Happiness in Loneliness

by Tim J. Myers Every working day I pass a tulip tree on yellow grass and strain to see, when it appears, petals out this time of year. Even our southern winter’s strong– it hunkers down and won’t move on: A sky that presses close its gray; chilling drizzle day by day; dark roofs ranked as far as sight can make them out in dreary light; the city’s business, lusterless, car and bank, store and bus. Even as we rush about, we settle in to wait it out; the whole world sighs and mutters Winter– except this small and frail dissenter who seems to have her signals crossed– stands half-splendid, half at loss, and throws out from each kindling branch blossoms whiter than a trance. Winter has its point to press; like everyone, I acquiesce. So why be caught by such a thing– one little fool who thinks it’s spring?

by Carter Davis Johnson My candle burns at both ends Late into the night, And flickers fast, And bounces in my sight. My pen lies docile in my hand. The page is silent now. My eyes transfix; My thoughts do mix; The flame moves like her gown. I see her sway In silken dress When we were by the bay. Around her curves The silk moves slow As night approaches day. Through the curtains Runs the breeze, Warm and salty too. It grabs her gown, A slow sweet sound, And plays with waves of blue. Then she fades Into the flame That pulls me back tonight. It flickers on; My pen moves on; It burns into the night. Carter Davis Johnson is an English major and cadet at the Virginia Military Institute. He grew up in Roanoke, Virginia.