"Plotting Hurricane Kyniska"
By: Brandy Seymour
I often wonder,
how to harness the thunder.
It's not in the summer,
Words are more of a blunder.
Sometimes the storms,
find themselves freely to form.
Like a tornado that does not warn,
of a rose that feels like the thorn.
Those times the hurricane flows freely,
I wish weathering the storm would be easy.
When all is only calm and breezy,
the minds scorns thy heart's songs of beauty.
For now it all sounds ridiculous,
And feels cheesy and scandalous.
Yet there are those who may offer applause,
if only I could find the next clause.
And so here we are at the last stanza,
only twenty lines allowed by the pandas.
My mind waits for its heart on the veranda,
As my soul tracks the path of Kyniska.