The truth of darkness. 

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on December 6, 2016 by Adrienne

Perhaps in the darkness

we have no other choice 

than to illuminate ourselves 

and those parts 

needing tending to. 

Hopefully,

we find ways to let go

and can make room 

for the growth to come. 

I’m not saying we should feel shame,

for this is part of who we are. 

But we can make space

that allows our actions 

to emulate who we really are. 

Illuminating You

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on July 19, 2016 by Adrienne

In a dream I’m alone in a roomWith the collateral of things gone past

Small shards of broken hearts

Time shattered in glass 

And a kaleidoscope of shapes shifting. 
Being present isn’t always mindful

Of things yet to come. 
I try to wrong right of all the ruckus

To mend what’s broken 

And to come to terms 

with good-bye. 
There’s a calamity of reflection

Interrupting ego. 

Small bits of angled light

Mirror back at me

What there is to love

What I have lost

Inside myself. 
Sifting through, 

I puzzle back together 

once forgotten shades 

Of who I’d dream I’d be. 

This one is clever-

That one divine-
Then there she is

Smiling back at me

With broad shoulders

Round hips

Wild eyes

We remember…
Coming back to Truth; 

It’s illuminating. 

just a dream

Posted in dating, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 3, 2016 by Adrienne

in the echo of laughter

we bide our time

it’s getting late

and I still don’t want to leave

i want you to linger

like the butterflies,

birds, and bees

i fit into you

and you

into me

as we dance

our own heartbeat

of gentle whispers

that betray moans

as you nibble my eves

we shake the rafters

til they wake

and we were

just a dream

A balance of ethos, pathos, and logos. Anna Row

Posted in Uncategorized on March 15, 2016 by Adrienne

Anna Row

Mr. Burnett

English 10 (Period 6)

7 March 2016

The Ironic Wisdom Behind “Perfect Silence” in Walt Whitman’s When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer

        When my mom found out she was pregnant with me, she had no idea what the hell she was doing. She was 19, lost, and I was conceived a month after she met my dad. One night, after being stuck in her mind for days, she found a dilapidated and cold, yet strangely welcoming bench under a thriving willow tree. It was here that she cried, and begged for an answer until she resolved one of the biggest decisions of her life. There’s only three choices for a woman to make in this situation: abortion, adoption, or keeping the child. She was torn between her integrity and her aspiration, and had no one who understood the choice she was being faced with. That night, she turned to the moon.

        It’s when I turn to her with my own challenges that my mom retells what’s become not only her, but our, story. Every time, unfalteringly, my mom tells me that the best advice she could ever give me is to “offer up your heart, and just ask to be lead.” She asked her moon for a sign on a December night, and she swears even now that a voice told her to “love this child as much as I have loved you.” I owe this voice everything.

I’ve never been a religious person, but I have to believe that there’s something bigger than me out there somewhere. I don’t know who or what, but I don’t need to. Some things are better left unexplained.

        In Walt Whitman’s poem, When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer, a man is overwhelmed by the “charts” (3) and “diagrams” (3) of intense intellect. Throughout my years in school, I’ve lost count of the numerous times teachers and adults have told me there is always more to learn. Society strives to be great, and we do this by educating and researching every aspect of knowledge we’re aware of. Whitman’s poem brings up the ironic point that sometimes learning more means not trying to learn at all. While the astronomer does earn much “applause” (4), there’s something to say for the man who can walk away from the “proofs” (2) and “figures” (2) to take the stars as they are: untouched. The astronomer can’t do stars justice by representing them in “columns” (2), and the speaker of Whitman’s poem knows this. Although the astronomer has gained many people’s respect throughout his life, he won’t have the same apprehension of our universe as the person who is fulfilled “look[ing] up in perfect silence at the stars” (8).

