Kayaking in the Bay

There's always me and the sky and

A big wet pelican with serious eyes.

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

[I]

 Apologize for bending the rules

(again)

and for writing that paper on

chauvinism.

but since you’ll read dozens of these

summaries

I thought I’d risk bonus points on

Creativity...

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.

[I]

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.

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.’

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.

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.

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.