artist, poem, poetry, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 45:

I apologize for the hiatus from entries. Last week, I was driven to the ER and flown out to the Bay Area for medical testing. As I’m no longer in pain and was prescribed medication, I am heading back to university this Sunday. Am very thankful. Much has happened since then.

Based on ‘In the Grass’ by Arthur Hughes.

Arthur_Hughes_-_In_the_Grass-1

Heather

Sing to me of scarlet skies and I will paint you a valley,

sealing your sigh in my wind.

One, where on topaz mornings,

I might look out onto restless waves

and see in their rise,

a reason why my heart skips stones.

Or on evenings

when she speaks of thrones,

no rose can compare to a queen of floral reign

when the knights they hail

pause to kiss the hands for which they live and die.

Oh then,

might you and I

brand our blush with the hue we call our passion,

and fashion a love that reminds us of our roots.

-A. Struthers

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poem, poetry, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 43:

Claude_Monet_-_Woman_with_a_Parasol_Facing_Left

Based on ‘Woman with a Parasol Facing Left’ by Claude Monet.

8:32. Finished 9:39. In my dorm.

 

Here, Besides

In cleansing a pigment-encrusted brush,

who turns their nails to scrape the clay-colored sands

and play with the corals that sprout from a cup of clouded sea?

Where blue bonnets can be,

who dares to wash a wonder that is a window of time

gazing into a glass-eyed girl

or stands to part the ochre shades

that exhale into a robin wind?

-A. Struthers

 

gahan wilson, limerick, poem, poetry, rhyme, rhyming, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 42:

March 13th: Based on a Gahan Wilson cartoon. Looked at the clock at 11:16. Finished: 11:56. In my dorm.

A man is trapped in a painting.

F(r)ame

There once lived a man in a frame
who garnered far more than fast fame
when his portrait was sent
to a printer in Kent
who thought he could copy his game.

There once lived a printer from Kent
who sealed up his self with each cent
acquired from the sale
of the man in the jail
atop every postcard he sent.

There now live two men on the walls,
the Louvre has so labeled ‘The Thralls’,
since they can’t quite get out
to correct any doubt
their want for the press stressed their falls.

-A. Struthers

artist, poem, poetry, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 38:

March 1st:

photo

Based on Egon Schiele’s ‘The Border of the city, Krumau’. Started 8:56am. Finished 10:02am. In my dorm.

Home

I fashioned a home from stones I found along the way-

those placed by the riverbeds

and collecting rainwater in emptied fountains.

those

in hollows atop mountains

and those

from the hatbox of my youth.

How humbling

fell the words of Ruth,

when once I witnessed from a parting in my private paradise,

a flood that tumbled my notions of permanence.

Packing pertinence into what a birch boat can carry,

I climb-

casting the beam of a house on my back

and the hope of home in my heart.

-A. Struthers

artist, Picasso, poem, poetry, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 37:

Started 8:14. Based on Pablo Picasso’s ‘Famille d’Arlequin’. Finished 8:52 my dorm.

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Glass in an Armory

An oblong looking glass

as cast into an armory,

grasps for a frame’s edge

reserved for fleur-de-lis firearms.

The charms

as welded by breaking men

fire to aim their ambitions into

mirrors of soldered stability.

May no customer note the fragility

of the hands that uphold the quivering shards,

and yards littered with broken blankets.

-A. Struthers

artist, poem, poetry, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 36:

Based on Paul Delaroche’s ‘ ‘The Execution of Lady Jane Grey’.

N-1909-00-000087-wpu

Started 1:16pm in the school cafeteria. Finished 9:09pm my dorm.

Stable

I imagine the Savior of the world,

when in seeing the hands of our lowly estate

position lambs such as Jane for the slaughter,

so mourns the suffering of a daughter

whose blood will be spilt upon a tilted altar

and served in a court without justice.

To she who bleats Luke

into a cave of wool-spun wolves

anticipating release from the harbinger of husbandry,

may the echo of a goat named Guildford remind her the last laugh

does not end with a blade.

He who entered into the stable by such humble means

must now return to the cart that welcomed him,

dragging in the dirt behind

pungent tears

that blot the trails leading to and away from their perverted pens.

Now and again,

pigs trod over the selfsame hay as to sniff

the bed their snouts fail to detect once

held a head of iron cast.

-A. Struthers

artist, moon, poem, poetry, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 35:

Started 1:57pm. In class. Based on ‘Venice, Moonlight’ by Christopher Williams. Finished 2:48pm in class.

Williams, Christopher, 1873-1934; Venice, Moonlight

(Untitled)

Strong arms churn in what

a copper basin can hold,

sloshing coral-colored flesh

into a drum of decay.

Lapping almond-scented slips under a bed of clay,

blackened peonies depart from parched lips.

– A. Struthers