Sonnettics

Left arm, left hand, left shoulder did not move
when first my body broke, my left was still
But now I have a duty, I will prove
my left side needs to swim; I know it will
because my left is needed for my right
My body must have balance in the pool
or lake, the water needs to know my fight
is up against myself, the water cool
will bear the warmth of anger as I stroke
DeRuyter will be mine, my body flows
My arms in motion like my bike wheel spoke
around, around my left arm flies, it flows
And in the water, I will win the race
around the island to the starting place.

Let’s make our love inside all wrapped in calm
committed actions covered with the balm
discovered for the places, dry or hot
Although we don’t believe ourselves, we’re not
as dry as love required by something soft . . .
our love is made, a bedroom in the loft.
We rub the ointment on the tender skin
I love your hands upon me, I am in
a place with you, imagined from a dream
you rub the balm upon my skin, a cream
as milky white and cool, though you are warm
outside the rain begins, perhaps a storm
is coming. We will stay inside and let
the rain come down and make the garden wet

3 more couplets on this motif:

We’ll stay inside and listen to the rain
and rub the balm upon our subtle pain.
I have no pain when you are by my side
I’ll care for you and let you be my guide.
Just tell me where you’re tender and my hand
will rub the ointment. I’m at your command

To hear your name is like a gift of gold
To know the way you touch their hearts, I’m told
that you are sweet and lovely, but I know
more certainly than anyone can show
But show me more I beg when it is you
that makes my friends so compliment, my view
is roses made of sweetest flesh, your stem
is strong, and I allow the words from them
My friends believe my love for you is strong
And that I probably composed a song
or poem for my Mari, who I love
her metaphor will be a cooing dove.
A dove with strength and beauty is my mate
Her love for me is now; I need not wait.

Forgotten verse is like forbidden flame
I can’t remember poetry, her name
Is beautiful, but on my broken brain
I feel her song and feel I am disdain
I know they say I shouldn’t beat myself
But feeling doesn’t sit upon my shelf
And she can sing my disdain anytime
My poetry is full of trashy rhyme
But I would write her actions like the beat
of heart to heart or love that’s incomplete
One line may be the source of what we feel
I find the line and will before her kneel
reciting words that mimic beauty’s form
but wanting only taste of her that’s warm.

Expressions come without the sound of voice
Her eyes, her cheeks they move without a choice
She doesn’t choose to let me know she feels
attraction, so I think, like magnet steels
Her metal is creative, I would weld
Her shape with all my art and watch her meld
Her beauty needs no craft of mine to show
Perfection in the shape I want to know
I’d let her stay in her true lovely form
To love the perfect beauty of the norm.
I miss her voice, the sound of rolling pearls,
She sounds like all my memory of girls.
I love her noise or silence; I’m in love
with her, my lover, sweet, I’m thinking of.

My death was widely felt within my brain
and yet my brain was cognizant of death
My body felt my death as ugly pain
and yet my body felt with every breath.
Perhaps my death was not my final end.
I thought about the concepts of my life
I thought a lot about my loving friend
and how I loved and wished she was my wife.
and yet my wife was still my wife, I knew
that only one could stay within my life
I only want my loving friend; they slew
my “errant ” thoughts and gave to me my wife.
And yet I made a project of my soul
for what I truly needed to be whole.

How far is far away? How much is far?
Does love deny the distance? Does it mar
such beauty as the beauty I have seen?
Too far is nothing unsurpassed between
my visioned beauty lingering away
in gardens I have been to in the day
when she and I walked brightly, hand in hand
like acquiescence lived by our command
like water moves when heat is flowed within
our love and beauty linger skin to skin
the way your hand and mine refuse to part
or how your mouth reflects a loving start:
a kiss or something whispered to my soul
and signifies the distance as a goal.

Unfold the page of memories of two
who love afar and cry like me and you
It’s us; the simile is written thin
the metaphor of love does not begin
to tell of how we love in burning rooms
or how we rescue love from dusty tombs
I drive my silver jeep and hold her hand
my memory may fail, but I’ll demand
the recollection of the fabric seats
to tell of how we moved without retreats
To touch our skin, our warmth, our lips, and all
the skin within brain crevasses can’t fall
from logic and intelligence; I’ll quit
from thinking if constrained or scarred by it.

Her dolls have all been put away, and now
she says her prayers, Hail Mary, full of grace.
My heart remembers pieces of a vow
she whispered in another time and place,
like pieces of a heart within a doll:
ceramic, shattered, hidden from her view,
below a painted face. The shards are small,
too small to represent the love we knew.
They cut their way through flesh, inert, like foam
and buried deep in softness cut the hand
of anyone who dares to take me home,
or anyone who cares to understand
that part of life is pain, the biggest part,
and love, the tiny shards of broken heart.

I curse my words, my poetry, my breath
and wish for silent seepage of the death
of scansion as it rises to my brain
I curse my subtle poetry in vain
for vanity is like the tune I hear
while cursing words and poetry, I fear
my brain enables angels to descend
amidst the lightning thunder, let’s pretend
that noise above is sent from father-god
and mother-god approves with just a nod
perfection is the sequence she will sing;
redemption is the love her tears will bring
as rain begins to fall from darkened clouds
and soaks the tears of worship in the crowds.