Made With Love
Campus Rain
A little brown chicken
A little brown chicken picks up some feathers
in her beak, left behind by peacock grand
and arranges them, so carefully, among her own
So now may she glisten with the greens,
and blues, and violets
of the bird known for his beauty and regality and ambition
She struts and totes her new coat a-round
Have you walked the imprints of a peacock? For there is
something about the height of your beak, and the
volume of your song, and the pace of your steps--
and she does know the footsteps.
Yet when alone, in dark and unseen, she undoes her -do
and is still a chicken.
Tonight we’ll dine beside the light
Tonight we'll dine beside the light and divvy up our plates
Together with glee set life aside locked deep in weekday's case
We'll eat our mains, and salads too, perhaps some fruit and drink
We'll talk a bit, and chat some more, leave none alone to think
And music plays and sings hello to the laughs we use for crutch
And when it turns to eve of day unlock our heavy box
Clean up our things, and go to bed, then wake with Monday thoughts
But savior be the plans we make to meet in one week's time
So now we'll keep ourselves afloat in wait of cycled prime.
Early Mornings
Absurdist
“Transparent am I as the glass,” said the snake to the mouse at her front. “Trust, a sip you may take.” And she collected a drop of wine glistening scarlet to where it hung above her friend.
Enraptured, the mouse climbed for it, claws extended. His friend’s jaw slighted, and another droplet appeared in the same place.
He did see, then, the flame that reared its head under the snake’s own– but quiet he remained.
As the fire caught to her scales, the snake cried, “Ah, traitor! Why have you not warned me?”
To which the mouse asked: but was I the one? And off he scampered, back to his burrow, safe in the dirt.
Drawing: “Absurdist” by myself. This one was actually selected by my AP Literature teacher to be used in posters representing a school theatre production!
Empty Desk
A desk decorated bare but for a sea-green glass vase
filled with the two shiny stems of immortal flowers
and, sitting near, a small bottle of flower scented perfume.
Thus the flowers may live a day more
whilst the room remains.
Study Shows Students Favor Finals Before Winter Break
Producing and analyzing the survey made for a truly educational experience!
It was especially fun to be a member of the small group presenting our final results to our high school teachers and staff.
Combining Teacher Appreciation Week with Mother’s Day
It’s the last month before my classmates and I graduate from high school, and while testing season is ridiculously stressful, I also feel that I’ve had significantly more free time recently. I’ve had a lot more time to focus on my hobbies— it’s wonderful.
My teachers have been amazing throughout my years at my current school, and the same goes for those prior. Imagine: junior-year teachers have to write over one hundred letters of recommendation and reference for students they had in a class a year ago, and senior-year ones have to deal with us kids who are stressed about college admissions.
My mom’s a teacher. She loves when she gets a word of thanks from her students and their parents, and with this week being specifically Teacher Appreciation Week and Sunday being Mother’s Day, I pulled out my watercolors and got to work.
My Statistics teacher adores tulips. My Literature teacher likes gardenias. And of course, my Environmental Science teacher loves nature (and especially orangutans).
I’ve finished two paintings thus far. Here’s to a busy weekend but a happy Monday— Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there, and to all you teachers, thank you again for everything you do for us.
On Some Roads
In the junction connecting the city with the meadows grows a grove of thin silver birches of average heights And in the gaps between three sister trunks the cynosure lie unsullied a fork and two paths reaching out of sights One brimmed with rosy birdsong and amber flicker And the other bathed in frosty mist and lulling whisper Thus either ought be gracious in choice of selection, and I Will choose that path for now, my moiety sole On some roads the ground is flat and bare on others only boulders and soaked mud are found But behind me the trails are closing; the trees cloaking Verdict own between the blooms dotted among tall verdure And the umbrage of lofted branches and their skylit foliage At some points of divergence is a stone bench at others only the voices of forest beasts are heard But behind me the green has turned to lonely merse Drown with refreshing abundance through crashing swells or in thirst wither along with the rising curtains of hot air Feathers of aurora seem to conflate to a lit beacon as the draft settles and loses its defining moisture At last, do I descry the end? From this post I turn, regard— There lies not the path whence I arrived, or perhaps it lingers amongst the hundreds of paths all leading to where I stand; trifled the passing choices— they would merge into one.
RGS Journal 