears are formed Like roses, perfect,
Waiting for the wind Or a lullaby. His golden arms, Crossed,
smooth, firm, Foreshadow distant manhood. He gazes up, And eyes
meet eyes, Searching, Probing, Asking what you have To trade him
For a smile. by Katie Lorenz

His eyes, so clear, Are full of trust, Warm irises embracing Starry pupils. Ten thousand orbs Of love and light Are spinning In their depths. The tip of his tongue Touches saccharin lips, Tasting the last kiss of ice cream. His ears are formed Like roses, perfect, Waiting for the wind Or a lullaby. His golden arms, Crossed, smooth, firm, Foreshadow distant manhood. He gazes up, And eyes meet eyes, Searching, Probing, Asking what you have To trade him For a smile. by Katie Lorenz

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