Ode to a Violin & Ode to Poetry

Ode to a Violin

The violin sings.
It warbles its sad,
amorous melody
that flies through the air
like a mother bird
to her nest.
The notes sweep you up
until
you feel, smell, breathe,
and live
the heaven of its
sweet sound that carries you
through the water
to your memories and dreams.
You feel your love for
beauty
surge through the chambers
of your heart
as it pounds
and pounds,
hoping to escape and sing with
the instrument in your embrace.
You feel the warmth,
the hunger,
the woe
as it begs for your compassion.
The song comes to a conclusion.
The feelings die away and
your soul is revealed
to the world
like a newborn baby.
Naked.

It is so smooth.
First, you glide your fingers
Along the
dark,
Cherry-colored wood
and through
the silky, white
hairs of its partner
and marvel at its fragility.
Yet, your fingers
lace around its neck and
you close your eyes.
You take a breath
and allow the extension
of your arm to hover
above its metal veins.
Slowly, slowly, allow yourself
to give in.
The two separated lovers
become one,
creating a harmony.

Vibrato begins.
The little earthquakes shake
the pitch-black and aged
fingerboard.
It is like varnished velvet
under your fingertips.
The feel of the
cold, smooth wood
makes you feel empty.
Slowly and gently,
you rock back and forth.
Your head starts to shake
as if you are possessed
by a madman.
The melody echoes
the crisp and clear notes
that pulse through you
as they reverberate in
your heart,
which by now is as full
as an overflowing cup.

As you lead with your wrist,
the tone crescendos
as the storm picks up.
Carefully you lighten your strokes.
They become timid,
like a reprimanded child,
yet they dance with
playful perfect-fifths.

Caress your violin,
The sweet joy-maker of your life,
with your beautiful, melodical love.


Ode to Poetry

Colors flow off the pen:
black, pink, and purple,
making full what was once empty.
The sobs become quieter and
the smile brightens like
a ray of sunshine
emerging from behind a cloud.
The heart becomes soft and light
like pink and blue cotton candy
from the sweet carnival
in your memories.

A sharp cry
becomes a small smile.
Like ice, your chest
has melted to
soothing hot chocolate.
The feelings,
in the form of words,
heal and all anxieties
that feel like rocks that
suffocate you
are raised up, like
the weight lifted off your head
after a new haircut.
People think poetry is dull,
just black on white,
but it is enlightening.
It’s a home that welcomes everyone,
a place
where one can scream and shout.

There is a light,
soothing rubbing on your back,
like a cat purring,
from nobody.
Whispers of soft nothingness
are heard
from the shadows.
When you are relaxed,
they gently tell you to
take care and push you
out the door like
a mother bird giving her chick
a push out of the nest
to rush towards reality
(or to its death).
The message is conveyed
by the invisible messenger:
Come back again if needed.

Poetry, the hot soup
the filling for the void.
You have just tasted
the sweetest, gentlest medicine.
Before you know it,
class is over.

Elizabeth Hong
Age 17, Grade 11
Trinity School
Gold Key

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