Poetry Corner: Dom Phillips

Poetry Corner: Dom Phillips

November 6, 2015

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.


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