Grace

Two dolphins dancing above the blue bay,
So charming in their tandem arc through space.
Their romance proceeds, like a game they play,
Becoming lost in their mystical grace.

Felicity’s rapture goes on for miles,
Which may never be pinioned or restrained.
Though faint, forever is brought to their smiles.
Such happiness should at no time be chained.

Dark waters turn, twist, twirl and deeply scare,
Where looming disaster can take one’s breath.
They fight the crusade and then they take care
Of little love who must not come near death.

Struggle and sputter through down pouring rains,
Adoration still pumps in their warm veins.

That sonnet was written by a “student.” The following is an email dialogue I had with a this young lady who needed to write a sonnet. I helped her where I could, and I think she composed a beautiful sonnet about two dolphins. As you can see, she gave me permission to share our dialogue here so that others might learn from it. Thanks Arlayna!

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The Call

It’s dark and I am walking toward the night.
The streets are slick with rain and heavy mist
I only see reflections of the light
which blends into the asphalt, which is kissed
by songs too cheap and tawdry for the day,
whose melodies are flickering and cold.
And yet they’re loud enough to guide the way
into the dark of night, where I am told
that god no longer hears my footsteps fall
and I no longer care if god can hear,
because my soul has heard another call
that has no need of faith; it’s loud and clear.
It pierces me with certainty. My breath
is measured now. The call is simply death.

Minor changes.
First Published below on Nov 20, 2008

It’s dark and I am walking toward the night.
The streets are slick with mists and heavy sighs.
I only see reflections of the light
which blends into the asphalt, the reprise
of songs too cheap and tawdry for the day,
whose melodies are flickering and cold.
And yet they’re loud enough to guide the way
into the dark, the night, where I am told
that god no longer hears my footsteps fall
and I no longer care if god can hear,
because my soul has heard another call
that has no need of faith; it’s loud and clear.
It pierces me with certainty. ; My breath
is measured now. ; The call is simply death.

Love’s Confirmation

Confirm my hands again and let me hold
Your confirmation’s quintessential heat
Confirm my heart with tales of love retold
With words your confirmation would repeat
Address your love to me a silent vow
Semantic dissipation laced with tears
Stand closely by my window in the now
And tap upon the glass a thousand years
And I will watch your lamplight like a dream
That casts its glow upon my steady hands
To see your confirmation brightly beam
And echo shadows of my love’s demands
To touch the words my thoughts have long transgressed
And place my subtle tears upon your breast

First Published on: Apr 6, 2006

Opus–The Quintessence of Poetry

There are no words. The air, as thin as lines
composed of quintessential, distant dreams
is probably the path, devoid of signs
which flows beside our quintessential streams.
There are no words; The paths and streams converge.
A prophecy of silence draws me in.
Surrender is the quintessential urge
that marks the end where thus I can begin.
The words that form are beautiful and bright
like pearls and diamonds strung on silver thread.
They sparkle in the quintessential night
that quintessential darkness overhead.
And in the quiet birth of every word
a hint of quintessential faith is heard.

First published on: Jan 4, 2008 @ 21:17
(minor grammatical changes)