• Published 25th Feb 2016
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Silver Glow's Journal - Admiral Biscuit



Silver Glow takes an opportunity to spend a year at an Earth college, where she'll learn about Earth culture and make new friends.

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February 4 [a poem]

February 4

How do ponies rhyme? How do poets? Do they sit at their desks all day long, picking one word and then another and another?

I didn't think writing a poem would be all that hard. I've read them, and had them read to me. I can write a couple of pages in my journal in maybe an hour or so—I don't really look at the clock when I'm doing it. I usually write a little bit right after I get up, and then fill in more later during my downtime in the day. That way, I don't forget stuff!

Since I couldn't figure out how to rhyme, I stopped trying. Emily Dickinson didn't rhyme, and neither did e e cummings, so it was okay if your poetry didn't.

Where do you go, cloud?
You drift across the sky,
Aimless.

Nobody directs you,
Nobody causes you to rain:
You're purposeless.

Those on the ground do not know you
They do not understand you
Like I do.

They marvel at your shadow,
They think of your shape,
They think you are a wooly sheep.

I know you.
I can touch you and feel you.
I can make you rain.

But I don't. I let you drift
Aimlessly
Bringing joy to those below.

It wasn't that great of a poem, and I was nervous to present it to the class. So many people in class were so smart, and I couldn't even write a proper poem. I bet any of them could have done it in a heartbeat.

I didn't have to, though. Conrad Hillberry smiled when he saw me, and then he said that we were going to read some Poe because this was the time of year when he felt the weight of years on his shoulders.

I was expecting something cheerful and lighthearted, so imagine my disappointment. Poe's poems are dark and gloomy. I think they are better November poems.

They were also captivating. I hadn't expected that. Poe had a way with words, and he used them to trip me up. It felt like there was almost a tempo, and then it was gone. Waves do that—they surge and recede. Maybe Poe liked the sea; maybe that's what inspired him.

After class, I presented my poem. I read it for Conrad (he said I can just call him by his first name), and then he had me read it for him again.

I had expected him to either tell me that it was terrible, or maybe tell me that I'd made a good effort, but instead, he leaned forward on his desk and folded his hands together. He said that it reminded him of a summer day when he was a young boy, and he was sitting with his high school sweetheart, and they were looking up at the clouds, watching them slowly sail across the sky like giant fluffy ships.

Then he asked me what the poem meant to me. I hadn't expected that! So I told him about what Lisa had said, and how it had made me feel.

He told me that he had been studying poetry for over fifty years. He had written a dissertation about e e cummings for his doctorate, and that he could tell me anything about the craft of poetry that I cared to ask. He said that even after all that time he had not lost his love of poetry, even though he knew it inside and out, and that there were two kinds of love and wonder. One was the ignorant kind, and that was the kind he had when he read the first poem which touched his heart. The other was the intimate kind, and that was the kind he had now. He thought that Lisa had the ignorant kind of feelings for the sky, while I had the intimate kind.

He said it might be no different than a child who had a crush on a classmate telling his parents that they didn't really understand love, since they'd been married for so long.

And then he told me that even with his vast knowledge of poetry, every now and then a student would surprise him and see something in a poem which he had never noticed before, and he said that I was one of those students.

So I thanked him, and I tore my poem out of my notebook and gave it to him and he thanked me for it.

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