Sonnet XIDear Death, thou art shunned, yet I welcome thee,Sonnet XI3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I fear not thy shade nor thy trailing shroud,
Whilst mankind greets thee with a teary plea
I shall embrace thee like a monsoon cloud.
Why men fear thy presence I cannot say,
Nor discern why in thy company, weep,
For life bears us all: love, woe, ceaseless sway,
But death, kind death, cares for every man's sleep.
My love for thee exceeds mortality,
And as seasons sweeten the sweetest wine,
Lend my fruitful years to vitality
And I shall remain eternally thine.
Ring my vows from my grave O timeless wife
We eloped at birth for the afterlife.
MasksWhen a smile is a frownMasks4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And a frown is a smile,
The eyes we must crown
For relinquishing wile,
When a laugh is a tear
And a tear holds no pain,
Will fear fear to fear
And fearfully abstain?
When the act is the truth
We've lied to believe,
And the fable in sooth
Is but a peerless weave,
When each mortal mistake
Is a tale and a song
And the scriptures are fake
Or perhaps they're wrong,
When the mind is the eye
That sees the outside
But shame, it's too shy
Of the tongue which has lied,
When the answers are easy
To the questions unknown,
Do you not feel queasy
Of how little we've grown?
When acceptance is feigning
For it keeps us alive
Like sunshine to greenlife
On deceit we thrive,
When certainty is in doubt
And fiction is a fact,
The truth may come out
But is it ever intact?
When can mere candor
Hold its frail fort,
When all this slander
Plays such a good sport,
When can we speak without a plan
And in our authenticity bask,
When the mask becomes the man?
Or when the man becom
GoodbyesA shy hello begins the tale,Goodbyes3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Two strangers in a play,
A quiet word, a moment's care
Brings back the mirth of May,
And then a smile, a borrowed laugh,
Perhaps a happy tear,
Life's woes are few, its gifts renew,
But they don't last, my dear.
Such weeping I have often seen;
So many fruitless tears,
And yet a question I have asked
Met silence through the years.
Alone the crave, alone the grave;
All pain is pleasure's loan,
We come with naught, and thus depart,
Tell me, what do we own?
We are wildflowers in the breeze
A breath of father time,
And in the hue, in wanton dew
Perhaps there is some rhyme,
And for a spell, we briefly brush
And love and live in vain,
But one by one we must wave on
To never meet again.
Sonnet VIOh precious love sworn to passionate painSonnet VI3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Care not for losing Love's seasonal grace,
For it is fitful Love's to love again
And Love shall later love another face,
And of faithful love, Love loves to speak,
A love which lasts till Love's closing day,
Yet, Love loves to imprint every spare cheek
With more love than what one Love can pay,
Unsettled, the scales of love do shake,
Though Love's love for compromise is known,
Still Love from tenure will in time break,
For only love, not Love, is a man's own.
And on every morrow, Love tells a tale
Of merry things upon love's vagrant trail.
Sonnet XVIWhen life smites me in its wavering courseSonnet XVI3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And colder than winters my winters be,
I look upon Woe with tearful remorse
And wish he would bewail to comfort me.
Yet, tears take a man, and a man alone
Such is the nature of inner downpour
And empty the foyer, vacant the throne
When stormy seas conquer the untrained shore.
Yet, while I speak to airy winds in verse
My rightful purpose I do once more find,
And in frightful pleasure I bless my curse
And to my life, whisper,"Thou art too kind".
To every loved patron my word I give:
Life's will be undone, for thee I shall live.
Sonnet VDear latent poet of this lifeless ageSonnet V3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
You are truth's last infallible device,
Though your work may remain an unseen page
Verity requires your watchful eyes.
Alas! Your life may never shelter peace,
Nay, peace seeks harborage in ignorance,
But your days so filled with candid release
Are truer than truth's own truthful penance.
Imagine no wreaths, for you shall receive none,
Save laurels of slander as truth's sole squire,
And in life, none shall know of things you have done,
Only to read your name 'neath the skyward spire.
Yet that enemy time, will be your friend
And past infinity truth will transcend.
Sonnet XEver charming though every Charm may beSonnet X3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Her endowment lies in the borrowed eye,
And whilst man's first sense remains to see
So lives sweet Charm, and she will not die.
Yet, as her aspect forms a chosen home
As each lonely moth seeks the candle's flame,
Alas! T'was pride which lit pompous Rome
And its blaze will char Charm's cherished name.
Beloved Charm long hast thou been warned
In painted lines or eternal verse,
For every poor soul that thou hast scorned
Thy blessings perish, born thy worst curse.
And live thou a life, much pious and outspoken
Much less gashed thy soul by the shards of the broken.
A Villanelle on ExistenceNothing in life is ever thineA Villanelle on Existence3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Except that old reclusive mind,
You are yours and I am mine.
Such is creation's sole design
Give mankind sight but render blind,
Nothing in life is ever thine.
Solitary is every shrine
In which existence is confined,
You are yours and I am mine.
Lonely are they who walk the line
And yet they know it is defined:
Nothing in life is ever thine.
