The Figures of Raphael and Architecture

I'm in French class right now! Aaah! Technically, I'm allowed to do this, because the announcements are on right now so no one cares what I do, but I feel like an undercover blogger spy person.
Anywho.
I'm in an unusually good mood- this morning I had Art Club, which I love, and I'm not feeling sick anymore like I was yesterday, and I even edited a little last night- I KNOW. And I still somehow got to bed early.
So, I've been looking for a poem in my poetry collection to match my good mood. But all my poems are angsty! Argh! I'm never in a good mood! I wanted to post my whimsical poem, 'The Queen's Ball', BUT I'M NOT FEELING WHIMSICAL, I'M FEELING HAPPY.
So finally I found two poems about my favoritest subject, art history. Here you go: one about Gothic architecture and one about Renaissance artists.

Architecture

Vasari would condemn me

For I really should not creep

Past the tiptoe-border of the year fourteen-hundred

Bramante and Brunelleschi follow the rules

And Santo Spirito’s walls stay grounded.

But I cannot help but wander to a world

Where color and light are fused

Titian would understand, I think-

With the passionate reds he used.

Stone is transcended into what the sun makes

For the world of scholars today

For the soaring spirituality of Gothic architecture

Is where I sinfully stray.

1509- Raphael smiles-

1194- Gargoyles leer.

1550- Palladio’s composition

Makes no comparison to Notre-Dame, here.

Higher and higher I soar

Through the stained glass windows pour

A world where I would rather be

I’d rather have an orchestra play

And sing with my heart as I fly through the world

Yes, ‘tis true, this is what I see.

The Figures of Raphael

The figures of Raphael

Are elegant and delicate

Flowing across the beautiful landscape

Their features glow warmly

Beautifying all around them

Like flowers in a heavenly garden,

They take their place in the lovely art

Of the centuries.

But you do not recall to me

The figures of Raphael.

To me, 

you are painted by Michelangelo

Strong, intense,

And powerful

The mark made is cut deep

Into the soul of those who come near

Light shines out

Blinding all who can see

The intensity and power

Hidden in thee.

OK, G2G, French is starting! Bye!

-magic*esi

The Figures of Raphael

A poem comparing a subject to figures in paintings

“To me,

you are painted by Michelangelo

Strong, intense,

And powerful

The mark made is cut deep

Into the soul of those who come near”

December 2010

Architecture

A poem comparing the spirit of life to Gothic architecture

“But I cannot help but wander to a world

Where color and light are fused

Titian would understand, I think-

With the passionate reds he used.”

December 2010

A Poem About How I'm Feeling Today

Despite what the title might make you think, I did not actually write this poem today. I've been looking for excuses to not edit, so I thought I'd post on here, so I was scrolling through my poetry file and found this poem. It matches how I'm feeling today, so I was like, "Yes! Finally, something not random."
I wrote this, oh, a month ago or more. Just something I scribbled out in lunch or something. The words began playing in my head as I left AP English for Open Studio. Now they play in my head on that path all the time; it's awesome, except for the fact that it's real...
Ah well. Here's the poem, and after that I have some 'I'm a pretentious artsy person' news.

Running

Hands on glass

Handprints on glass

Rapid footsteps down the hall

Swish goes the door

Down the secret staircase

Running down the stairs

Bang goes the door

Fly across the hall

Down the second staircase, swish

The scent of paint and charcoal

Safe.

Sometimes I wonder why I keep

Running from you

When I’m stronger now.

Gah! I keep accidentally opening my editing file instead of my poetry file. I thought I minimized you, The Eraser! STOP REMINDING ME THAT I'M PROCRASTINATING! Seriously, I got home from work (at the library) at 5, and I finished my homework early STILL, and I'm wasting time on here.

Whatevs. I'll edit in lunch tomorrow. I have Art Club in study hall so I can't do it then.

ANYWAY. My pretentious person news is... two things.

1. I just slid into the finalists for the Probability of Miracles contest on Figment! Whoo! And now you can't do anything to help me, it's up to Wendy Wunders whether I win or not.

