Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
for the others
I sat thinking.
The late August breeze
whisking by the engraved names
I felt the tingle of fall arriving
and the shivering contrast of silenced life
Maybe for Otillie,
death was a sickening fascination,
morbid thoughts interfering with
learning in school
playing with classmates
Maturation into adulthood
withered the face into icy coloring
and eery bags hung beneath grey eyes.
The mind consumed with the Ultimatum.
thrashing in possessed sleep
searching for something;
when nothing could be found.
Only when the body lay
nearing its end
and the helpless eyes rolled into darkness
did the mind feel reluctant
to leave what had never really been seen.
So for Otillie,
for the others
I sat thinking.
Friday, March 25, 2011
"Though methinks he was only
Perchance thine villain wilt ne'er strike
thee fair maiden."
Got a poem of your own? Put it up on the blue pipe above the front desk and it may appear as next week's Poem of the Week!
- Anna H., '13
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
- Anna H, '13
Monday, March 14, 2011
by Heidi Heaton
August 17, 1907.
A life began that day.
Now three simple facts are left of her...her birth, her death, her name.
The sun’s fingers crawl over my skin, while the breeze tousles my hair,
I ponder at this sleek, cold stone and the significance it bares.
White flowers with tips dipped in pink sit delicately by this grave,
Fabric petals of permanence beside old bones of decay.
Does family often come to visit or are there any left?
What legacy did Martha leave to separate her from the rest?
A tombstone, average height, sits stoically in moist, shaven grass,
No distinctive qualities, just tangibly marking the past.
Visitors can only muse at the lives of those beneath the dirt.
But how, in truth, can a stone convey all of the human life’s worth?
The sun’s warmth has seeped into my skin; the soft breeze has left the air,
While peaceful quiet absorbs my thoughts of a life still unclear.
Country roads wind gracefully over hills rolling out towards the sun,
And though her body lies here, her journey has just only begun.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
Knowing I should be keeping an eye out for interesting tidbits of information about writing generally and writing centers in particular, I decided to take a look at the etymology of write and center. (Etymologically, writing comes out of writings, specifically scriptures, which is less interesting than the etymological mash-up that write has.)
According to the OED (not to be confused with the other dictionary by that abbreviation)The word write comes into modern English from a variety of sources, the old English writan "to score, outline, draw the figure of," the old high German rizan "to write, scratch, tear," and the Sanskrit rikh featuring notably among them.
Center also has a bit of variety to its etymology. Similar old terms are the old French centre--still a common spelling for the term in Britain--the Latin centrum, and the Greek kentron. The latter actually refers to a bee stinger, producing an interesting chain of Etymologies that produce an important modern word.
The closest thing Etymologically to the phrase Writing Center, at least by this method, is the word eccentric. This is a beautiful irony.
- Ben B '13