I watch the maples sway across the street The wind seems gentle, tinged with gentle rain The gentleness of morning is complete As gentle dreams of reverie remain The reverie of gentle autumn days Remembered in the winter times of chill I wonder if a maple tree that sways Remembers when it used to stand stone still The memories of trees are like the wind A paradox with roots that wait for spring A memory no weather can rescind The maple tree has other songs to sing I watch the maples watch as I compose A gentle song as gently I repose.
Archive for the ‘Sonnets’ Category
Gentleness
Friday, March 8th, 2024Jabberwonky
Monday, February 26th, 2024As odd conditions find their tongues are slit
Like fiendish fangs they drip with mothered blood
If born with light they start before they quit
Eternally what bombs becomes a dud
Explosions of conditions draped with fur
Expressions make the most of rancid dawn
Untold by children told to be unsure
The offer states the honor which has gone
We find the bitch of all we might expect
As heinous scars of rotten-rendered-meat
While more than this is what we recollect
And recollections hold what gods repeat
My mistress finds a place to don her hat
While screaming faithless fiction to her cat.
TNT Is Meant To Be
Tuesday, February 13th, 2024For Valentine's Day Every good love story needs a good sonnet. This one is for Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce: ----- They found each other somewhere in the light A metaphor that knows just where to look To see beyond the limits of plain sight A simple story in love’s storybook She sings her songs of love with dulcet voice A song becomes much more than what she sings The words of love become a lyric choice Like songbirds know the tune of precious things He must have known true love will know it’s true It overcomes uncertainty and more It seems to know precisely what to do To show the love beyond love’s metaphor And now together they are TNT An acronym for what was meant to be.
Around the Yule Log
Thursday, November 16th, 2023The Adoption of Caliban
Saturday, October 7th, 2023What father leaves his child with a witch? By Setebos I curse the wretch to hell The wretch will from humanity unhitch The wretch becomes a story I must tell By Setebos we live before we die To live or die is often quite the same Each life is but the telling of a lie A lie which knows that truth is just a game Play on, play on, we’ll die in wretched time What father leaves his child with a witch? By Setebos you recognize the crime The players come and go; with you they switch With Sycorax the witch you had your fun Your Caliban exists in everyone.
Streams of Smoke
Monday, August 14th, 2023I watch the streams of smoke as I exhale They show me words I never knew I knew They seem to know the breath they would regale The breath, the smoke, a wispy grayish blue The streams of smoke are remnants of a gift A gift from Mother Earth who loves to give I watch them rise above; I watch them lift Above the earth, where stories often live The stories of the smoke begets the streams (Who says “begets” unless they’re fuckin’ high) The stories fill the smoke with more than dreams And dreams of smoke will lift us by and by It makes no sense, these things of which we spoke But sense is not the realm of streams of smoke.
Gedagtes Oor Suid Afrika Vir My Mense
Sunday, July 9th, 2023Toe wou ek in Suid Afrika gebly Toe was ek “ingevoerde boer” genoem Toe het geliefde vriende daan gesê “Nou moet jy net ‘n meise vind, ‘n bloem!” En nou ek wil ‘n bietje kerrie hê En rys. Ek hou van blatjang op my kos ‘N braai is altyd lekker. Glo my! (Ten minste stuur my fotos in die pos) Ek wou “Die Stem” nog weer met jou gesing Ek mis die Kersfees in ‘n somer maand Onthou ek alle woorde word net "ding" Die taale meng in die geliefde land! Gedagtes kom natuurlik nog aan my Want wil ek in Suid Afrika gebly.
Rainbow Sublime
Thursday, June 8th, 2023The stories of the rainbow have been told In myth and magic since the dawn of time Some stories we have heard are very old But old or new, such stories are sublime Sublimity is rainbows in a word The words of rainbows form a story arc The colors of the rainbow can be heard As water droplets leave their promised mark A bridge, a bow, a promise, just a few Of rainbow stories heard or felt or seen A sunlit world of water, clear and blue A rainbow tree with leaves of rainbow green Unique, the rainbow story has no end Forever’s how the rainbow has been penned.
Evolution
Wednesday, June 7th, 2023At first we stretched and learned to stand upright Perhaps because we tried to reach a star The stars were out of reach, not out of sight Too bright to be ignored, but oh, so far To reach the stars we’d need to build a ship We taught our hands to build the things we’d need At last we reached the moon, a simple trip What else would be required to succeed? Success we found was more than just one word Complexity of words revealed our plight To reach the stars we thought was not absurd And if we couldn’t be there, we would write And so we write about the place we are Until one day, we know, we’ll reach a star.