2. I just listened to three French songs in a row, and they are not all from Les Choristes, for once. The first one is "La Peur" by No One is Innocent. It means 'The Fear'. The second is 'Je Veux' by Zaz. It means 'I Want'. The last is, um, 'Vois sur ton chemin' by, you know, those people. It means 'I Love this Song' :)

Yeah. So, like, thirty words of actual poetry and several hundred of ranty crap about my life. Feel free to ignore all the fringes around the poem. I adore that poem, actually. Like I said, I always think about on the way from AP English to Open Studio. Not that I would want to run away from AP English! That's my favorite class. No, the poem refers to something else.

Si la peur fait bouger, elle fait rarement avancer... Oh, yeah, I listen to French music, and what do you listen to? Is that Nicki Minaj I see in your playlist? HA HA, I'm classier than you!

I totally wrote a 'Superbass' parody about NaNoWriMo. I still hate Nicki Minaj.

Goodbye, before I lose sleep from all this procrastination.

I shall post more another time in the future (probably tomorrow, with the title 'Hey Guys, It's Friday and I'm STILL NOT EDITING')

-magic*esi

Running

A poem about being afraid of something you don’t understand.

“Hands on glass

Handprints on glass

Rapid footsteps down the hall”

November 2011

Yell at me to edit!

I'm not editing! Finally, a day with no homework, and it's 6:15 and I have not even touched my editing file! GAAAAHHHHH!!!!!
On the bright side, voting has ended for the Probability of Miracles contest and Gray Girl is in fifth place! I just scraped into the Chance to Win section, something that has NEVER happened before! Woohoo!

Anywho. I ought to post poetry (I gots a laptop now, a loaner but whatevs) so let me just randomly select something from my collection. Let me select two, because I know one will suck.

OK, first one: something I wrote last year while riding in the car at night and being all, "Ech, I don't want to edit [do you think this is just a recent thing, readers? IT'S NOT] so I'll write poetry about, like, my surroundings."
I told you the first one would suck.

Highway

O, twisting labyrinth of the night

Black tar spider-thread spinning back and forth

Marbles rushing in the bowl, crashing pebbles upon sight

Once the maze is entered, exit will not be so short

O, pitch dark sky with not a single star

As I disappear under road smothered by road

And the red burning flames of the headlights of a car

Are the eyes of the devil in its abode.

O, who would choose this place as home?

This unforgiving traveler’s land

Trees crushed by molten chrome

Far away from God’s loving hand

Yet beauty lurks in this hellish place

For as engines simultaneously run

The highway of the night warms to your embrace

With a sharp intake of breath before the sun.

The road is not so wrong

As you fall into its folds

The hum of wheels becomes a song

And the night stops being cold.

O, find a place to stay

And to rest your tired eyes

As the night turns into day

And the sun begins to rise.

Yes. Cars are not made of chrome. I know this. It's a life of struggle, being a poet.

On to poem two... OK, I'm not doing the first thing that showed up because I want to post it some other time... Fine, how about 'Vanitas', I'll never have some other occasion to post that anyway.

Vanitas

Shiny red lipsticks lined against the wall

Glimmering mascara containers

Eyebrow pencils and foundation

Eyeshadow, and a scattering of lip glosses

The hair straightener leans against

A pink-and-purple box of combs

Shampoo, conditioner, spray, gel

And the mirror in the center of it all

Beads and pearls spill out of the spangled

Jewelry box, and gold bangle bracelets

Sparkle in the incandescent light

(Meant to flatter my features)

Perfumes of all scents stand like knights

Guarding the entrance to my dresser

But hidden amongst it all is the broken clock

As a reminder that like life,

This beauty will not last forever.

Totally cool if you skipped, like, half that poem. Just read the last three lines. P.S. You just learned about an aspect of Dutch Baroque art. CALLED VANITAS.

Ugh, it's 6:23 and I haven't edited a mite. And tomorrow I have to work for two hours at the library (what, did you expect me to have an unwriterly job? BLASPHEMY!) and then I probably have a lab report and a super long chapter in chemistry and probably some stupid Algebra 2 problems and feeling guilty about doing a sucky job in the Andrew Jackson trial in US History and AARRRRGGGHHH, I MUST EDIT NOW.

