Today was amazing. The day didn't start off too well, but it certainly got better.
I woke up this morning to a short rap on my door. Half asleep, I managed to stumble across the room and open the door. There in the hallway is my Don. My Don's name is Brandy, and she is very sweet but stuck in her ways. You can tell after your first meeting her that you want to be on her good side. She could obviously tell that she had woken me up and told me very sweetly (No sarcasm intended) that I had 2 minutes to get to breakfast. I politely said "thank you" and closed the door gently. I somehow managed to be on time for breakfast.
Before our classes, the entirety of the program's participants headed to Christ Church for a one hour introductory seminar. We then headed off to our various Major classes.
I have the extreme pleasure and honor of having my creative writing as my major. My teacher, David Benedictus, or "Papa D," as we are to call him, is the epitomy of kindness and intelligence, he is scholarly yet approachable-he is truly the best of both worlds. Today's assignment was to creat a poem based on the following theme.
Before Meeting My Maker
What would you do
asked the fashionable woman journalist
If you knew
that you were to die tomorrow?
Yes, just what would you do?
Most of us would prefer
to go straight to the stake
without warning. But with hours, minutes, seconds
to fill in?
Surely the pleasure of life would wear rather thin.
Depends on how much pleasure you can pack into a minute.
I'd have lots of cups of Lyon's Red Label Tea,
so that I'd have to pee, all afternoon.
Lots of bread and jam, followed
By slices of the most succulent ham.
I'd take the most delicious girl for a long country walk,
then without warning, pluck her like a stalk.
Lying on our backs we'd look up into the skies
and we'd talk. God! How we'd talk!
What would you do
asked the fashionable woman journalist
If you knew
that you were to die tomorrow?
Yes, just what would you do?
Most of us would prefer
to go straight to the stake
without warning. But with hours, minutes, seconds
to fill in?
Surely the pleasure of life would wear rather thin.
Depends on how much pleasure you can pack into a minute.
I'd have lots of cups of Lyon's Red Label Tea,
so that I'd have to pee, all afternoon.
Lots of bread and jam, followed
By slices of the most succulent ham.
I'd take the most delicious girl for a long country walk,
then without warning, pluck her like a stalk.
Lying on our backs we'd look up into the skies
and we'd talk. God! How we'd talk!
My poem did not follow the other's pattern at all, but it conveys my answer to the same question.
Oblivion
Fading, as silent and as loud as the
whisper of a woman's hair
escaped from her tight bun,
brushing against her thin porcelain neck
I wonder.
What would I do if I knew that I was to die,
Say: tomorrow afternoon?
I know the first thing I would do
would be to assess my life's value.
Had I done what was right?
Had I taken the correct path?
Then, as the weary sun would sit low on the horizon,
and the birds would win their way over the reflecting lake,
I would sit out on my porch-
reminiscing over those lost days
when I was still a child.
Gathering my feelings with the same softness and care
one uses to gather a rose's fallen petals,
I would return inside:
to wash dirty dishes, finding untold pleasures
in the faucet's gush of water
and the feel of my scented soap,
along with the serenity that one feels only when
completely and utterly content in their life,
and comfortable in their skin.
One day, all will know this feeling.
Late into the night, I'd sit at my desk,
wrapped in blankets, three cats at my feet,
and more dogs at the hearth.
Who could ask for more?
There at my desk I'd sit and write fond and loving adieus to those who had
affected my life.
Then into the awaiting outstretch arms
of my mysterious love I'd run
falling side-by-side onto the broken grass
we'd delight in our share of ghost kisses
our glowing love opening the
closed and tarnished iron gate of
mystic wisdom.
We would laugh,
happily chasing those bright fireflies
who slipped out of our fingers like so many
broken wishes
that wash, with our meaning, out to
the sea.
Snuggling into bed,
a kiss on each cheek,
in the arms of my lover
I'd fall fast asleep.
The next morning
I'd walk to the neighboring town
depositing those fluttering letters into
the desolate red mailbox that I had come to know
so well.
I'd continue to walk:
just a ghost in the cold.
Just a ghost who lacks the keys to its soul.
At noon I'd be back home,
munching happily on a PB&J sandwich.
sorting through loved photos of a beloved past.
That afternoon I'd garden
growing and cultivating for the life
about to be lost:
my own.
