Autumn

From Autumn, by John Clare:

But give me, Autumn, where thy hand hath been,
For there is wildness that can never cloy,—
The russet hue of fields left bare, and all
The tints of leaves and blossoms ere they fall.
In thy dull days of clouds a pleasure comes,
Wild music softens in thy hollow winds;
And in thy fading woods a beauty blooms,
That’s more than dear to melancholy minds.

The entire sonnet here.

P.S.: I have been offline a lot and have not been able to visit your blogs. I hope to rectify matters soon.

Jane Jiang's Song of America

And I am not only black or white—
Am many-colored also,
yellow and dun and red and brown,
I would be green too if I could find a way;

I, too, am America.
My song is the lifeblood of this country;
My sweat still waters the bounty of its fields;
My mind is a gift to the testament of opportunity;
I foresee setback but I am optimistic:
I will find a way.

My heritage carries with me.
I am ever the child of immigrants.
I struggle to merge with those around me.
I am ever the one with two selves, two halves, two souls.
I am struggling to retain my past.
My culture beats warring drums inside me.
Mine is not a simple answer.

I found this poem by chance. The rest is here.

Over the past few weeks, workers have been traipsing in and out of the house as my kitchen and bathrooms have been turned inside out and made new again. Men from Romania, El Salvador, Honduras, Turkey, Moldova and Ethiopia laying stone, trimming wood, fixing cabinets, cutting granite, painting walls. This poem could be their song too.

Home

In the vastness of the Milkyway,
under the gaze of the sun,
under cloudless blue skies
the color of sapphires;
under a billion stars twinkling on a velvety blanket,
bathed in moonlight
the color of hay,
stands a house in San Jose.

It is a house like all others,
with doors, walls, shingles and rafters,
with a lawn to mow, a yard to tend,
bulbs to replace and appliances to mend.

But,
it is home,
unlike any other you’ve known.

It stands at the cusp
of a journey ended
and a journey just begun;
at the threshold
of dreams come true
and hopes of yet unknown hue.

In its warm embrace,
each door, wall, shingle and rafter
will bear silent witness
to squeals of laughter;
to favorite songs warbled in the shower;
to celebrations
with friends from far and near;
to the pitter patter of tiny feet
playing a game of hide and seek.

In its warm embrace,
each door, wall, shingle and rafter
will provide safe harbor
from storms of the heart
and those of rain and thunder.

In its warm embrace,
may each door, wall, shingle and rafter
record memories
of wishes fulfilled,
of content lives lived
of dreams realized
and none of memories less desired.

In its warm embrace,
may each door, wall, shingle and rafter,
of that house in San Jose
make a place you can call home
in the vastness of the Milkyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For my brother-in-law and sister-in-law who have a home in San Jose.