I'm still listening to 'Caresse sur l'ocean'.

My sister's here. Somehow, this is her fault.

OK, if I come back for any reason and I haven't edited, IT IS YOUR TIME TO RISE UP, HIDDEN TROLLS OF THE INTERNET, AND BLUDGEON ME.

Coolio.

Bye.

For real now.

Bye.

magic*esi

Highway

A metaphoric poem comparing driving on a highway at night to life

“O, find a place to stay

And to rest your tired eyes

As the night turns into day

And the sun begins to rise.”

February 2011

Vanitas

A poem about the frailty of life, described in makeup. (Allusion to Dutch vanitas paintings).

“But hidden amongst it all is the broken clock

As a reminder that like life,

This beauty will not last forever.”

April 2011

Grotesque

Guess who ought to be editing on her last day of winter break? Guess who's not editing?
P.S. Figment guys, HEART MY STORY 'GRAY GIRL'.
Anywho, I wrote a poem yesterday, or the day before, I don't know, and I wanted to post it to have an excuse not to edit. It's called 'Grotesque', and I warn you- it's grotesque. (shockingly)

Grotesque

All manner of ooze and vile filth

Gathered in the hall

Worms that crawled through mud

And spiders that creeped through blood

Monsters that ate flesh and hung it on their eyes

And birds that cawed and ate those eyeballs

In cannibal feather pies.

Caves that dripped with ooze and sweat

And were drenched in vomit too

The stench reeked from the mucusy blood

Where slime caked into goo.

But reigning more disgusting

And more evil than them all

I sat in filth on a throne of flesh

In the bloodstained hall.

If mud came out of my eyelids

And vomit out of my toes

If blood it stained my very skin

I could not be more gross.

You all know that you hate me

So don’t you try to hide it

You hate my every inch of life

And wish you could subside it

Hair grows on my very legs

And red boils on my face.

No dainty maid am I, for I

Think rights are mine to take!

I am no man, so who am I

To say that I am smart?

You think I am disgusting

Because I dare to love art.

You never understood me

And I know you never will.

In my world, I don’t look like filth

I am a young beauty still.

Yeah... Nonexistent readers, yell at me to go edit.

I'll post more some other time. I guess it's good my brain is so damn fried because I'm not filling the post with the usual crap I put in besides the poetry.

See ya later,

magic*esi

Grotesque

A poem about defiance against a world that sees me as grotesque

“You think I am disgusting

Because I dare to love art.

You never understood me

And I know you never will.”

January 2012

New Years' Eve Poem

Well, I've finished my US History homework at last. If you want to know about Andrew Jackson, you know what, Google it, because I'm sick of talking about his presidency.
I thought yesterday's post would be the last post of 2011- you know, summing up the year, strength in poetry, ending the year with a bang (well, as close to a 'bang' as poetry can get, ha ha), but now that we're in the last hours of the year (and that's in my time zone, mind you- in Greece it's 2012 right now) I want to post something that is really representative of this year.
So here's a poem that I'm calling '12.31.2011' and it's about... the year itself.

12.31.2011
 

Of all the things that came with me

You were only but one

I didn’t pack you in my suitcase

But you still saw the sun

You stood with me at the top of a mountain

And walked with me through the streets of Rome

You sat by me while I cried inside

Because I was leaving my home.

When I came back, I clung to you

In all my newfound despair

All the things that came with me

And breathed that beautiful air

I won’t let go of my journals

Or my memories in photo

But the year 2011

I will have to now let go.

You can tell I tried a little too hard with the rhyming. :) Shut up, I wrote it in like five seconds.

Anyway, I'm most definitely not posting anything tomorrow because I'm going to my aunt and uncle's for New Years Day. So here are my New Years Resolutions because I find my sense of humor amusing:

1. Lose weight. (Oh my God. Lose weight? What is this? I'm becoming a product of conformist society, I am.)

2. Stop saying stuff like 'product of conformist society'.

3. Finish editing The Eraser. (new title of The Word Story, if anyone who's familiar with my novels is reading this)

4. Finish writing The Gold Door.

5. Get straight As. Wait. I have straight As. Get straight A+s. There, better.

Five New Years' Resolutions is enough. Five is my favorite number now, anyway. Hold on, it's 5:55! Awesome. 