Then I'd return to bed, heated by three cats at my feet,
and more dogs at the heart,
not to mention my love at my side.
I would dream then of my family's love:
no pain, only the momentary cut of connection,
and then the realization that I was closer to them now
than ever before.
The next day I'd be buried, under
a tree turned crimson and gold.
That winter I'd become part of that tree,
nurture it, give it all I had,
So that the nexty summer,
small children could play and pik-nik
under its leafy green canopy.
The wind would rustle those leaves,
a chorus repeating,
so that my family would not
be left grieving:
Do not feel left behind,
I just couldn't wait,
please now that I died
In a most happy state.
------
Fading, as silent and as loud as the
whisper of a woman's hair
escaped from her tight bun,
brushing against her thin porcelain neck
I wonder.
What would I do if I knew that I was to die,
Say: tomorrow afternoon?
I know the first thing I would do
would be to assess my life's value.
Had I done what was right?
Had I taken the correct path?
Then, as the weary sun would sit low on the horizon,
and the birds would win their way over the reflecting lake,
I would sit out on my porch-
reminiscing over those lost days
when I was still a child.
Gathering my feelings with the same softness and care
one uses to gather a rose's fallen petals,
I would return inside:
to wash dirty dishes, finding untold pleasures
in the faucet's gush of water
and the feel of my scented soap,
along with the serenity that one feels only when
completely and utterly content in their life,
and comfortable in their skin.
One day, all will know this feeling.
Late into the night, I'd sit at my desk,
wrapped in blankets, three cats at my feet,
and more dogs at the hearth.
Who could ask for more?
There at my desk I'd sit and write fond and loving adieus to those who had
affected my life.
Then into the awaiting outstretch arms
of my mysterious love I'd run
falling side-by-side onto the broken grass
we'd delight in our share of ghost kisses
our glowing love opening the
closed and tarnished iron gate of
mystic wisdom.
We would laugh,
happily chasing those bright fireflies
who slipped out of our fingers like so many
broken wishes
that wash, with our meaning, out to
the sea.
Snuggling into bed,
a kiss on each cheek,
in the arms of my lover
I'd fall fast asleep.
The next morning
I'd walk to the neighboring town
depositing those fluttering letters into
the desolate red mailbox that I had come to know
so well.
I'd continue to walk:
just a ghost in the cold.
Just a ghost who lacks the keys to its soul.
At noon I'd be back home,
munching happily on a PB&J sandwich.
sorting through loved photos of a beloved past.
That afternoon I'd garden
growing and cultivating for the life
about to be lost:
my own.
Then I'd return to bed, heated by three cats at my feet,
and more dogs at the heart,
not to mention my love at my side.
I would dream then of my family's love:
no pain, only the momentary cut of connection,
and then the realization that I was closer to them now
than ever before.
The next day I'd be buried, under
a tree turned crimson and gold.
That winter I'd become part of that tree,
nurture it, give it all I had,
So that the nexty summer,
small children could play and pik-nik
under its leafy green canopy.
The wind would rustle those leaves,
a chorus repeating,
so that my family would not
be left grieving:
Do not feel left behind,
I just couldn't wait,
please now that I died
In a most happy state.
------
My minor period, Philosophy, taught by "Mama Thea," more commonly know as Thea Goodsell was also very interesting. We learned of fallacies, which are really quite intriguing as they appear in everyday knowledge.
This afternoon I participated in the Oxford Quest. By "I" I mean: JL, Asha, and Zon. Asha and Zon were both girls and I got along with them very well. I really liked Zon, she is very similar to Ellen Page's character in Juno; she looks just like her too.
We basically walked around Oxford for 3 1/2 hours, and then took cover from the rain and asked locals for the answers (which was allowed.) We answered 43/50 questions.
Must go to sleep! It's already 11:30!
TTFN and write you tomorrow!
-LoLo
This afternoon I participated in the Oxford Quest. By "I" I mean: JL, Asha, and Zon. Asha and Zon were both girls and I got along with them very well. I really liked Zon, she is very similar to Ellen Page's character in Juno; she looks just like her too.
We basically walked around Oxford for 3 1/2 hours, and then took cover from the rain and asked locals for the answers (which was allowed.) We answered 43/50 questions.
Must go to sleep! It's already 11:30!
TTFN and write you tomorrow!
-LoLo
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