Time Tells Of

Sunny mornings in fields of dull gold

we blaze trails through shoulder high field-grass.

The story is never the same.

You’re a motorcycle thug cruzin’ the strip,

I’m a marooned sailor looking for home.

You were always the stronger

more clever one of us.

Fields weren’t big enough though

to escape your blowing winds.

Fluorescent lit afternoons in faded 60’s desks

we push papers and tests till hand cramps.

The story is always the same.

I’m knee deep in homework,

You’re up to the eyes in a book.

A certain understanding grips

with the clock robbing minutes.

We drive quiet streets of understanding

this old town could never hold you.

Glowing nights from phones and screens

we shoot empty words from separate states.

The story never came.

You’re dressed in your white coat,

I’m drifting eyes shut in a canoe.

When I re-find home...

Symposium

I attended the Q and A dialog between Patricia and Ben. They started off the commentary on why/how they began their careers began her career when she realized the her works not only affected her, but also those surrounding her; she was fortunate to have a social circle that also supported her efforts and job. Ben’s explanation was somewhat different, in that he looked for the aspects of horror; he believes that these are thing things that evoke the most feelings in people, terror, fear, horror. I was mostly interested in Patricia Smiths conversations on her book though.

Patricia Smith was an outsider to the Katrina disaster, which influenced her writing, and she was worried that she might not be portraying them the way they saw fit. Upon the completion of her works though, it was met with mixed emotion, for some it was a work that helped them to cope with the situation and to help keep this disaster in the minds of the public; others though, thought badly on, being distasteful and such.

Patricia uses her writings as a way to process her emotions and thoughts though; she tries to resolve thoughts on religion and tensions. Her family used to be a faithful family till her father died in a robbery which seemed to have set her mother on a different path. Patricia tries to work these thoughts and feelings out through her creations though.

As a funny tid-bit, she commented on the George Bush poem, “only single syllable words.” Patricia really tries to put herself in others shoes and feel as they feel.