Happy New Year, everybody! Happy 2012! Let's see if we can make it past the Winter Solstice without dying horrible deaths! 

Vote for  me in the Probability of Miracles contest on Figment! My story is 'Gray Girl'!

-magic*esi

OK. The reason five is my favorite number is because I got a five on my AP Art History exam as a freshman last year!!!!!!!!!!

I couldn't hold that in any longer. :)

12.31.2011

A poem summing up my feelings about 2011

“When I came back, I clung to you

In all my newfound despair

All the things that came with me

And breathed that beautiful air.”

December 2011

End the Year With Strength and a Summary of My Best Poems

I know, it's been two whole days.
Anyway, today I'm going to post poems that represent two things:
a) emotional strength and power in poetry
and
b) my favorite poems of 2011!
I've already posted a few of each, and I'm going to save a couple for later occasions (Valentine's Day, for example; no love poems here. Also I've got a good 9/11 poem but I'm saving it for 9/11 obviously.) But my year has had three things in it: the majority of freshman year, the summer, and the beginning of sophomore year.
SO: I shall post one poem for each and then my two Strength poems, The Story of a Dying Soul and Bring Light to Me.

Favorite Poem of Freshman Year (not including ones I've already posted):

Pattern

There’s a pattern to this silence

First I’m the one who’s loud

Then there’s those fleeting shared moments

Where you never speak aloud

There’s a pattern to this laughter

First it’s shocking, cruel and cold

Then it turns into a smile

Which is just a laugh grown old

There’s a pattern to this feeling

First it’s hope that doesn’t stay

Then it’s cold, dark numbness

Which lasts day after day

There’s a pattern to this artwork

First Enlightenment proves I’m smart

Then Romanticism eclipses it

Since it knows too well the heart

There’s a pattern to this silence

In between the floating stairs

As the blue sky rises above me

To a place I now can bear.

Favorite Poem of the Summer (or describing it at least):

Italy

Please take me home.

Not here, amidst the wind-ruffled grass

And the sun setting in the picture-perfect

Summerblue sky

The herbs and flowers bending

Memories echoing around me.

This isn't where I truly belong.

Please take me home.

Favorite Poem of Sophomore Year:

Scribbles of Humanity

Doodles of awakenings

That cover up the pages

As if we know what it is like

To not be locked in cages

Drawings of true freedom

In the margins of our books

Scratched out because we are afraid

Of jailers’ second looks

Scribbles of humanity

They float across my brain

If only I’d release myself

I might not go insane....

AAAAAANNNNNDDDD (drumroll please, or 'flourish', meaning a fanfare of trumpets generally reserved for royalty; oh and speaking of that read Hamlet because I looooove that play) my two Strength poems:

The Story of a Dying Soul

I walked up, full of hope

Presenting my glowing eyes

And my wide smile

And my big dreams

And everything I had.

You beat me with your bloodied fists

Slashed at me with your heavy sword

Kicked me until my body made dents in the ground.

So I cried until every tear was released

And then I thought about what you wanted.

So I studied to the decimal point 

What you all thought was “correct”.

And I tinkered and toyed until I fit that perfect caricature.

You cut my skin and drank my blood

Laughed as I whimpered in that extreme pain

Left me sobbing on the ground.

So I staggered home and decided

Why should I care about you?

And I picked a different you to care about.

And I showed up, showing only myself

But a me that had been refined

And revised and perfected.

You burned me in your rotten yard

Stabbed me with knives as my flesh melted

Took my ashes and pummeled them dead.

But I reformed into a stronger self

And I said, “I shall care about no one again.”

And I worked only to satisfy my own ambition

Which shattered the limit of the sky.

Until I emerged, stronger and smarter and better than you all

And my broken body ran.

You found me without my presenting myself to you

You jeered in my face as you spat on my skin

You smothered me and then, for good measure, drowned me.

And you took my lifeless body and you beat it again.

And I resurrected myself

And I went somewhere you would never find me.

