I got permission to share a couple poems from another friend. I am actually going to just share the one at this time.

The other poem which I want to share – is a bit bolder. I will have to think about it. It might be a bit for my blog. Hmmm . . .

Thank you, Hannah, for writing this poem, and your bravery to share.

A poem by Hannah Driscoll. A pastoral, with a twist, after visiting the Isabella Steward Gardner Museum.

A Gorgon and A Frog

Once upon a time, the most classic,
yet most cliché of all beginnings
Except this is the end
that is severing lacking
the princess, the kiss
the frog-turned-prince
there is none of that
this is no fairy tale, only reality
and some ancient Greek mythology
I wonder around
the Venetian inspired courtyard
The sun comes through
the ceiling of skylights
In the Blue Room,
there is a letter correspondence
A man writes about Ovid’s Metamorphoses
I think of Venus and Adonis,
Kafka and Shakespeare,
in the presence of the greats
I learn Lloyd Banks was a British retail bank
I feel like a princess in this awe-worthy setting
This Boston brown-stone Fenway apartment
turned millionaire art collection haven, museum
I get yelled at by the security guard
I flash back to

“I’m not very formal”
“That’s perfect, me neither”

But, I couldn’t resist the urge to touch
a gentle swoon of the delicate off-white lace curtain
just wanting a glimpse out the window
I just wanted to know what it felt like
That un-belongingness feeling overcomes me
like heat brewing from inside me
I leave, to make my way to the top floor
I glaze along at all the priceless pieces
pondering my life experiences
I am very fortunate, for all I’ve done
There is a great appreciation and gratitude
I’ve traveled the world,
foreign trips out of Kennedy
Knowing all of the religious context
the bible stories behind the paintings
my brain houses this useless knowledge
of being pulled out school to adventure
I’ve lived a full life, sowed my wild oats
if I died today, I’m happy how it turned out
My twenty-four hour lay-overs,
taught me the value of a day
I vow to never want to waste another one
Finally content sleeping in the middle of the bed
wrapping, cocooning myself in MY down-comforter
But, theres still an emptiness
the laundering question that looms over my head
like Eeyore’s gray rain cloud
With all my education, spirits and personality
the all I have to give, he doesn’t want it
Why doesn’t he like me?
The “nothing serious” speech, vomit
I am stuck in a self-prolonged labyrinth of purgatory
A mock of Hamlet’s philosophy, of ‘to feel or not to feel’
common misconceptions are a hot commodity
My mother wouldn’t have approved
that he heard my real laugh
it’s like a stretched out accordion
I may have been too much, I did not behave

“You need someone to neutralize you
Or run wild with you”

That may be true, but
at least I was not boring
I pull out a nip from my pocket
left over from the nights before
I bend down and finish it
without anyone seeing
I put the empty back in my pocket
I walk around this 1903 Palace
arising by the external creative impulse
intrigued, my curiosity peaks
I run my hands over the cool marble railing
I press my body against, until it holds my weight
My feet ever so slightly lift from the ground
I peer, I look down over the courtyard
My gaze fixes upon a stone frog, below me
It’s almost looking up at me
I expect it to ribbit, to croak
A deep croak coming from its wart covered body
But, I take another look
and realize that it’s only stone
My eyes continue to move along with awe
until my attention is caught by the tiles
in the dead-center middle
Medusa, her snakes for hair,
and mythological, legend has it,
the most beautiful things come with ugly power
Her dangerous eyes
turning anyone who looks at her to stone
They stare back at me
I notice the frog is facing her
Maybe her and I have more in common
than I originally would have thought
I refuse to believe its a coincidence
The numerous sarcophagi surrounding
bordering the courtyard
a powerful woman at the heart
centered around death,
an obsession or fascination
Either way,
the Gorgon and frog are both stone
They no longer possess a heartbeat

– Hannah Driscoll

Thank you everyone for reading. It’s fun to share.