Aloof the jackal sits to dine
And prey, in prayer does remind:
You are yours and I am mine.
As though birth and death lent no sign,
It takes man all his days to find
Nothing in life is ever thine,
You are yours and I am mine.
Sonnet IILike sunshine filtered through unseasoned leavesSonnet II3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Sweet life lent me a dream amidst its sway,
Though often betrothed dreamers and thieves
And so alike the eve and the dawn of day,
Yet the wistful heart did spin me a tale
On her countenence and her childish voice,
The fearless feather quill which served the frail
Wove charming fables to my mind's rejoice,
And wishful my soul to absurdly hope
For a future born of evanescence,
And how naive I was to briskly elope
Fair fiction's act of masterful pretense,
Alas everyday love! What be your end
Except these sonnets that poets have penned?
On Platonic LoveThat love is beautiful,On Platonic Love3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The apple on the tree,
Which endures every famine,
Yet lets the apple be.
That love is plentiful,
The sea that hugs the shore,
Which meets solely at the brink,
Yet returns ever more.
That love is contentful,
The twine of You and Me,
Which clasp our eternal strings,
Yet ne'er to become We.
Sonnet IVOh conceded Lover I write to thee,Sonnet IV3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Though to thou in words I shall be no more.
What I lost in love, thou hast lost in me,
For I lost thine act, and thou, my adore.
While thou hast gained another's love, anon,
And cast away thine hollow yesterdays,
Mine love, sworn to the yonder morrows-- gone!--
Still looks thither with False Hope's hopeful gaze.
Alas! Albeit these incomplete dreams
I thank thee for its wondrous prelude,
Now my quill covets for other themes
Which upon thy coming grew accrued.
Had our love endured, I'd remove thy guise,
And thou, in my sonnet, immortalize.
Sonnet VIIIn the quiet hours of the endless nightSonnet VII3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I paced about beneath the sparkling sky,
Yet, neither the moon nor sheeny starlight
Could illuminate my sorry sightless eye,
And so I pondered through each dark hour,
Alas! Had I finally spent it all?
Without my only inherent power
On what devices would I nighly call?
What empty life prevailed beyond these words?
Surely, this was a subtle taste of death?
To never again speak to trees or birds
And live by virtue of purposeless breath?
And then grasped I, as a new day unfurled,
Save poets, thus lived our wordless world.
Sonnet IIIWhat a woeful waste of time she saidSonnet III3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
As she grimaced at my youthful verse,
Foolish is the work that forgets the purse
For every man ought to earn his bread,
And saying no more she quietly fled
Away from my pen's impalpable curse,
For when my mind in muses did immerse
Alas! I confess she was to me; dead.
While her beauty was still untouched by time,
The years would in time play their timeless part,
And how cruel be I to love her prime
And upon its ruin, listlessly restart,
Instead I dwell upon the ageless rhyme
For this airy heart belongs to the art.
Sonnet IXIf I were to count all the days of mineSonnet IX3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And keep the jolly best safely aside,
I wonder, would they still shimmer and shine
Unwashed by each sudden sorrowful tide?
Would the gift of cheer prance from cheek to cheek
If arid the eyes of a happy swain?
Would laughter now flow through each teary creek
And there be rainbows, bereft spells of rain?
And bloom today and each coming morrow
In a bough of joy, merriness and glee,
And cast away man's everyday sorrow
Blind to what it were worth to thee.
And only when the sun dispels the Nile
Will wither the sunflower's sun kissed smile.
Sonnet VIIIIs it fatuous to even wonderSonnet VIII3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
How thous't severs thyself from the looking glass?
Does thy heart not upon itself plunder
Whilst witnessing beauty's unrivaled class?
And if immune from thy ensnaring might
Which lies in the endless oceans in thine eyes
Whose abounding waves cloak each starry night
Can man escape thou, if thou truly tries?
Yet, thy virtue lies in pure innocence
Of thine mystic potency, thou knows nothing;
And may each year lend thou with mirth, and hence
Each season of thine be eternal spring.
For loveliness lives where she is not known
As a stranger, in a world of her own.
Sonnet XIILove not the lover but the hourSonnet XII3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Heed neither will last their promised stay!
But the hour, blithe, bloody or gray
Will in time sweeten, sweet or sour.
And so grows the Daylily flower
Fostered in a fortnight for a day
And in time, to time, it will fall prey
And nature's gifts, clocks will devour.
As each virgin bud will blossom and fall
Deceived by creation's icy treason,
Yet one brisk bloom before the vicious squall
Will plunder man of foresight and reason,
So love not a petal; not one, not all,
Love not the rose but the blooming season.
Sonnet XXIWho can bemoan these barren, bitter daysSonnet XXI3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
When he who loved once spoke and heard her vows
Which were but words upon which passion preys
Until the breast from a dream does arouse.
And tacit, tamed truth sends forth honest odds,
Still he uncovers that twinge trickle spring,
Still she does worship her twice fallen Gods
To find tonic herbs in winged Cupid's sting.
