[a sonnet in response to a prompt at Cafe Writing's November Project to Pick Three of the given words.]
The Knife of Winter
The howl of the wind as it blows through my mind
is so loud that it scours the memories it touches.
I struggle to keep my impressions in line
as the roar does its best to rip dreams from my clutches.
The barrage is intense as cold winter descends.
I scrawl recollections of summery blooms,
but the frost freezes joints, and the rime! it transcends
all attempts to keep warm, then the iciness looms.
Any effort to fight seems the ultimate nonsense,
every scrap that I write, from one note to the next,
seems to lie down and die and give up any defense,
and hope is now foreign and leaves me perplexed.
The siren of winter knows how to entice,
'til I can't even leave any useful advice.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
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4 comments:
I like the line
"the siren of winter knows how to entice"
Somehow I felt the sound of that siren.
Michele sent me here today but I would have visited, anyway!
Thanks, Gautami.
Very nice. Looks like the howling wind moved us all. I wrote about it too at:
http://spatter.typepad.com/spatter/2007/11/the-wind.html
Thanks, June. I'll come take a look at yours when I get a minute today.
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