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AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following was written for as an assignment for LA about poetry. It's a biography of his life.
Jonathan Larson may not be the first poet you think of when talking about... well, poetry... but that doesn’t mean he’s a stranger in our world today. In fact, some of his works are better known to our modern generation than classic poets like Emily Dickinson! But his name and story aren’t familiar to every member of this generation. Only a breed of people that call themselves “the rentheads” can dictate every minute of his life. Yes, you guessed it. Jonathan Larson is the lyricist and composer of Rent.
Jonathan Larson’s life was never one that lacked theater. From the time he was born on February 6, 1960 Jon was immersed in musical theater. He was born in White Plains, a town just outside New York City with his parents Al and Nan, avid musical theater lovers. Jonathan’s parents would regularly take him and his older sister, Julie, to shows in the city, trying to familiarize them with the theater. Even when he was just in Kindergarten, Jon embraced his musical theater by organizing productions of shows like “Gilligan’s...
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Opinion by 
Cinders
posted
1 year ago
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When I was ten years old, I had my first trip to London. I didn't really know much about theater, or musicals, but my older brother (fifteen at the time) did. We were house sitting for friends, and my mother was sitting at the table looking through the paper for shows while I ate my cereal.
My brother walked in to help her out and then he said, "Oh! Mom! How about we see this, I heard it's amazing!"
My mother sort of cocked her head to the side and read, "Rent...? Well, it looks interesting."
From my side of the table I looked up and wrinkled my nose at my brother. "That sounds stupid, I don't want to go."
Now, I said this for many reasons. One, because unless it was titled "Jonny Quest" or "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles," nearly everything sounded boring to me. And two, because my brother wanted to see it, I just had to be contrary. It was how things worked with our relationship.
So my mother said, "OK, well, then how about this one: The Woman In Black. It's a ghost story."
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“Morning sunshine.” Mimi said cheerfully that next morning. Mark felt dazed as he walked into the kitchen, early on a Tuesday morning. The room was drafty and cold since they couldn’t afford heating. Soft snowflakes fell outside, covering the street in a thin layer of cold, muddy slush. Mark shivered as he fell onto the rough couch.
Mimi had started recovering quickly after him and Roger began to take care of her again. She’d been staying in their apartment until she could get back on her own two feet again… at least that’s what Roger said. Mark had a feeling she’d be staying for a while. Today she looked better than ever, even in her pajamas.
“What’s that smell?” Mark asked curiously, sniffing the air for the delicious aroma.
“Breakfast. Eggs and toast. You like ‘em scrambled?” Mimi smiled, holding up a raw egg and carefully cracking it onto the sizzling pan. Mark’s eyebrows rose in shock.
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