Thursday, November 21, 2013


I am not a poet; however I got stuck in a Creative Writing class and I had to come up with 9 poems. There is one I think came out fine. This is not that one. In keeping with the date November 22, below is one of them honoring the day anyway.

Where do I go?

Mountain tops -- tipped in white
Field trip for geology
Faults, moraine, fossils found
Back to campus,
Crying -- or stunned silence.
Rummors of tragedy --
could they be true?

Rush to Institute Building.
Made of simple white bricks
Near campus where I go for safety
A place for religion classes and friends
Our leader, Brother Peterson, speaks --
He has died

His grin, his wave, stopped.
The convertible, the crowd,
Her pink pill box hat
She cradled him
Speeding to Parkland Memorial

In the library -- screaming, crying.
In the rec room -- Laughter, ping pong.
Where do I go?
Not a disciple, I do not wail
Disgusted with those in the rec room
I cannot go there
I do not belong in the library
I sob on the couch in the foyer between

If you ever want to know what Mount Gorgonio
Looked like on that day,

Ask me.

1 comment:

  1. That is a lovely poem, Donna! Thank you for sharing <3