Collaborative Poetry
Arthur Tait, 1856, A Tight Fix
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Each class wrote a poem together from the perspective of a nonliving thing in the painting above to demonstrate the poetry skills we explored such as imagery and personification--both classes chose to write their poems from the gun's perspective underneath the bear. Enjoy!
Chambers Full of Resignation
By 6th Hour
I am loyal and I remember how you’ve held me
But you’ve never had to stare death in the eyes.
You never think twice about the lives you make me take.
Every time a bullet spirals through me,
All of my thoughts are gone.
Just like the life that was before me
I lived a peaceful life
Which I was plucked from
Burned out of my natural state
To the shape that I am now.
My steel is refined and
My wood is polished by dominating hands.
As I look out past my long nose,
My sight is set to one goal.
My chambers are full of resignation.
When my trigger is pulled
I don’t take the shot.
I was flung from my perch,
Now I sit
In a snowy forest
Much colder than before
Man and bear locked in battle
But I am frozen
Unable to provide any aid.
My hesitation, my own indecision
Causing my downfall
Who should I defend?
Who should I attack?
I just wanted the death,
The destruction,
The meaningless loss of life to stop.
Alone and dark,
The rust begins to spread like fungi on a fallen stump, corroding my flesh,
My own kind of death.
Light, bright, blinding light
Black fur eclipses my vision,
The crushing weight of indecision.
And all I do is lay here? Why?
My savior is now in danger
This creature, it’s family
How could I take their savior away?
But I didn’t think of the claws.
I didn’t think of the knife.
My former self melted away,
the scalding realization sank in
I was submerged in molten wrath
To fit my captor’s desired end.
“Number 378”
By 7th Hour
Made from cold, hard metal
The lonely feeling of being
Trapped within the barrel
Where is the world?
What is warmth?
There must be more beyond this part.
Numbers 1 and 2
Were just targets.
Numbers 3 and 4
Were bull’s eyes!
I was craving it.
Craving it every time.
Numbers 5 and 6
Were just animals
Numbers 26,27, and 28
Were just defense…
I was proud to protect and provide.
To kill, harm, puncture.
I wish,
No.
I desire
To be held,
To be appreciated for more than
Kill
Harm
Puncture.
Number 34
Was civic duty.
Numbers 51 and 52
Didn’t even have a gun.
I was uncomfortable.
Warmth over cold,
comfort over lonely,
to be warm is to be finally happy.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
They still ring in my metal barrel,
A sharp, obnoxious sound that signifies another
Lost life
I was made to kill with a stone-cold heart.
Yet I have a heart of gold that could bring no harm.
The stone-cold belongs to my master’s hands.
It is those hands that bring me to kill those who have no reason to face the petty wrath of a master.
I have no power over my master.
Numbers 67 and 68
I could see their youth
Number 77
Was the wrong target.
Number 162 had a family.
My vision was blank,
A heavyweight sat atop me
Warm like the forge I was born in
Its heat nullifying the snow beneath me
The feeling is pleasant
The darkness, a comforting escape from the horrible war-ridden scene that was before me moments ago.
The mossy, towering trees that enclosed the bloody chaos no longer visible.
To be held or not to be held,
To take a life or not to,
Number 378
stands like a man.
Number 378…