The Ride of Romance

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.

Disruption of Symmetry

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.

The Sculptor

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.

Look Up

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


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.

Secluded Light

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?



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.

Vessel To Home

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.