From the Sublime to the Ridiculous

I wrote two poems in May of 2000.  They are both filed under schoolwork, but the first, if it really was assigned, and not just misfiled, is still very personal.

I cannot be snarky about this poem, even though it is lacking in literary merit.  I wrote it when an elderly member of our church, who had Alzheimers, died.  Once, a year or so earlier I had written an essay about him for an "Ordinary Heroes" essay competition, and it captures the way I felt about him better than anything I could write now, ten to fifteen years later:

( Ordinary Heroes )

Another long time member of our church died just this Thursday, and she, too, is where she has always wanted to be:  with her Savior where there is no pain, and no loss of memory, and no suffering.   This is the poem I wrote when Mr. Bischoff died, and despite it's artistic downfallings, I dedicate its sentiment to Miss Elaine Hiller as well:


( Immortality )

 
But, as this post is entitled "From the Sublime to the Ridiculous," here is another poem from May 2000 that is extremely ridiculous.  It was an exercise for English class again.  The teacher had wonderful pictures (I don't actually know what they were from...some game, maybe) of really bizarre situations.  In one way they reminded me of Norman Rockwell paintings, but they were photographs, I think.  We had to choose one, and write a poem or a story about it. 

I chose a picture of a very exasperated man at a desk with a cow standing on it:

( The Day the Cow Fell In )

Hehe! 

From the Sublime to the Ridiculous

I wrote two poems in May of 2000.  They are both filed under schoolwork, but the first, if it really was assigned, and not just misfiled, is still very personal.

I cannot be snarky about this poem, even though it is lacking in literary merit.  I wrote it when an elderly member of our church, who had Alzheimers, died.  Once, a year or so earlier I had written an essay about him for an "Ordinary Heroes" essay competition, and it captures the way I felt about him better than anything I could write now, ten to fifteen years later:

( Ordinary Heroes )

Another long time member of our church died just this Thursday, and she, too, is where she has always wanted to be:  with her Savior where there is no pain, and no loss of memory, and no suffering.   This is the poem I wrote when Mr. Bischoff died, and despite it's artistic downfallings, I dedicate its sentiment to Miss Elaine Hiller as well:


( Immortality )

 
But, as this post is entitled "From the Sublime to the Ridiculous," here is another poem from May 2000 that is extremely ridiculous.  It was an exercise for English class again.  The teacher had wonderful pictures (I don't actually know what they were from...some game, maybe) of really bizarre situations.  In one way they reminded me of Norman Rockwell paintings, but they were photographs, I think.  We had to choose one, and write a poem or a story about it. 

I chose a picture of a very exasperated man at a desk with a cow standing on it:

( The Day the Cow Fell In )

Hehe!