I wrote this one in my creative writing class after fulfilling an assignment to go to the Museum of Art (MOA).
Photo Gallery
I descend down stairs
To stares
Of glossy-eyed gazers
Through black-framed glass.
I question the frozen faces.
Perhaps
These stony smiles can answer
My unquenchable qualms.
They refuse, those frigid guards,
And howl
Like gray backed wolves
For me to shuffle, squibble, squirm along.
I definitely have a ways to go before I'm a poet, but I like messing with words and syllables. Fun stuff!
I like this poem. What qualms are unquenchable? Why do you look to photographs for answers? I love the "shuffle, squibble, squirm along" line. Very clever.
ReplyDeletePoetry is interesting. Mostly though. I can't stand reading it. I do enjoy writing on occasion though. I've long forgotten all the rules and things like what the heck "Iambic Pentameter" mean. But, when a good little poem comes along, I can't help but write it. And of few of them have been about you!
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