        There is also something, however, to be said for the speaker’s efforts to learn astronomy in the environment of the astronomer. I, too, have spent more than enough time trying to analyze and explain the world through science, philosophy, and psychology. Like the “learn’d astronomer” (1) I am drawn to facts, and it’s hard for me to accept that the metaphorical stars in our life are the way they are simply because. I yearn for complex answers, and I too eventually become “tired and sick” (5).

        It’s in these moments that I remember we don’t need to “add, divide, and measure” (3) everything we encounter. I, like my mom, have found solace in sitting under the night sky waiting for signs. I’ve found for myself that the voice my mom heard could be explained through a scientist’s logic, but it could also be accepted by the common person. We don’t need to be scholars or intellectuals, we don’t need to memorize formulas, it won’t comfort us in heartbreak or highlight our exuberance. Slowing down and appreciating the small things in this world. Taking each other and our surroundings as they are without questioning every detail. These are the kind of ideals that will benefit us.

         

Tracks

Posted in dating, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on January 2, 2016 by Adrienne

I see it in that brief moment that crosses your face;

your stare into my eyes

As you take my hand,

make me feel safe.

You never say it.

 

The train will run out of tracks

we will part ways

like lovers that never were.

Because I’ll have fallen in love

with you-

 

In that brief moment

when you take my hand,

stare into my eyes,

and that look passes across your face;

you’ve fallen in love with me.

 

My  eyes as big as the ocean:

Can you see all the parts of me?

Or is it just a reflection

Of all you hope I’ll be;

what’s convenient for you?

 

The stare in your eyes

as you drop my hands

when you see the look across my face

in that moment that passes.

When falling in love was never safe.

 

The pieces of me

create a beautiful birthmark.

My hands work with my heart

to build a beautiful landscape

that’s deserving to be loved.

 

I hold in my hands

the look across your face

when you stare into these eyes

and consider for a moment

how wonderful loving all this could be.

 

My train is leaving now.

We gather what’s left

and you take off walking

careful to not leave tracks

so love will never travel.

 

Take my hands,

stare into my eyes,

and consider for a brief moment

that loving could be safe

because we’ve earned it.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m the greatest love you’ll ever find… but I never intended it to be this way…

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on April 28, 2015 by Adrienne

When our kisses cross the sky

and our night steals away between sheets

when love feels lonely

and you’re the only one.

When you leave a story half written

but don’t know how to turn the pages

when you hang onto paragraphs

but the sentence is left hanging.

I count the steps you’re taking…

falling back into line.

We are the creatures of bad habits-

you had your’s

I have mine.

I’m the greatest love you’ll ever find… but I never intended it to be this way…

I started climbing mountains

hoping to catch stars,

swam across the oceans

fishing for salvation

or just a dream.

I would travel anywhere to find me

forgetting you.

I found freedom in the desert

an abundance of me.

Did you know,

I like chocolate more than wine?

I don’t know who will love you

I left off on page 46.

And I don’t know who is mine…

But our time was never wasted

it was just a different kind.

You’re the greatest love I’d ever find…

I never intended it to happen this way.

How you make love.

Posted in dating with tags , , , , , on February 10, 2015 by Adrienne

I search for fevered lust

when I’m missing you

and make love like angels

when I’m all alone.

Last night

you came to bed again

and kissed me behind a thousand tears.

Our love was like water

you were the ebb

I was the tide

we came like the ocean;

that’s how we make love.

It made me realize

I’ve had monkeys in my bed

hanging from the rafters

howling beneath the moon

fucking between the sheets

a habit of addicts;

is how they make love.

I dream that I’ll fall in love again

it will feel like chocolate

or dancing in a cool spring breeze

and butterfly kisses;

how love should feel.

With eyes wide shut

you grab my waist

like it belongs to your embrace

and you kiss my lips

like they belong to your lips.

We make love like music

fumbling through the melody.

There’s no refrain to contain us

so our breath echos in the silence

and our moans make cadence.

There’s no need for climax

because this isn’t ending.

This is how you will make love.

self portrait

self portrait