artist, music, musician, poem, poetry, rhyme, rhyming, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 44:

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Based on ‘Signora Al Pianoforte’ by Giovanni Boldini.

Started 10:34am outside of Stewart. Finished: 12:14pm. My dorm.

Untitled

Who hands a song to a chorus of one

to hammer each note into place?

Is not the musician, a certain position

assumed in a window of space?

Who lets in and lets out

and so gathers the nails

on the tails of the notes that they form-

from the pulse of the moon,

and the twister in June,

to the bister blown in by the form.

-Amy Struthers

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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.

-Amy Struthers

artist, poem, poetry, rhyme, rhyming, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 40:

Wrote a poem while tired entitled ‘Penmanship’ over break that I’m not pleased with- will be scrapping parts of the work to create a better poem later. Met a woman at the thrift store who inspired me to begin writing a song. Hoping to set music and lyrics together so that I can post a demo of ‘Ivy’. Back from break- time to get back to get back to my practice. Made dinner with Gabs the other night and am exhausted from staying up past 2 in the morning talking.

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.

-Amy Struthers

artist, poem, poetry, rhyme, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 29:

February 17th:

Gabe, Ryan, Tim, and myself all meet up in Stewart. Gabe tries to persuade me as to why I shouldn’t leave the university. I didn’t feel up to writing a poem.

February 18th:

Felt like falling asleep in class. I didn’t feel like writing a poem.

February 19th: Fell asleep in the lobby and woke up to get ready for class. Based off J.E.H. MacDonald’s ‘The Tangled Garden’. Started 1:50 pm. 7:00pm.

5.1.5

Johnsy

When paths aren’t all that tangled,
and dreams are spun and cast,
and bushels are as fragrant
as the gardens we have passed,
will you still sing of Behrman,
when you rise to note what’s last?

When some boats aren’t that sturdy
and beaches boast as grand
and hands aren’t all that calloused
by the tilling of the land,
will you still write of playtime when you’ve grown too tired for sand?

-Amy Struthers

poetry, rhyme, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 18:

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February 8th: 6:49am- based on Hector McDonnell’s ‘Temple of the Winds, Mount Stewart’. 7:16am. My dorm.

 

A Room With No View

In a room with no view,

what is there to see,

when elision of vision

forgets what is free?

For if it is free,

what is it that binds

my stare to this square

so bedecked with these blinds?

A pane of the glass through which life is beheld

distances death in the lies that we weld.

For if it is death,

why do I grab grout

to somehow turn in,

what I wish to keep out?

-Amy Struthers