How trite, how vain my liege it is to keep
High pearls of eyes bereft the sheen of cheer
In dungeons deep, or thorny towers steep
On lambent clouds that rove the drifting sphere?
For rue remembers joys, charms, bonds of air
And forgets years of mirth once lay elsewhere.
The Fall of EpithilinonIThe Fall of Epithilinon2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Let no man speak of wars whence
No answer graced our call,
Let man remember gods thence
Gods, watchful of our fall;
Speak in silenced sighs, men,
Dead men hither sleep,
No flag here flails, amen, amen!
Who can ever beweep
Our brethren in the deep.
Frightened colours breached the sky,
The church bells played a dirge;
The bustling hills and vales so nigh
In crimson rage did merge,
Archers with crescents held high
Keen arrows fell like sin,
The portcullis in sorrow, shy
Interred our fathers in
The last grave of our kin.
Wailed the night in thunder blare;
The mangonels did come,
Lonely trumpets singed the air
When Earth ravished our home;
The eastern tower, wasting wear
For a trebuchet did bow,
Fallen stone and ballista bare
Broke its stony vow,
As the beadle mopped his brow.
Mildly armoured, men at arms
Stormed the brazen fray,
Howled the castle’s cold alarms:
Ladder men up the brae!
Blazed in ire the fields and farms:
The winter’s yield was spent;
So Will YouMy dear friend why do you dwell in the dust,So Will You4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Do you think the world will wait for both of us?
I see these have been rather difficult times,
Let me try to ease your pain with a rhyme.
So what if you have failed again?
Tell me, so what, if yet again, you are beat?
Victory is a place you will reach,
Once you cross the stepping stones of defeat.
It doesn't matter how many times you fall,
As long as you get back up and stand tall,
Through thick and thin they made it through,
And I can see it in your eyes, so will you.
Once upon a time a young newspaper artist got fired,
For lacking good ideas and imagination,
So what did he do? He drew a mouse!
And then Walt Disney became a sensation!
"You call this comedy? This is nonsense!"
Said his penurious audience and his rapacious acting staff,
He sat down and cried silently in the rain,
And then Charles Spencer Chaplin made the world laugh.
A dismayed father roared at his son,
"Can you not even identify the treble from the base clef?"
Sonnet XIIIMistress Fortune, thou art every man's queen,Sonnet XIII3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Princes and paupers take thou for a bride
And upon thy smile mankind rests keen;
I pray to no God, yet bow 'neath thy pride.
Each reward of creation is thy gift;
Sweet fruits of laborious seeds unsowed,
And how fickle the man, who in thy rift
Laments lost harvests on fields unploughed.
Yet, thy nature reflects the untamed sky,
Sullen, silent, sunny; a fiend and friend,
And though weathered I, still this eye be dry,
On thou, my dearer tears, I shall not spend.
Miss Fortune! Fair Fortune! A fare thee well!
All thy winds of chance shall not toll my bell.
Perfection is an IllusionPerfection is an illusionPerfection is an Illusion3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
As heaven is to Earth,
A painted cloudy paradise
Inspired by human dearth.
Flawless is the pole star
Leading man to fabled land,
Still distant the Polaris
From man's conceited hand.
Yet perfection's only flaw
That it will never know,
Perfection appears resplendent
Draped in fault's shadow.
Sonnet XVAs prized grow the seconds, I long for home,Sonnet XV3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
My mind craves old and familiar things,
Of distant horizons and clouds to come
I can not think, but of these ancient strings,
And though my infant sights were of elsewhere
Yet, native I have called no other land,
I am the will of this impassioned air,
I am the soul of this nomadic sand.
Alas! Like the fumes of a spectral flame
For a love greater than love I must part,
But if I triumph, be it in your name
Which in faraway lands will warm my heart.
And when I die and my last breath is spent
To this heaven let my soul be twice sent.
Something's MissingI will not miss you like a child misses a blanketSomething's Missing2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or a year misses a season which has just passed
or as childhood is remembered from furrowed brows;
the parched lips that had once drunk from
the fountain of youth.
nor will I miss you like a widowed lark
that stays up all night believing in
melodic necromancy -
- I do not believe in such things,
as I do not believe in a god I forsook,
when I realized I did not miss him
as I missed the comfort of ignorance,
Nay, I cannot miss you like a poem misses its muse
which miss her till eternity dies
or a juvenile favour that leaves one
benevolent and misses benevolence for all of its days.
Instead I must miss you like an accepted part of every day -
- the ticking of clocks, the buzzing of gadflies,
the first few moments after awakening that misses a dream
or the Korean vase upon the chiffonier
which misses last week's dahlias
or the street dog misses its late keeper-of-crumbs
or an ink quill misses the words it bore
or a poet m
Satisfaction is a ShadowSatisfaction is a shadowSatisfaction is a Shadow3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
So near and yet so far,
Which yearns for yet another moon
And feeds on every star.
The rich remain forever poor
And the poor; truly rich,
And heaven falls to sordid waste
Curing Man's endless itch.
More copious than the cosmos
Yet once a pinch of snuff,
Has humanity forgotten
Enough was once enough?