A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
I do not understand
The reluctance
And resistance to
Putting one’s brain to work.
Exercising the ability
To Think.
Do they not,
When experiencing such an occurance
– however rarely –
Feel this energy?
This passion?
To think is to be alive!
So why are so many of us willingly dead?
A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
The Ferris wheel she did not go.
As a ride of romance it was
and romance she did not have.
So she stood on the ground
And watched bitterly as couples fell in love in its carriages.
Until one day,
A friend forced her on
– Alone –
On the wheel of love.
As she rose higher
Her mind was changed
As she looked out
Instead of at Ferris’ wheel
But at the beautiful world beyond.
A ride of romance it was not
– not truly –
But a ride of new eyes.
A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
In his arms she knew
And in her arms he knew
Almost as if it was a law of life
That in this embrace
They were forever themselves,
Forever safe,
Forever Home.
Poem by Isabelle Sorrells
Steps
Leading up
Leading down
Endless in their continuation,
Allowing the wanderer
To connect sky with ground
Spaces Above to Spaces Descended.
Would I dare ascend?
Would I dare go Below?
I don’t think my curiosity
Would allow me
To not.
A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
He runs through and in between
Castles of glass and concrete
The fading daylight
Casting golden hues
Against the towers and crowded streets.
For a time
His path converges with another knight on the run
And they race from their demons and toward their goals
Feeding off their runner’s high
And disrupting the symmetry of castles
To attack all the journeys not yet traveled,
To run
And be ran again
The very next day.
A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
He creates with his hands and clay
With wheel and chisel
Forming anguished faces
And dancing figures
Through once lifeless media
Now made timeless with a version of life all their own.
He toils night and day
His hands and skin coated in dried mud
Running through the grooves in his hands
And re-defining features
So when people see his work
They aren’t sure if its the statue
Or him.
A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
I didn’t know –
or maybe I didn’t see –
How big the sky really is
Until I saw big Texas sky.
It demands your attention with its enormity
Too big to hold just one color or shade.
It is nature’s cathedral above the plains
Echoing the vastness of God.
Were you aware
The sky is a gradient of blue?
The more I study it, the more wonders I find.
People (myself included) really should
Look up
more.
When you turn your gaze above
The ground slips away
And I’ve found no matter where you are
– how ugly or beautiful a place –
The sky will always be a work of art available to all.
It is also,
I think,
A healthy reminder
Of just how much we need the ground.
A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
A square of yellow against the blue
A combination pleasing to the eye
And a bit of light to stand out in the dark –
A bit of life in a town asleep.
What could that mysterious stranger be doing
On the other side of that window-glass
So late at night?
Dancing?
Cooking?
Pondering life?
Or plotting murder?
They are awake
At a dangerous hour
They are alone in a quiet night
Seeing the world with open eyes
When everyone else’s are closed.
I wonder
What keeps them awake?
What do they see?
And I desire
This rebelliousness
This revolution against the dying of the day.
And I want to be in that room
And know that stranger’s purpose
And be a part of this secret they live
Even if,
In reality,
They don’t want to be in it themselves.
Do they know?
That whatever they feel,
Whether loneliness or something other,
It is a feeling romanticized and lusted for –
A story unknown
and forever untold.
A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
Prints in the sand and snow,
Impressed in the grains and cold,
Temporary in their permanence –
Forever repeated.
Where did you come from?
Where did you go?
A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
I visit the stream behind my house every day.
After the monotony of the stifled room of orderly rows
It is a blessed escape to the forgiveness of nature.
It is a place where I am free to dream.
One day a boat joined me on that stream.
Simple and old and wooden
It bobbed against the current.
What held it in its place I could not see or know.
Weeks passed and it remained
As if waiting for me alone to step into its hold.
So I did.
As I settled into the bench it broke away from the bank and carried me down the stream
Behind my house and far away from home.
On the way to my unknown destination I saw wonders.
Wonders of Dreams.
Covered on both sides by dense foliage
The outside world was non-exsistent.
Roars of the fair and wise
And whispers of the brave and merciful rustled in the trees and splashed through the water
And I know not how long I traveled
Though when my vessel finally bumped to a stop against the bank
It felt like forever and not.
Where my transport had taken me
Was an enchanted place
That all my instruction has deemed impossible.
I laughed at the fantasy of it
But even when my simple boat took me back to my house
It always returned
And I always went away with it
Far away from and to my home.
