Sunday, August 23, 2015

Kayaking in the Bay

There's always me and the sky and
A big wet pelican with serious eyes.

Friday, March 21, 2014

Summary paragraph on watching the English Department's "merchant of venice"

Mallory Searcy
Extra Credit Assignment
Merchant of Venice Summary Paragraph
November 4, 2012

Dust: A Summary

 Apologize for bending the rules
and for writing that paper on
but since you’ll read dozens of these
I thought I’d risk bonus points on

The smell of the stage is pine and black curtain dust
It is the smell of hairspray and bobby pins
And words that have been said before,
Written by men.

[Shakespeare says]
Plato is pretty but man is weak
Dust wants to go up.
From dust to dust, It wants to go up.
Bound to flesh and yet it dreams.

Sitting next to Will Drake, glowing
Waiting for the curtain to go up.
For a merchant, a heiress and a Jew
To speak their turn, take a bow or two
And go up.
And I cannot decide what it means
That my heart aches for immortality,
That I am Yorick, after all-
And yet I dream of wings.

I love this world too much

When studying for British lit or
Remembering my last night’s dream
Or running along the tennis courts it seems
I love this earth too much.

I love the way the hay fields behind
My kitchen window rise and dip into
The sun, how wordsworth writes sonnets
That go bouncing on my tongue,

How a boy I love singings songs
While driving me back home, and at
Home there is a life-giving light.
I love this world with all my might.

But if only I could see these little joys
As little lights that lead to you
But I’d rather love the earth and sky
How small I am, and blind-

When all their greatest splendor
Points to you.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Pilgrim's Progress Awareness Month

Worn out by his swim through a STOP KONY sea The tired Christian marches to the Celestial City With his staff, dyed pink for BREAST CANCER AWARENESS, He hopes and prays that all the poor and powerless Who cry justice tempered with mercy will be rescued And together destroy that despairing cry that ‘the poor will always be with you’ As he stands helpless to offer any solution, except his RED X and a small note that says ‘I would help if I had any idea At all, what I am supposed to do.’

Thursday, November 7, 2013

The Life of I

The Philosopher’s I.

The philosopher’s I, is an important I.
It says, according to me, this is what I think.
That perhaps all the world is too big and vast and
Overwhelming, but I infer a few things from this corner of earth.
I infer a few things about the life of I.
Dr. Schuler said, in English essays, I mustn’t use the I.
The I says you’re insecure, go on and mean it.
If you think King Lear isn’t tragic, say he isn’t tragic.
Go on and mean it like a PH.D
But the whole point is that I don’t know if King Lear is tragic
Or if he isn’t tragic.
I haven’t asked him how he feels about it
Or known the scope of all tragedies and sorrows
That drop tears and become the salty sea.
So how on earth am I supposed to claim and argue
With other PH.D’s
When I’ve come this far to know, finally
That I don’t even know what King Lear means.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

A Poem for finals week

The poem of the evening
is turning over the coldplay vinyl 
to hear the familiar fuzz and soft
orchestra against the summer rain.

writing a paper is kind of like
writing a symphony.
Until Jess comes in, asking me to 
see pictures of her haircut senior year
and the symphony is interrupted.

And then soars back again
quieter at first- and then
gaining speed, up and up, Crunching
carrots in absentminded fury
impatient till the thoughts are out
like notes in the blended sounds
keeping the kettle on as pots and pots
of tea are drained
I complain- but really. 
where would I be without papers.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

I traded Alex some of his art for this poem

The light sits on ink and the colors of companionship
whiskey mingles with the pipe smoke smell on Alex's jacket.
Fading into the better borders of the evening,
Fragmenting edges of the memories.
While Courtney's songs sing out in the wake of the morning.

Early dawn springs and swings into the newest day.
Do you know the sound that love makes?
The sound that love makes is a wild sound a quiet
sound a silly sound it is the sound that rings out in the
moments when we are too moved to speak.

Alex. The light makes a ring around the night-
we are hallowed in light.

Thank you for the art you give to me.
The art of your being and hair and pencil
and where the light hits your words as they
speak of the windows that flow through the soul
and the night.

Thank you for the Light.