​​​​The Greater Canton Writers' Guild, Inc.


                                                                                                                                             est. 1964

All poetry and artwork shown here is original and the property of the person listed at the top of the page

Mela's page

Falling Gold

The North wind has come calling
Trees nod their acquiescence
Leaves bristle en pointe
Awaiting their dances.

Caught up in the whirlwind
Limbs bend and bow            
Leaves rustle with the wind
Needing to go.

One by one
For each whose time has come                To jump, dance and pirouette

Under the setting sun.
Clothed in gilded colors
They tumble, turn, and fly
Sparkling, glistening, filtering sunlight

Dancing in the crisp blue sky.
Winds buffet, trees billow
Falling gold: amber skies
Gathered by the whirlwind
Dancing their last goodbyes.

 
Mela Saylor  
© 2013

The Reluctant Traveler


I made a wrong turn somewhere

between then and now

and currently am driving down a road

I never wanted to be on.

This road taunts me with memories of the past.

There is no place to turn around.

Circumstances propel me forward,

so my car speeds on.


I travel up one hill and down the other

lost in a maze of back roads

I scan each intersection hoping for a sign

but each cross road I come to holds its secrets

with signs that are worn down, bleached out and rusted through

thirty years ago

so my cars speeds on.


A haze hangs overhead obscuring the sun

East, West, North and South become one.

As I aimlessly wander the countryside

confused and anxious

I wonder if, where and when these roads will ever end.

I'm unable to stop

So I follow the car from behind the wheel

And my car speeds on.










 

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