Drogheda

Mist lurks among the mountains,
Hanging heavy around the stones
And seeping beneath travelers' cloaks
As they pause by a signpost.

A man steps forward, he takes in the
tangled mass of suggestions, he turns
To Drogheda
The rest shuffle behind, following the staff-less shepherd.

Clouds join with the mist and rain falls
Heavy on the damp earth
The unelected leading the flock falls
He lies by the wayside and sinks into the muck
They continue onward

Stumbling, they feel the ground rise
Twists and detours and just-missed drops
Herd them towards the unnoticed peak
Suddenly the wind picks up;

They stop only seconds from an
Uneven edge and a long fall.
Below them a valley drowns in fog.
A solitary mountain pokes its head above the cloud.

The darkness crawls up the mountainside to meet them
And one by one they step out into the void,
Towards the lonely peak across the solid air.
Blackness closes in, envelopes them, and billows on.

Senior (Wisdom)

It isn't that great when you're living it, but it's nice looking back on it. Find something you love and love it!!!

               -Michael

An Evening Stroll

A slip, a stumble,
You slide off the trail
Only a few feet
Undaunted, you continue
The rains begin, the trail darkens
As the forest disappears
Until you lose the trail

You slip again
Newly damp earth collapsing
Beneath your new-felt weight
A call echoes through the trees
Wet with the sky's tears
You trip and you fall
And you look, but no
Now you are lost

The call bounces around
Off canyon walls and silent rocks
It seems to surround you
Yet it cannot be grasped
You slid off the trail
And undaunted you continue
Into the mist

A Little Jazz

It's nice to finally have some free time again, even if that free time comes at the cost of running lights and sound for the district's band night. Over the years I have enjoyed doing tech for the band and orchestra concerts more for the uninterrupted time to write than for the music itself (although that is a great perk!). Tonight every band from 5th grade to high school is playing.The wide range of wonderful music provides an inspiring mood for writing. This is the last band night I get to push buttons for, and the last one many of my friends get to perform in. In a year filled with final moments, this one is bittersweet. It's a welcome rest after two hectic weeks working on the show (which went great!) and is some good forced writing time. I should probably be writing a psych essay or an English paper, but that's a little too much work to do at the light board. So instead I've chosen to spend my time filling space with words. Lacking any coherent idea off what I want to say, this really seems to be going nowhere. Restart:

These final months of high school are incredibly bittersweet for me. There is the parade of finales. Calling my last show; working my last band night; singing my last chorus concert; and writing my final paper. Some of that can't come fast enough, and yet I want to linger over other moments. I'm spending more time at school, and that's not only because I'm trying to catch up on the myriad of missed  work from the last two weeks. I also have to lay out the advertisements for the yearbook and starting planning the Mr. Haverford pageant. Life never seems to slow down enough to allow me to reflect. So I'm taking the time now. Every change leaves you with mixed feelings, and right now I can't decide if I really am finished high school...

As always, 50 points if you can guess the reason behind the title.

Art and Science?

I believe with Schopenhauer that one of the strongest motives that leads men to art and science is escape from everyday life with its painful crudity and hopeless dreariness, from the fetters of one's own ever-shifting desires. — Albert Einstein

Hold Please

Sorry it's been so long...I've been caught up in a show. I will write once The Wiz is finished.

An 18 Line Bet

Cards hit the table
Chips fall and scatter
One man smiles, the rest drop
Drained and empty
Slowly they trickle from game
He shut the door to his room
Slumped against the door
Years of filth weigh heavy on his skin
Struck, he rises and,
Moved to be clean,
Lowers himself into the tub
Then he turns the faucets
And the tears pour, salty,
Down his scarred face
Stinging the wounds as they cleanse
The tub fills with dirt and memories
He slides lower, the water crawls up
Til he drowns beneath his tears

Surprise Showing

Two stage managers, nearing the ends of their
careers, were discussing the likelihood of there
being some form of theatrical endeavor in the
hereafter. The first consulted a friendly medium.
Later, the following exchange took place between
the two stage managers:


SM1: "I have some good news and some bad news.
The good news is that there is a wonderful
theater in heaven - well equipped, spacious,
plenty of wing space. In fact, there's a show
opening tomorrow night."


SM2: "That's wonderful! So what's the bad news?"


SM1: "You're calling the show."