Sestina Sunday: The Good and the Bad
Sestina Sunday: The Good and the Bad
I think of everything wonderful,
But somehow things that hurt
Force themselves into my thoughts, it’s quite amazing
That everything can be turned into art
Like a bowl with an apple,
or the view somewhere in Paris.
And over in Paris,
Even bad things seem wonderful,
Like a bad apple
Or something that hurts
That has been turned into art
But it is all now quite amazing.
And all things that are amazing
Don’t have to come from Paris
Or be award-winning art,
Even the average is wonderful
And doesn’t always have to hurt
Sometimes it’s as good as a ripe apple
And that bright, red apple
Is quite amazing
And makes the hurt
Diminish until you feel like you’re in Paris
Enjoying everything that is wonderful
Like the beautiful art.
And now when I look at art,
Even if it’s just of an apple,
I see the wonderful
And the amazing
That isn’t only found in Paris,
And doesn’t involve anyone getting hurt.
Because people who are hurt
Never enjoy art,
Even if it is from Paris,
They hate it like a bad apple,
Instead of enjoying the amazing
And everything wonderful.
No one should get hurt, instead enjoy an apple
And stare at art, and notice all things amazing
Found in Paris because it’s all wonderful.
Ashley Cameron's Writing 
Wonderful. Second last line has state, I’m guessing that’s a typo for stare. Also “sometimes, it’s as good as a fresh apple” sounds clunky to me. I don’t often consider an apple’s freshness. It’s ripeness perhaps. I like the repeated incorporation of Art and also paris, and the didactic between good and bad. good job!
I truly enjoyed this. I feel fuller.
A delightful trail of thought that is a pleasure to follow as it transmutes and refocuses so cleverly and meaningfully. I am extraordinarily impressed. Well done.
very nice !! I like the contrast in this one. the people that hurt can’t appreciate art sometimes can’t get beyond the hurt. I would say though, one has to get through it to be able to appreciate it or create it. it’s hard to create while one is in in the midst of it.
…and some of the best art comes as a part of healing the hurt. lovely poem.
fantastic use of repetition, it really makes the point, which i think I understand
I went to Paris when i was 17 and hurting from being too young to appreciate life (58 now)
too young to appreciate it like in this poem
but i remember its magic and I felt its history even as young and naive as I was