And for once,

there was a you who didn’t kill me.

There was a you who rejoiced in me,

Was dazzled by me,

Amazed by me

And shone to reflect my light.

But I was dragged back by my ears.

And yet I still ran!

I ran towards the sunrise!

I ran, in my body that you broke and you tore and you cut

And I ran faster than you all,

And I carried a load heavier than the world!

And I lifted it, higher than my shoulders!

And I sent out light so dazzling you ought to have fell

And prayed at my knees!

With the music emanating from my soul,

I shattered glass!

I WAS PERFECT!!!!!!

So, having no ammunition left

With which to kill me,

You chose instead to ignore me.

My words fell on deaf ears

My works fell on blind eyes

And you laughed, as I shrunk inside

Despite my strength.

Your ignorance slithered and slinked 

Like the forked tongue of a snake

Crawling around my beating heart

As I turned into ice.

And then I turned so cold I was numb

And then the numbness became blinding, excruciating pain

And I was strong and silent

And then I SCREAMED.

End the pain!

Please, please, please, end the pain!

Take me to paradise, please, bring me back there again!

But there is only one route to that paradise.

As you raise your mallets and your hammers 

Over my cardboard grave,

You casually ponder why I killed myself.

Bring Light to Me

Floating hopelessly in a dark sea

Wandering aimlessly in pitch-black woods

Brambles and thorns hitting me, tripping me

Because I cannot see a thing.

Pain stabs me daily as I try to walk on

And finally, I’m broken, on the ground

“Bring light to me,” I croak.

“Let me love.”

And there I am, in warmth and comfort

In that safe haven in the midst of the dark, unsafe woods

And the crackling fire

And the scent of cooking food

And the surrounding laughter

And I feel so warm...

And then I stumble and I’m back on the path.

That film of darkness enveloping me

I cry out, 

And no one hears me.

The darkness is eating me and laughing...

I am falling into inky blackness

Swamps of ooze are swallowing me whole

Gasping for air...

falling asleep...

Deep, deep sleep...

And that ethereal awakening

As the image, suddenly, sharpens.

I am where I always belonged.

Where the world is colorful,

bright, vibrant.

At last, I have found a place

A place I can call home

But my bliss is too brief.

I am yanked from my place of joy

Back to the blackness

And the shadows.

And I turn thin from lack of true sunlight

Because my soul feeds off joy,

And my soul is now far too thin.

Here are the demons jeering again-

“This is your home now.”

If I had only not let myself be flown back to this place of utter misery

But here I am.

And the worst part of waking up

Is seeing everyone still sleeping around you.

In this high-school hell, I am surrounded by sleepwalking zombies

Who delight in their Alice-of-Wonderland dreams

Just confused girls and boys 

Trying to pretend they understand the twisted rules of their world

How is it only I see truth!

They walk while asleep, but never hit a wall.

And I am pushed still by thorns in my dark woods

I do not have a path, for the path was beaten for Everyone Else

And I am not part of Everyone Else.

And at last I howl to the night.

“Bring light to me!” I scream. “Let me go home!”

Now I am the watchman

Who sits on the dock and waits for the sunrise.

I feel I am at the brink of dawn

I see the smallest glimmers of light on the water

As though the sun is creeping around the horizon

And there is a pen, next to me on the wooden dock

Dropped by one of those who walk by day

They who cling so tight to worthless gold and diamonds

And drop the world’s most precious item.

“Bring light to me,” I whisper to the sea.

“Let me write.”

So? What'd you think? A bit too violent with The Story of a Dying Soul maybe? Eh, it's ARTISTICALLY violent. :) The last one might be my favorite of all of them. I entered it in some thingy on Wattpad, but I never checked to see what happened. Scribbles of Humanity miiight be going into my school's lit mag, and as for the other two: Italy is, yes, about Italy, and that is what 'home' refers to if you were wondering. See my last post. And Pattern is about, well… I'll make you wait to find out, my dear nonexistent readers. Wait until Valentine's Day 2012. If we shall live so long! Ha ha.

Do any of you actually expect the apocalypse next year?

