I'm such an ass.
For as long as I've taught, I've written acrostics for my students. Here, drawing from the post written for Donna Alvermann, I post the first stanza of "Semi-Composed in December" - a poem written for composers in EN 411 at Fairfield University.
I cherish such distractions.
i.
S he acted “as if” a writer,
e ntertaining her words “as if” a fighter, for the
m adness of the world and
its
i nterconnectedness (“as if” it’s suppose to be sane).
C ause,
she explained, it’s a part of performance
-
o ur miraculous chance to be alive for a
m oment, “as if” this is what we’re meant to do …
p laying “teacher,” “lover,”
“student,” “dreamer,”
o n the stages where
curtains are meant to open and close.
s he wrote short fiction, “as if” creative, when
e veryone else performed
research, and
d anced into the unknown.
i am growing within the improv,
less
n auseated as i once was by
all my questions and more,
D elirious when truths
unravel like jewelweed seeds galore.
e ventually, i’ll act “as if” it’s supposed to make sense,
c ircumstance, mischance,
that perchance
e verything evolves exactly
as it should.
m odus omnibus in rebus[1],
the advice,
b ut excessiveness has been
my spice in life,
e volving “as if” i
communicate, remaining
r andom as I am.
No comments:
Post a Comment