Poetry Corner: Dom Phillips

Today we celebrate TMS Freshman and poet Dom Phillips. Dom recently composed two powerful poems for two different classes. The first is a poem (and the English translation) written for Gustavo Jimenez' Spanish class. Me llamo Frida Kahlo

Estoy definida por un terrible accidente.

Un viaje en un autobús y un empalamiento.

Hace tres meses que me quedó confinada en la cama.

Salvada por mi vida interior creativa. Flores de color turquesa, rosa, amarilla y anaranjada.

Monos marrones inteligentes y pájaros exóticos.

Una bomba atado con lazos rojos sedosos.

Cruces soportado por los niños pequeños.

Soy horrible y deforme.

Estoy vestida en terciopelo y blanco Estoy alejándome del tiempo.

Mi brillante esposo me merece.

Él es un sapo talento. Cruzamos puentes para la casa azul en Coyoacán.

Trotsky, Rusia y comunistas ideales desplazan mis sueños.

Hasta que yo soy un girasol marchito. My Name is Frida Kahlo

I am defined by a terrible accident.

A bus ride and impalement.

For three months I lay confined to a bed.

Saved by my creative inner life. Flowers of turquoise, pink, yellow and orange.

Clever brown monkeys and exotic birds.

A bomb tied up with silky, red ribbons Crosses borne by small children.

I am hideous and deformed.

I am clothed in velvet and white.

I am running away from time.

My brilliant husband deserves me.

He is a talented toad.

We cross bridges to the blue house in Coyoacán.

Trotsky, Russia and communist ideals crowd my dreams.

Until I am a withered sunflower. Dom wrote this second poem for Phil van Eyck's English 1 class: Searching for Salvation I am a gray, knowing, wrinkled elephant searching for the bleached bones of my ancestors to mourn. I am an apple that satisfies with its crisp juicy crimson skin. I am a toiling beast of burden, broad-backed and strong. I am the Dalai Lama praying in a verdant bamboo forest. I am an eager traveler speeding over the international dateline. I am a wise old owl, large eyes and soft wings beating with a whisper. I am the creeping mist, gentle rain and gossamer clouds. A hopeful, desperate, ragged orphan whose kindly, sweet parents are being tossed about in an incessant wind.

Poetry Corner: Dom Phillips