Inspired by Rimbaud, we wrote poems that convey emotions through color, and other sensory information.
A robin sits on a cherry tree,
singing a lovely song.
The tree spits puffs of pink clouds
and sets the stage for the bird
The bird is shot down,
giving out a horrid screech.
Fire engulfs the tree and all fall to the ground,
the puffs of pink turn to piles of ash.
A gentle hand cradles the dying bird,
and wishes for its song to return,
but it's last wheezing breath is released,
and head droops down, and falls like its tree.
Quiet room quiet house
all that is heard is the clicking of a mouse
and the ticking of a clock
all is still even the small windmill
sleeping cat sleeping birds
sleeping raccoon's hidden in the ferns
clock still ticking clock strikes 7:00
sun going down as it starts to get late
Clock still ticking clock strikes 10:00
thoughts of grey run through my head
waiting and waiting for the door to ring
while sitting in my room
with a sore look on my face
Clock still ticking clock strikes 10:30
I hear a ring from down stairs
with a smile on my face I run through the house
I open the door I greet them with a great embrace
all grey thoughts have been erased
The clouds were red and white
I had A singing heart
Sailing on A calm and brilliant sea
But away you go from me
The clouds are grey
And the sea is dark and stormy
The boat sinks to a watery grave
In a cold stone cell
The mildew wrecks my mind
Grey and icy bricks are all that I can find
And I pound and I pound on the stone, begging to be let out
Because the People are all outside
Joyous and together
While I am locked away
An anchor is in my chest
A sharp knife of silver in my body
That never seemed to go away
The piercing sound of nails I made never did a thing
And all the people talking
Were just sounds thumping in my brain
A never-ending storm
That lasts all day
Bright, Trumpets Blasting
Declaring the rein of the rising king
As he silently creeps up his red carpet
Now the purple ladies play their quintet
A thousand sand chorus breaking into song
Yellow has come hopes to stay long
As all the green look up to him and his great crown
Now great Yellows rein has been
The dark witch has seen
And fixes the king a nasty gaul
As black and blue no one has been
Now the blue cascades down like a waterfall
The purple eyes are sick, the greens’ are weak
The Yellow drops are dark, and white reigns over all
The Final Sounds
The sounds of drums.
The sunset, a deep red.
Marching coming from everywhere.
The final sounds till nothing.
Zip Zip Zap
The streaks, they run.
All the day, everyday.
Zap Zip Zoop
The clouds going slowly.
The waves splashing still.
It will become clear.
Once you sit without fear.
It feels like an icicle in your heart slowly
spreading the cold throughout your chest
It smells like candles and wood. It doesn't
smell bad, but more unsettling. Like
something crawling beside you,
Why does it smell like mulch and flowers? Will this sleep ever end?
How long has it been? I wonder what time it is?
The Light at the End of the Tunnel
No more icicles in your heart. No more being lost in time. The endless sleep is ended.
This is Now
The heat of summer, the white puff of the clouds,
the refreshing breeze, the touch of your hand, the light of the sun
That was then
The cold rain, the grey fog,
the biting gale, the heart-rending feeling of regret,
the roaring of nature
That was then
The calming of the storm, the clearing of the clouds,
the dying down of the maelstrom, the drying of the tears,
the return of the sun
This is now