Polk Museum

I loved this! I know it may sound stupid, but I felt important or high class in a way while I was there. I'm from a small town, so I have never really been to a museum like this. I have only been to the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, and that is totally different. I'm glad we had to do this for class, because I probably would not have gone otherwise...I didn't even know of this museum. Now, I plan to go back. I think it's good to balance your life with different "activities."

Okay, so I had no idea how to pick just one piece of art to meditate on, and write a poem about. I love photography though, so I choose one of those pieces...."Havana." I'm not sure why this one jumped out at me, because usually I go for more of landscape/nature type pictures. "Havana" left me with many questions though...1) Where was this photo taken? 2) When was this photo taken? 3) What are the banners at the top of the photo...do they represent something? 4) What's going on outside of the photo? As I meditate on this photo, I try to answer these questions by observing the peoples clothes and hair style. At first I think it was taken in another country, but then realize that it could be anywhere! And just a side note...I like the flowers that are for sale:) Everything just seems so simple and laid back in the photo.

Once I retire or maybe even as a side job I would like to be a photographer. I have always been obsessed with pictures! I have been trying to get my husband to buy me a more professional camera, and I plan to take some photography classes sometime. I wish I could take one at SEU, but I don't have room for any electives:( Someday though!

Here's my poem...
I see a street of despair, concrete of rubble,
I see broken hearts and a mud-filled puddle.


There are broken down walls and faces of pain,
There is dried cracking hearts, for lack of rain.


Even their hair is wavering, dark with despair,
Standing room only, no relaxation, no chair.


It seems struggle and pain conquer this land,
a man waits for his fate, no weapon in hand.


Despite the muck and the dirty streets,
there is a light that shines bright past the calloused feet.


Ribbons in the air, colors all around,
Its as if there is life, despite the death on the ground.


The flowers struggle without soil, but soon they will bloom,
In their own time they'll be fed, hopefully soon.


It seems colors are all that live in this city of strife,
but something lives beyond the eyes, giving hope to this life.


The King conquers death, He cleanses the street,
He sits on the throne, empowering the meek.


Dirt cannot put a name on this passage of Havana,
Much like my savior, despite lurking death, He's the conquering Hosanna.


"I went to the Polk Museum of Art for this assignment, and I stayed there for at least 40 minutes."