Today I began my first day of "Poetic Technique." So far, I love its unconventional classroom approach (we sit in a circle of desks) and my professor's emphasis on taking "field trips" to fuel expression. Here's what I wrote today.
Yellow is
The dying leaves on a poster in the hall,
Promising fall's arrival,
Recalling the bliss of cool, dry air.
The hardcover poetry book displayed prominently
in a yellow sea of classroom doors.
It is the sun that streams through the window and into my eyes
after reflecting off rain-drenched, collegiate brick.
The tattered folder that hurries past under arm,
mimicking caution tape and mud-worn tractors
the omens of beauty to come in the midst of chaos
It is mustard, unused this morning, at the hot dog stand.
It is the plaid sweater, unworn, in blistering humidity.
It persists in ugliness, it insists on purity.
It is hope.
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