Sunday, March 13, 2011

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Peach Tree

I really hate poetry. Reading it always reminds me of the commercial for nonstick pans with the egg sliding right off. My mind is the pan and the poem is the egg. So what in the world would make me write a poem? The challenge. And I think I did pretty good. This is what I turned into my Honors writing course. I got my grade back last week and got 29/30 points for the poem. Good enough, I think. This is based on Wallace Stevens "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird."

Mary Ross
Joshua Cochran
Writing 102 Honors
February 28, 2011
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Peach Tree
Above endless rainless landscapes,
The only gentle sight
Was the cloud of the peach tree.

I have lived nine lives,
Like a kine
Eats the fruit from nine peach trees.

The peach tree smiled in the autumn sun.
Its leaves were spread to make a canopy.

A cat and a goldfinch
Are right.
A cat and a goldfinch and a peach tree
Are right.

I never know which is sweeter,
The merit of paradigms
Or the merit of humbleness
The peach tree blooming
Or plain leaved.

Frostiness coats the birdbath
Until the sun rises.
A flower from the peach tree
Gleams with hoar and rime.
For now,
Trapped in beauty.
Its discontinuity dawns.

Oh, wild cats of Tucson,
Why do you ascend thorny trees?
Can you not keep safe the peach tree
That provides you shade
And the finches that eat fruit?

I dream stories untold
Of many indiscriminate options;
In those dreams, still,
Thoughts of the peach tree invade
To steal my dream.

When the peach tree danced in the wind
It reached and was
One with the purple ranger.

The blooms of the peach trees
Dancing in a pink cloud
Inspires the gods of hiemal
Who stop winds brittle.

She rode across Tucson
On a pink cloud.
Then, the finches joined her,
As she flew faster
The shadow of her legion
Sowed peach trees.

The monsoon is coming.
The peach tree must be dancing.

It was summer and lightning
It was raining
And it was going to rain
The peach tree waved
In the thunder winds.

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