The fallen leaves are cornflakes
That fill the lawn's wide dish,
And night and moon, the wind's a spoon
That stirs them with a swish.
The sky's a silver sifter
A-sifting white and slow,
That gently shakes
On crisp brown flakes
The sugar known as snow.
Kaye Starbird (1916-1993)
December Leaves
Poetry
I Confess by Alison Luterman
On September 3, 2019 by Speranza I stalked her in the grocery store: her crown of snowy braids held in place by a great silver clip, her erect bearing, radiating tenderness, watching the way she placed yogurt and avocados in her basket, beaming peace like the North Star. I wanted to ask, “What aisle did you find your serenity in,
Love . Poetry
Coldness in Love
On October 30, 2016 by Speranza And you remember, in the afternoon The sea and the sky went grey, as if there had sunk A flocculent dust on the floor of the world: the festoon Of the sky sagged dusty as spider cloth, And coldness clogged the sea, till it ceased to croon. A dank, sickening scent came up from
Poetry . The General . Travel . Writers
Journal of a Solitude
On July 31, 2016 by Speranza
I have no real sense of direction.
Those who love me and know me well accept this and are not surprised by it anymore; but when we set out for Old Orchard on our car trip this year, I hesitantly pored over the map and asked gingerly (in case I was ludicrously off the mark) to inquire if we might go via Nelson, New Hampshire so that I could visit the grave of poet, author and journal-writer May Sarton. The General assessed the map quickly, drawing a finger along the route, turning it a few times, finally pronouncing the idea “not even a problem” and went on to suggest that we pop along to Robert Frost’s graveside as well since it was on the way.
(Can I tell you that I absolutely love not having to justify what most people would consider a totally insane waste of time and my heart just swelled).
He added: “Graveyards on the way down! We really are a fun couple aren’t we?”