Tag Archives: Winter

A Flag of Fire ~ A Rondeau

A flag of fire is flown in autumn

Last defiance before winter come

Yet they, too, fall; drifting in brevity

Sparks cascade around the match like tree

Visible music notes, the season’s anthem


Red, gold, orange worn in patriotism

For now, bare limbs are found seldom

Tunnels of fire, signs of autumn’s army

A flag of fire is flown in autumn


The foe in the sky, snowflakes not welcome

Fought not for power, but for freedom

A bloodless war, honored not for history

Flames dancing in the ever-chilling wind, carefree

Celebrating the antebellum

A flag of fire is flown in autumn



It Was Written In the Sky

On a long bus ride, I was reading Ray Bradbury’s novel Fahrenheit 451 over again. I can tell how good of a book it is by how much it has impacted me. This is going to be my fourth post inspired by it. Few books do that, where you read it and instead of wanting to just devour more of its glorious ink marks on tree pulp that was inspired by life itself, you want to compile the building thoughts from the novel and write about it.

But this time instead of applying a truth learned, I wish to write how I came upon the truth.

So there I was on the ten hour bus ride with 33 high school students who smelled like peanut butter and too much cologne. Did I mention that it was a ten hour bus ride? I think I did, but I’ll say it again, a ten hour bus ride . . .

With a book in my face and head phones (or should I say “Seashells”?) turned up loud playing Beethoven, I tried to block out the rap music and the girly-girl talk.

Across the country we went, mile after mile, page after page, song after song.

I was looking for wisdom and wonder in between the lines of a 63 year old book. Trying to block out the youthful folly around me.

Coming to one of the quotes from other books, I search for the quote on Google. While it loads, I look up.

So focused I had been on the book and on the teenagers that I tried to block out, that I had blocked out what had been transforming around me. Winter dreariness with bald trees and fallow fields, had been transformed to spring animation with blooming trees and sowed fields.

So focused on the inside, I had not looked outside. I had only seen one option, and by my lack of observation, I had deprived myself of choice.

In trying to find wisdom I originally looked to a book, and forgot the world.

What I was trying to find in a book was already written in the sky, all I had to do was look. Wisdom and wonder and life was written in the sky. No ink or graphite or typewriter or digital “little black box” needed. Only eyes or ears or hands or mouth or nose needed, to understand what was written in the sky.

Oh, how precious are books, yet even more precious are the things that inspire them.

After marveling at what had been out my window all those hours and miles and pages and songs, I looked back at my phone, and of course it was still loading.

I looked back out the window and wanted my phone to keep loading so that I would never have to look away.

“‘It’s not books you need, it’s some the things that once were in books . . . No, no it’s not books at all you’re looking for! Take it where you can find it, in old phonograph records, old motion pictures, and in old friends; look for it in nature and look for it in yourself. Books were only one type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them, at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us.'”

-Page 79 in Fahrenheit 451

Sun: A Sonnet

Oh, take a moment to feel the sunshine

Warmth on my skin crackles from rays

Dearest lovely sun after you I pine

So cold, winter here, show your face you may

Why does Jack Frost and Sunflower care not to meet?

How I wish to feel the welcoming glow

Sitting outside, grass soft, sun on my feet

The ball of fire, too early, begins to fall low

But, alas, I’m dreaming of a season past

Snowflake fairies deserve a chance to fly

Hot chocolate after sledding are blast

Memories of winter through mind, oh my

Snow-forts, snowman, snow days, all so fun play

Cold isn’t so bad, but I wish Sun would stay




*In case if you are checking their is no iambic in my pentameter!*

Click here to check out my other Sonnet poem I have written earlier this year.


It is Coming

It is coming.

It is coming and there is nothing I can do to stop it

Winter is coming.

I feel it’s icy finger tips reach inside my blanket at night.

Winter’s breath blowing harder making it harder and harder to eat lunch outside.

Men’s thoughts turn from swimming pools to snow fences.

Winter brings goosebumps making the trees loose their leaves.

At first they change color

but slowly they give up the ghost

and turn brown and wither away

Into long sleeves and sweaters.

My beloved flip-flops are soon to flip no more

and only have tennis shoes quietly roam.

Swarms of birds practice flying in my fields.

Pansies shrink and the last attempt at color,

Church Ladies put out Mums.

Snow has not fallen yet

but I can see it in Winter’s eye.

People mindlessly start humming Christmas tunes.

Ugly sweaters replace swim suits on store racks.

My fingers now have an cool feel chronically following them.

I feel winter in the air

and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

I stir my hot chocolate

and pull my worn-out blanket tighter.