Earl Austin (Poem)

A poetry seminar was advertised within the local writer's guild of which I am a member.

A two-part seminar.

Week one, we would attend an art gallery downtown Greensboro, Artmongerz, and chose a piece of art for which to write a poem.

Week two, we would return, with our poems, and present them to the artists themselves, as well as the other poets and guests.

What an opportunity!

 

Not considering myself much of a poet, I figured this would be a stretch, but, turns out, I loved it!

 

The artwork I had chosen was this photograph by artist Earl Austin of Greensboro, NC.

It is untitled.

 

I was drawn to this photograph because it screams: I have a story to tell!

Also, I am a mom of boys and this screamed: boys!

 

If you like this piece, or are interested in seeing more, please check out the Artmongerz website. The artists will be blessed and you will have some awesome pieces to chose from!

 

Would you like to read my poem?

For preservation reasons (I want it off my desktop...and I am proud of it), I am sharing it below. Enjoy!

 

lying. waiting. I have been here for some time.

listening. reminiscences. "time flies..." and "I remember when..."

conversations dance together: a crescendo of memories.

white fence. cursing, sweating, one hot, summer weekend.

heat like a thick blanket.

sun streaks and faded features.

I bask in the momentary cool breeze; clouds roll in.

rain falls, never enough in the Georgian Bible belt.

body shifting right, a little closer to the earth's core.

the rain falls and we sink. the rain subsides and we rise.

the arms of weeping willows dance and the sight gives birth to more interest.

they gather, with black coffee and cigarettes. memories.

voices heard, scuffed chairs on porch floors.

and I lie here, still. a small part of the larger cynosure.

grass below, sky above.

fallen, I have fallen.

to make fire, the sword of five-year old pirates and warriors.

fine walls for birds.

reflections and prisms and looking glass, too

a window: streaks and spots: four seasons.

I am a stick, and here is my home.

-written by Shannon McConnell, 2016

-photograph by Earl Austin

 

(written from the viewpoint of the stick tucked behind the window wipers.)
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