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Wednesday, December 30, 2015

With Eyes to See

It has been a long time since I've posted something on my blog. I had high hopes when I started college that I would have many things to post, but 'twas not the case. I didn't do much writing other than school papers, which, though some were interesting to write, I will not post here because they are not quite lively enough for this blog. Last semester, however, I had a Creative Writing class which gave me a jump-start on some material to share with the world. And without further adieu, here is the first of three poems I wrote for that class.

(This is a picture I took of U Hall which sorta sets the mood to my poem.)


With Eyes To See
By Melody Beerbower, September 8, 2015

Raindrops fall from a charcoal sky,
Liquid spheres of sorrow
Turning the world to grey.
They dampen the heads below them
Bent close to examine the pavement
With barren eyes.
Crooked cracks disfiguring the sidewalks
Traveled by too many feet
Capture the rain in miniature rivers
And drain it onto the blacktop.
Men and woman hurry along
Passing each other like dignified trains
Gliding by,
Each with a separate track.
In the swirling mud at their feet
A sparrow lies
Struggling in a tangle of filthy string.
The shoes of earthy brown tread close
But never once do crush it.
And never once do the downcast eyes
Have sight to see
Its plight.

A man approaches, with head bent low
And eyes half-closed against the wind,
Clutching a paper cup of coffee.
His heavy boots splash through the mud,
One tan shoe lace trailing behind
As though it lacks the strength
To keep the shoe securely fastened.
As he stretches his foot out in perfect stride,
Right over the place the sparrow lays struggling,
A stranger bumps his shoulder
Pushing him stumbling
Backward and knocking the coffee from his hand.
The dark liquid mingles with the rain,
No different from the mud bellow.
As he bends to retrieve his cup,
His wayward gaze
Is pierced the sparrow’s eyes.
Trickling in their dark depth,
The yearning for life and freedom grows.

The sparrow lays still
In the man’s work-worn hands.
As carefully he peels away the string.
People pass on either side
Like water around a sturdy rock in a swiftly flowing stream.
Finally, the string falls away,
And curls up in the mud at his feet,
Next to the languid shoelace.
With one soft stroke to the Sparrow’s head
And one to the wing now free,
And one last look into its eyes
He lifts his hand, palm outstretched,
And releases the sparrow into the grey.

The man watches its flight toward the hazy sun,
As the dark screen rolls away.
He squints his eyes
As it is swallowed up
In the newly-discovered brightness.
Someone stumbles against the man
As he stands with his gaze in the sky.
He catches their arm and points aloft
And says in awakening awe, “Look, man. See.”
The next man turns his face briefly to the sky,
But the sight holds him there.
He nudges another beside him and points,
And so it continues and on down the line
Until along the street people are stopping
To gaze upward,
For a beautiful rainbow has replaced the rain.
Even though the rainbow slowly begins to fade,
The people are still talking to one another.
They resume their walk,
But their eyes are no longer on the ground below,
But wander about in the warmth of the sun
And all because one man rescued a sparrow
And turned his broken gaze above.



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