Hoarding
A sonnet
I made a habit of collecting leaves In other years, and other autumns saw My bookshelves, books and curios interweaved With little flame mementos, and they all Would dry in twisted, half-fantastic shapes Unless I pressed them in a notebook, held Against the inside cover. They escaped If e’er I took it carelessly; they fell In brilliant spirals to the pallid floor, In moment to make resurrect the hour When first I saw them falling, yet outdoors In tanager and amaretto showers. And now? They’ve faded some, but yet remain The bright refractions of an autumn day.
Love this. It’s like taking a deep breath and smelling a forest in the fall. Relaxing, simple, and enjoyable!
This one is really good. You've done an excellent job of using the sonnet form to structure your thoughts; but I like how you don't adhere strictly to the formal pattern that is characteristic of a sonnet. The first four lines set the stage and the next four develop the theme, but that development begins early, in the middle of line 4. The third quatrain is where the "turn" or complication arises, and yours aptly fills that role—but again, this quatrain's argument starts early. Those kinds of toying with the form are what allows sonnet-making to not become drudgery, in my opinion. Also, I believe enjambment has become essential to the modern sonnet, otherwise the rhymes become too obvious. Your enjambment works quite well. Brava!