Some Sun and Poetry

Over the UEA break, my family and I had the pleasure of going to Moab. The weather was perfect, not hitting above 70 degrees. We visited Dead Horse Point and Park Avenue in Arches. They were spectacular, especially Dead Horse Point- I had never been there before. At Park Avenue, we dropped dad, Bryce, and Brian off at the beginning (Brad was back at the Condo, he wasn’t feeling too good-very sad)and we drove to the end and walked up to meet them halfway, people passing us said, “This way’s harder! You should’ve gone down instead of up”" I wanted to explain that we know the route, we were just going this way to meet up with our kin. Very funny.

Anyway, on Saturday our last day, Grandma Julie, who we had the wonderful company of, was paining and pasting away in her thick creative scrapbooks. I sat next to her out on the deck and listened and watched her in the zone. I was very much intrigued by it all. I stood up and said, “Grandma, I’m going to write a poem about this very scene, what your doing.” She laughed and was thrilled. I took a seat on a near by anti-gravity chair (newest addition to the condo) and started writing. After only about twenty minutes or so, I presented to her my poem:

Grandma’s Paint

The sun gives
ideal source
for drying acrylic;
perfect for her pages
on which she pastes
thoughts and pleasures.

Light breeze ripples
on hardening liquid.
Cool eases heat
that hits her forhead
but even then
strokes of stained fingers
on crinkled paper
ignore unsettledness.

Birds afar conquer
allowing new ideas
to enter book;
cars hum, them also
implanting a new head title.

All now that is heard
are dogs, birds, faint bugs
and grandma's brushing,
paper crackling.
The king of creative
could not even compete.

She closes book;
cracking of new and
past entries.
Thicker than a brick,
she'll return on inspired ideas.

I felt so honored when she then cheered with glee (like Grandma does) and demanded she have a copy for each of her books. I was very excited. Later on after a few changes in the poem, very minor, I wrote it on a half sheet of lined paper and set it on the table on the deck, next to her crafts for her to see. She was very excited. If there’s anyone to be complimented on my poems by, it’s Grandma. I like to say I have adapted her style of writing to my own. I hope one day I can have a book of poetry like she does.