Black + White

I find that life is never absolute.
The shades of life are too many and too great.
There’s simply color after color bleeding into another.
With people calling out for the glory days, the olden days.
Where life was simple and clear cut.
The silver screen and golden age, classic films were classic times
Looking at the crackly screens of bygones,
It brings to mind–who decided to call them black and white?
I see nothing but grays – muddy, murky.
There’s simply color after color bleeding into another.

*This is a poem that I wrote in a 10 minute free write at my friend Josh's poetry night yesterday. It's not perfect, but I still like it. Our poetry group started a blog where we post our original poetry. Go here if you  want to check it out: http://putpoetryhere.blogspot.com

For Jane

Elizabeth, with your fine eyes and wit,

have not only captivated the proud Mr. Darcy,

but millions around the world.

Your striking and independent thoughts are not your own.

They belonged to one whose life was led by her wit,

Able to laugh at those who didn't understand the world

like she.

Mr. Darcy, would you be so proud if knew

the circumstances from which you came?

You may not be able to look on without abhorrence.

Your wealth, station, and impressive lineage

Are all part of an intricate world conceived by

a mere rector's daughter.

Tell me, Mr. Collins, whose patronage should you serve above all,

Who you should thrust your bumbling compliments on

The one whom you should acquiesce your very speech,

and at every turn revere?

Nay, not Lady Catherine,

but your creator:

Miss Austen, the woman with the clever, biting quill.

Times and Seasons

Biting into the fruit,
Deep red juices staining our lips,
We eat one after another.
"Don't you think that strawberries just taste like sunshine?"
My mother asks me.
Smiling, not quite understanding,
I nod, grin ready on my face.

Another time and another season.

A long summer's day is coming to its close.
We sit out on our covered porch.
The sky is filled with dusty orange, rose, and plum,
A lovely yet unearthly mixture.
"Isn't nature amazing?" she asks.
I feel a sense of rightness to the moment,
A small stirring enters my soul.
I answer yes.

Another time and another season.

Leaves of red and orange flame are starkly set
Against the periwinkle sky.
The crisp air gives us a small taste
Of the impending frost.
"Being outside is invigorating to the soul, wouldn't you say?"
She asks me out in the yard.
I take in the contrasting intense beauty,
My being is touched, moved.
I bask in the moment.

Another time and another season.

The snow is falling, huge flakes
The size of a fist.
They float like feathers
Falling in communal silence,
Each with their own pattern and sparkling delight.
"Do you feel God in nature?"
My mother asks me.
The beauty of winter is captivating,
Delight reaches from my head to my toes.
I understand.

Strawberries as sunshine,
Warm blends of sunset color,
Brilliant contrasts of leaves and sky,
Quiet snowflakes falling.

She doesn't feel God in nature.
She knows God in nature.
And now, so do I.

Ecclesiastes 3:1 -- To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven

Two Emotions Captured in a Moment

Melancholy
Rain trickles down my windshield
slowly, haphazardly.
Like a traveler in a snowstorm.
Dingy clouds move in and out
of the sky as often as
the thoughts
in my stream of consciousness.
Beethoven playing in a minor key
on the radio.
I turn it up to deter my thoughts.
Unsuccessful.
Sigh.

Joy
A belly laugh and a big grin.
I see children throwing leaves.
Red, orange, yellow, brown.
The incessant crackle and crunch.
The crisp air enters my lungs,
invigorating my soul.
Someone's made a big pile.
Is it big enough for me?
Heart racing, I jump.
I'm flying.

Fleeting Dreams

Autumn is the cruelest season.

The abundant warmth from summer endures.

Only the earliest of mornings and latest of nights
Warn you of impending change.
The flaming maple leaves
Mesh with the still verdant oaks
In a pleasing kaleidoscope of color.
The metamorphosis seems a reverie of all good things to come.
You are blissfully unaware when
The air turns icy sharp and warm sun wanes,
Leaving you cold, numb.
Those fleeting summer dreams, once vibrant as hope itself,
Are now nondescript gray-brown.
They fall, down and down,
To be trodden on and left to rot.
The world's beauty has gone to sleep,
And your dreams with it.

Sorry if this is a bit depressing, I've had some feelings that have needed to come out for a long time, and the change of seasons seemed to fit my mood. Autumn is actually my favorite time of year, but I realized the other day that in the midst of all of the changing leaves and spicy smells, Autumn is really just the dying season before Winter. 

Attack of the Chicken People

Dedicated to my siblings. You know why.

We don't know exactly who started it.

We just know it's fun.
Who needs expensive toys
When you have an old sweater
And lots of imagination?

Our abundant giggles paramount

To even deeper belly laughter.

Racing each other is harder than it looks.

Don't even ask about jumping.

Being ridiculous comes easily.

It's like we have jocularity

Instead of blood

Running through our veins.

No one is excluded or left out.
Everyone can play.
It's a perfect way to spend the day
As wonderfully silly
Chicken people.

You might notice that I'm on a poetry kick right now. I don't know exactly why, maybe it's because I have a little more time on my hands than I used to. I now have more time to think AND write. :)

Myopia

Love isn't blind, it's myopic.
You might think you see everything,
All in sight.
But take another look and you might realize
You're shortsighted.

Up close you're fine.
Everything is clear, right (in your face).
Try and look farther.
Not so clear, is it? That's what I thought.
You're shortsighted.

Your eyes are too long.
The refracted light stops just short of your retina.
You have to squint.
Even then, everything far away is too blurry.
You're shortsighted.

You look through new lenses.
They allow you, for once, to look at what's ahead.
To actually see clearly.
But at the end of the day, the lenses are removed.
You're still shortsighted.

                                                   

                                                   -Sarah E. Lutz