Anyway, I'd have done this tomorrow but I have vowed to all that is holy that I will finish my damn US History homework tomorrow, and curse my soul if I let anything interrupt me. Seriously. And I have so much editing to do.

So… Happy 2012 in two days, everybody!

From your dear little poet,

magic*esi

Vois sur ton chemin… Look down your path

Gamins oubliés egarés… Forgotten children astray

Donne leur la main… Lend them your hand

Pour les mener… To lead them

Vers d'autres lendemains… To better futures

Sens la coeur de la nuit… Sense in the heart of the night

L'onde d'espoir… The wave of hope

L'ardeur de la vie… The fervor of life

Sentier de gloire… The sense of glory

-FROM LES CHORISTES THE BEST MOVIE EVER WATCH IT NOW :)

OK, bye for real now.

Pattern

A poem about feelings taking on a pattern

“There’s a pattern to this feeling

First it’s hope that doesn’t stay

Then it’s cold, dark numbness

Which lasts day after day.”

April 2011

Italy

A short poem about how I miss home (it is in its entirety here.)

“Please take me home.

Not here, amidst the wind-ruffled grass

And the sun setting in the picture-perfect

Summerblue sky

The herbs and flowers bending

Memories echoing around me.

This isn’t where I truly belong.

Please take me home.”

August 2011

Scribbles of Humanity

A poem about the locked feeling of puberty.

“Scribbles of humanity

They float across my brain

If only I’d release myself

I might not go insane...”

October 2011

The Story of a Dying Soul

A poem about a brilliant person who was broken by bullies. 

“And yet I still ran!

I ran towards the sunrise!

I ran, in my body that you broke and you tore and you cut

And I ran faster than you all,

And I carried a load heavier than the world! 

And I lifted it, higher than my shoulders! 

And I sent out light so dazzling you ought to have fell

And prayed at my knees!

With the music emanating from my soul,

I shattered glass!

I WAS PERFECT!!!!!!!”

November 2011

Bring Light to Me

A poem about the ways my world has been lit.

“Now I am the watchman

Who sits on the dock and waits for the sunrise.

I feel I am at the brink of dawn

I see the smallest glimmers of light on the water

As though the sun is creeping around the horizon

And there is a pen, next to me on the wooden dock

Dropped by one of those who walk by day

They who cling so tight to worthless gold and diamonds

And drop the world’s most precious item.”

October 2011

Announcement: Poetry Contest!

 NOTE: I've got several entries in contests on Figment. If you see this, could you please read and possibly heart:
Gray Girl for the Probability of Miracles contest (yes, including a poem previously posted on here)
and
The Teardrop Goddess for the Seventeen Fiction contest
Thanks!

Hey, nonexistent readers! In an effort to include other people's poetry, not just mine, on this blog (it sounds crazy, I know, but I'm not the only good poet in the world) I'm holding a poetry contest. There's going to be a new page set up to hold the contest, so go there for more details, but the basic gist of it is: Write a poem about winter, I don't care how long (I mean, I'm not expecting The Odyssey here) and it's due January 20th, 2011. Get working! The prizes are all very writerly. I'd give out cookies but look, this is the Internet. There's only so much I can do.

I haven't got any poems for you today... well, actually, I do. I've just been looking in this little 'add location' thingy, and I first cruised through my hometown on satellite, and then I went to Rome. I had to click out of it though.
Farewell is like being ripped from home, no matter how long or how sweet. I wish I could write more in prose so you would understand, dear nonexistent readers, but I can't do it without crying, so here's poetry to explain it for you:

Farewells
I left my heart behind
In that sad beautiful seaport
And the dusty mountains in the background
Clouds rising like smoke
The pale blue sky above
And the sun lowering, lowering into the sea

I left my soul behind
On that cold grey train platform
With the flurry of rain like silver snowflakes
And the silent white sky above
Holding my suitcase and waiting
And the train rumbling, rumbling closer to us

I left my thoughts behind
In that horrible bustling airport
Waiting in line in the early morning
Sitting with my head lowered in plastic chairs
Boarding the plane
And the plane flying, flying further from home.


Hope you liked it. And go enter the poetry contest!
From,
magic*esi