Leaf Fall, Snow Fall
Voracious winds split open to spill their crumbled spoils,
unfurling leaf confetti in airborne swirls and coils.
They empty them on lawn and deck, a sign of what is coming
when winter drops its glittering load—beautiful and numbing.
I do not fear chill prospects, for I’ll be warm and snug
as my house wraps arms around me in its protective hug.
For the Sunday Whirl 615 the prompts are: grim glittering crumble empties confetti voracious unfurls wind split mind sign deck
Forecast
The frugal rays of winter’s sun, sifted through the trees,
seem to have lost their power. They can’t dispel the freeze.
We watch the speckled darkness to try to find a sign
that promises the advent of a weather more benign.
The purity of winter, frigid and refined,
is melted in the heat of a summer sort of mind.
We stretch out on the beaches of our memory,
viewing with our minds that baked futurity.
Wound up in our mufflers, sealed snuggly in our gloves,
we sit on benches in the park, recalling summer loves.
To see the photos in order and read the story, click on the first photo and then on right arrows.
Although this is a color photo, the world seems reduced to black and white by this snowstorm I awoke to yesterday. This is the first time I’ve experienced snow in 15 years or so. I had forgotten how hushed the world becomes in snow. Sheridan, WY, Oct. 13, 2018. Below, a bit of color is returned to the scene.
For Becca’s Sunday Trees prompt.
The prompt on this last day of National Poetry Month is to find a shortish poem that you like, and rewrite each line, replacing each word (or as many words as you can) with words that mean the opposite. I chose Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare.
Time Temporal
by Judy Dykstra-Brown
Shall I contrast thee to a winter’s night?
Thou art less lovely and more tempestuous.
No wind disturbs November’s empty stalks,
Oe’r which the winter hath too long a power.
Sometimes the too-cold moon lies sheathed in clouds.
And rarely does its pitted face shine forth.
Yet light from dark may rise. We’re proof of that,
Spurred on by fate or providence’s plan.
But thy short winter soon shall pass away,
Restore to thee the homeliness of death.
Nor shall that birth that brought you forth to light
Still claim thee when time curtains you with night.
As men lose breath and eyes give up their sight,
So dies this poem, and you echo its plight.
Sonnet 18
by William Shakespeare
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 