artist, diary, painting, poem, poetry, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 46:

April 1st: Started 3:37 in class. Finished 8:28. In my dorm. Based on Edmund Blair Leighton’s ‘A little prince likely in time to bless a royal throne’.

Edmund Blair Leighton a little prince likely in time to bless a royal throne

Who Is To Carry The Head?

Who am I to lead, if not myself?
As I resist the calling of king,
and by so doing, become an accidental leader to an intentional nation?
When I am no more princely than personified justice
and yet by my own words,
have the power to weld or release such chains of freedom.

Who is to carry the head,
when they cheer for a crown I have yet to earn?
Or what
might such a boy make of a blind world,
that finds in me their sight?
How dangerous a world
in which most look to me as light
simply because I was born into a dull brilliance
and cast the glow of an assured tomorrow.

Why must boys look on older men to answer the questions within
and then blame their guide when their world’s set aflame?

Is not his conscience alone
the compass out of the quandary
and the answer to the questions they pose?

-A. Struthers

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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

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

 

artist, poem, poetry, rhyme, rhyming, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 40:

A-Quiet-Read-Albert-Lynch-Oil-Painting

March 11th: Based on ‘A Quiet Read’ by Albert Lynch. Started 9:08. Finished: 11:46.

The Good News

So softly cooed the darling dove who perched upon my sill

to sing of how the ages in the pages served to spill

winged words that gave some men their flight

to bring the joyous news

to nations knowing not of need in deeds that form their dues.

 

“Dear darling dove, of such a love, how must I know the book

of which you sing, as if to bring, new eyes through which to look?”

 

The darling dove, of such a love, flew out and placed by me,

a branch of which I’d always passed, so that my heart might see

how such a vine could salve my eyes, to watch the wash of hues

of what’s it’s like to come undone so that you feel your fuse.

-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.

53155042_2485548491520422_6488648046027472896_n

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.

-Amy Struthers