The Only Remnants

Here’s a sonnet that I recently had to write for my English class. We’ve been taking a look at some of Shakespeare’s sonnets and are now experimenting with our own.

A picture I took a few days ago.

A picture I took a few days ago.

And soon we’ll all be numbers etched in stone,
our days faceless and stretched between two dates.
Faded photos in tatters, left alone–
the only remnants of a once rosy face.
With the ever moving tick of the world
day will pass to day and memories will die
fond thoughts and dreams will cease to whirl
neither gold nor silver can it defy.
The stiff rule of the grave’s embrace may not
be bought when life has withered in its way
so while days are long invest in what you’ve got
take all your love and give it away.
Share what clings to your heart, what’s glory filled
by sharing this glory your revel is stilled.


My November Guest by Robert Frost

Today is the last day of my Thirty Day Challenge of blogging everyday. I am happy to say that this month has been a success. Even though I was tempted to skip sometimes, I never missed a day. As a result, the daily traffic on my blog has more than doubled and I’ve been able to share my writing with so many other people. I totally recommend doing this to bloggers who love to write but typically hesitate before posting because they are a giant over-analyzing perfectionists.

To end this month I will post another one of my Robert Frost favorites that relates to next month, November.

A picture I took a few days ago.

A picture I took a few days ago.

My November Guest by Robert Frost

My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walked the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

If you like Robert Frost, check out some more of his poems that I’ve posted like October and Nothing Gold Can Stay.

Musings From a Fall Day


A picture I took this weekend.

For today’s post I’ve decided to feature some of my little sister’s writing. This weekend while on a hike she was so inspired by everything around her that I had to pass her my notebook and tell her to write down the thoughts (quite visably) bouncing around her brain.

So, here is one of the first creative writing pieces done by my 13 year old sister, Annamaria.

It is a a rock’s natural ability is to crush things, it’s not his fault. A gentle leaf struggles to stay above the surface, but it’s fate is inevitable. Its holes and cracks will crumble while its short, uneventful life will never be seen again– not that many have seen it before. But the rock is still sitting as everything is fluttering around, dreaming, living. What is the rock to do? It watches the leaf’s short, wonderful life…end. Small, trapped, dying. What is it to do?

All Too Soon

“Nature is painting for us, day after day, pictures of infinite beauty if only we have the eyes to see them.”
–John Ruskin

all too soon

Today was such a beautiful autumn day. It makes me glad I live in New England.

The dead leaves sweep
through the winding roads
always moving with the wind

The bare trees stretch
out to the distant sky
reaching and reaching

The dim sun fades
into purple dusk
all too soon

e.e. cummings

Today while in Boston I stumbled upon a very cute bookstore where I happened to find this e.e. cummings poem that really resonated with me. Hope you like it!

pretty book

who are you, little i

(five or six years old)
peering from some high

window; at the gold

of november sunset

(and feeling:that if day
has to become night

this is a beautiful way)

— e.e. cummings

Here Today, Tomorrow Gone


I took this picture outside of my school last week.

Here is a poem I wrote today that I’ve been meaning to get down for weeks.

The flicker of two eyes and
a heart knocking out of the chest
one more ephemeral promise

like the leaves
here today, tomorrow gone

flowing in elusive wisps
always suspended between high hope
and low fall

the anticlimax of two paths nearly gracing
–but not
a slow fall into yet another

The Last Night of September

The last night of September
closes with sweet reveries
of star cluttered skies
and the soft feeling of fullness
resting in the pit of the stomach,
Those promising syllables of Someday

Today I’ve made my second post for my 30 Day Challenge of blogging everyday! If you haven’t heard about the challenge, read more HERE.


020I can see the first
tip of autumn
seeping through the veins
of a leaf
one far off in the distance
at the base of a misty mountain
one much too far away to touch
from behind concrete walls and
screened in, airtight windows
but I see it, the tree, a maple tree,
in all its autumnal glory
withering away
the slow death of the cold months
a graceful fall
more beautiful than its life

Apple Orchards in June

A picture I took last fall while apple picking with my family.

A picture I took last fall while apple picking with my family.

I dream of apple orchards in June

The flower buds are too silent,
I prefer the crunch of leaves

I dream of green grass in January

The snowbanks are too high,
I wish they’d turn to ash with a summer breeze

With the languid months my mind wanders
To the discovery of a key
That seems to open a new door
To a place I’d rather be