Fall

I ask my students to write sonnets. This is one of those. Thanks for letting me post it here, Taylor. This is her photo, too.

Fall
by Taylor McComb

The sky above my head has grown profound
For Fall is framed in varied shades of grey.
The time it spends here rivals time away,
And only cold is sharper than the sound
Of beating wings, and leaves churning about.
But dappled ground will give to frosty slate
And all the beauty heretofore I’d hate
Will quickly turn on heel and hurry out.
The taste of autumn on my lips will fade
Misfortunately settling in will be
My hunger for it, searching for the key
To lock out ache of winter in the shade.
     My yearning for a season like my home
     May ask too much for one who likes to roam.

Lack of Communication

Today I'm posting a sonnet composed by one of my students that I knew in India.

Lack of Communication
by Melanie Orton

At first display, this afternoon could claim

Serene and placid as descriptors -- but

The smiling sun inadequately tames

My wrestled speeches, quashed by lips sewn shut.

Though capable of lecture, witty tune

And quick debate; this tongue shall swiftly bind

While love or adoration cross my room.

My vice is not disdain in heeding sign

Of marked devotion. Nay -- indeed my breast

Is swell with bright and tender volumes writ.

Thus stilled by fear that words could ne’er attest

My soul’s intent, I fret. Yet I acquit

     Thee now, hushed voice, and dare this truth impart:

     I trust him for the keeping of my heart!

Photo: flickr - ecstaticist

Musings

Musings
by Jessica Anderson

She sits and draws faint lines within the sand
as sable grains grit soft across her palm;
her eyes are dark, the shadows-near command
the quiet muse of ocean's far-off qualm.
Horizon's clouds bright flash an evening glare
as fingers trace the shadows cool and light;
the wind begins to blow and empty air
impregnates sky with wind and drops of night.
Thoughts swirl as waters crash, a hurricane
of dancing doubts that tear within her mind;
sighs heave, breaths cry within the falling rain
with heavy hopes that never yet resign.
Soft, still she waits, her eyes in vespered form,
a muted witness to the perfect storm.


Photo: flickr - kavehkhkh