Poetry

This is a poem I wrote for class. Our assignment was to do a work using qualia.

Qualia according to my computer's dictionary is: the internal and subjective component of sense perceptions, arising from stimulation of the senses by phenomena.

Or "Qualia" is an unfamiliar term for something that could not be more familiar to each of us: the ways things seem to us.

Untitled

You sit a desk in an old school room
while jolts of sirens scream past the window
put on your coat it’s autumn in England
much colder than the place where you grew up
they thought you lived in igloos and spoke french;
you are a cultural ambassador
for a country you couldn’t wait to leave.

Several shivers trail up and down your spine
fingers like icicles clutching your pen
spell out the words: I’m lost inside my head.
memories of home; jumping into lakes
feet burning as you prance across the sand
police rush past the window once again
the ink stops flowing from your pen: frozen.

My teachers notes were: Great! You really were cold, weren't you?

I may be from Canada but I think England is really cold!