Taking a Different Road

© 2013 Loren Zemlicka
Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Flickr

“People take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness. Just because they’re not on your road doesn’t mean they’ve gotten lost.”

– H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

Advertisements

56/365 – Black & White

Via Flickr:
© 2013 Loren Zemlicka
Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Flickr

A Troubled Sky Reveals

© 2013 Loren Zemlicka
Flickr | Twitter | Facebook

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.

– “Snow-flakes” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sullen Waters

© 2013 Loren Zemlicka
Flickr | Twitter | Facebook

Here delicate snow-stars, out of the cloud,
Come floating downward in airy play,
Like spangles dropped from the glistening crowd
That whiten by night the milky way;
There broader and burlier masses fall;
The sullen water buries them all–
Flake after flake–
All drowned in the dark and silent lake.

– Excerpt from “The Snow-Shower” by William Cullen Bryant

Remembered Light

© 2013 Loren Zemlicka

Flickr | Twitter | Facebook

… not every man knows what he’ll discover instead.
When the weight of the past leans against nothing, and the sky

Is no more than remembered light, and the stories of cirrus
And cumulus come to a close, and all the birds are suspended in flight,
Not every man knows what is waiting for him, or what he shall sing
When the ship he is on slips into darkness, there at the end.

– Excerpt from “The End” by Mark Strand

Slow Morning Hours

© 2012 Loren Zemlicka
Flickr | Twitter | Facebook

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

– “October” by Robert Frost

Autumn Shade

© 2012 Loren Zemlicka
Flickr | Twitter | Facebook

Slip into the autumn shade
I could sleep for days
But I like the sun when
I can hear another sound
It’s a long way down
Keep my head up

Who am I to be this way
Dreamin’ so insane
But I like the sun when
Fallin’ through another plain
Never one the same
Keep my head up

– “Autumn Shade” by The Vines

A Crown of Autumn Leaves

© 2012 Loren Zemlicka
Flickr | Twitter | Facebook

Yellow fall roars
Over the ground.
Loud, in the leafy sun that pours
Liquid through doors,
Yellow, the leaves twist down

Glowing in wind and change,
The orange leaf tells

How one more season will alter and range,
Working the strange
Colors of clamor and bells

When autumn gathers, the tree
That the leaves sang
Reddens dark slowly, then, suddenly free,
Turns like a key,
Opening air where they hang

One of the hanging leaves,
Deeply maroon,
Tightens its final hold, receives,
Finally weaves
Through, and is covered soon

Holding past summer’s hold,
Open and strong,
One of the leaves in the crown is gold,
Set in the cold
Where the old seasons belong.

– Excerpts from “A Crown of Autumn Leaves” by Annie Finch

Purpling Grapes and Sky

© 2012 Loren Zemlicka
Flickr | Twitter | Facebook

Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun,
The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run,
And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold,
With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold,
Like that which o’er Nineveh’s prophet once grew,
While he waited to know that his warning was true,
And longed for the storm-cloud, and listened in vain
For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain.

Oh, fruit loved of boyhood! the old days recalling,
When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling!
When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin,
Glaring out through the dark with a candle within!
When we laughed round the corn-heap, with hearts all in tune,
Our chair a broad pumpkin, — our lantern the moon,
Telling tales of the fairy who travelled like steam
In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team!

– Excerpt from “The Pumpkin” by John Greenleaf Whittier