Another poem

Technically, it is Thursday here, so I am going to go ahead and do another post. I haven't shared anymore of my work with you, so I feel it is about time. i actually didn't get a chance to share this in class, so it has been not worked over at all. If you have any advice on it whatsoever, I would love to hear it. The assignment was to write about our thoughts, feelings and experiences at Oxford and how they relate to how we normally feel, etc at home. This is what I came up with. i am not so worried about sticking to the prompt as I am about coherence, clarity, etc. Anyway, here it is:


by Michelle Newman

Father and daughter run over green gardens,
manicured and soft. Lovers caress in the
corner seeing no one but the reflection of their
own self in the other’s eyes. I sit, alone on a bench
dedicated to one who is lost – but still cherished.
The sound of water falls around my senses and
I wonder if I, too, will be missed.

In a land where old defies its conventional
meaning, glossy brochures describe our value
of remembrance. Nobility, martyr, wealthy,
genius, peculiar, valiant, beautiful, malicious.
Did they receive their descriptor while alive?

Here, history hangs from the branches of
willows in estates maintained to show
their original glory. As I wander the fragrant
paths, I pause, wondering how I will be described,
if at all. Does one arrive by departing?
I return to my room, wondering if anyone has been
inspired here. Will this room be known as mine?

The day winds to its end, and as my eyes
grow heavy, I write home describing this place.
But before the breeze carries me to sleep, I recall him
looking at me before my voyage away. I feel comforted
realizing memories of me have already begun.

1 comment:

Lauren B said...

One word...one syllable...DAMN. I really like this one. Only in memory do we find our immortality. Cheers.