Poetry       Essays       Letters

Sandy Lyne


Poetry Class

Outside, the trees are waiting for the children.
But for now, they sit at their desks,
the field of pencils moving, heads bowed.
A comet passes through the room,
but no one notices.
In a desert somewhere, a little wind kicks up,
And the dust of a poet dances like a dervish.
Twenty-two years ago, in a dream,
An Oriental master poured thousands upon thousands
of diamonds into my cupped hands,
so many they formed a lake at my feet.
It is twenty years now that I have been visiting classrooms—
looking for fingerprints of the divine, unpacking the silence.
The clock clicks. The pencils slow.
Who has a poem? I ask.
Eleven hands go up. Twelve hand... thirteen... fourteen...


© The Estate of Sandford Lyne



Poetry       Essays       Letters

Website Copyright © 2008 by Loch Raven Review.

Copyright Notice and Terms of Use: This website contains copyrighted materials, including, but not limited to, text, photographs, and graphics. You may not use, copy, publish, upload, download, post to a bulletin board. or otherwise transmit, distribute, or modify any contents of this website in any way, except that you may download one copy of such contents on any single computer for your own personal non-commercial use, provided you do not alter or remove any copyright, poet, author, or artist attribution, or any other proprietary notices.