I saw St. George on many different walls
The galleries of icons showed his deed
He strikes the evil dragon and it falls!
Symbolically, I understand the need
To kill the dragon, spear it in its mouth
The mouth produces evil words and flame
St. George destroyed the dragon from the South
Of Russia, namely Batu Khan, by name
But Mongols weren’t the only evil things
That threatened Russia; think of Reagan’s jest
Unwittingly, he used a phrase that stings
St. George turned his attention to the West
From South or West, all dragons must be slain
St. George, iconic hero, will remain!
Archive for the ‘Sonnets’ Category
The Icon of Saint George
Sunday, October 9th, 2011Chekhov’s House
Sunday, October 9th, 2011I wonder if his desk could feel his pen
As keenly as I feel his spirit here
We’re kindred spirits: writers, worldly men
I feel his spirit now; I feel him near
He gave the sick their health; he gave it free
He understood the calling which he chose
But Dr. Chekhov knew what he could be
He wrote as well, like one who surely knows
The sickness in his body took its toll
But not from Dr. Chekhov’s written art
His fame today was surely not his goal
But fame will come regardless of our part
His desk, his pen, his words remain today
It must be here that Chekov wants to stay.
Love’s Golden Ring
Saturday, October 8th, 2011This is the tune I am working into this sonnet:
national_hymn
****
Our love is gold, a bright, eternal ring
And yet it’s something more than words can be
It’s more than just a little song we sing
This golden ring encircles you and me
Like harmony encircles different notes
And makes them sound like golden notes should sound
When music finds the meaning it denotes
Our love is one eternal, golden round
If precious love evolves in precious gold
Or songs portray the precious love we feel
Our love would be refined and be untold
Because our love is precious, pure, and real
Symbolically, this ring is for your hand
It’s more than love that we can understand.
The Weary Traveler Discovers Moscow
Friday, October 7th, 2011This Moscow of dichotomies appears
Before this weary traveler can sleep
She’s welcomed and repelled the world for years
The rivers of her history are deep
The Muscovites are builders, and they’re good!
They’re artists too; it shows in all they build
With gold and glass, with brick and even wood
There’s pride within her architectural guild
And yet, it’s more than buildings they design
Their poetry and prayers possess the halls
Of every building, built with grace, divine
Be still, and listen how her spirit calls
This Moscow bids this weary man to write
And so I’ll sleep tomorrow, not tonight!
My Chronoception
Thursday, October 6th, 2011My chronoception seems a little off
Eternity has come to be a time
At which I can no longer blithely scoff
Sweet steps to count in that sweet golden clime
It takes forever now to write a line
A simple line of poetry, like this
I wonder if there is some Grand Design
Or if I’ll ever feel Sunflower’s kiss
I know it’s just a fragment of my mind
The part that suffered injury last year
It’s not the way my life will be defined
It’s just a little inconvenient fear
Time keeps sixty minutes every hour
Let’s keep Time locked up within his tower.
The Meaning of Life
Tuesday, October 4th, 2011Do flowers ever wonder why they’re here?
Why simple fields sprout Beauty where they grow?
Do flowers seek some meaning to revere?
Or does the field of flowers simply know?
Like poetry can paint a landscape, wide
Or focus on a portrait with its words
The Poet knows that flowers cannot hide
From Beauty’s seekers or from little birds
They’re here to ask their questions of the Sun
Hyperion gives warmth and love and light
But doesn’t give them answers, no, not one
He may not know the answers, but He might
The meaning of all life is just to ask
And find the warmth and light in which to bask.
My Trinity
Monday, October 3rd, 2011Pax
A Goddess with an olive branch to give
She brings sweet Peace, like Noah’s blessed dove
Announcing that I still have life to live
A life that should be filled with holy love
Venus
Aesthetically, she teaches me with grace
Her portraits and her sculptures are divine
And yet there’s more to Beauty than her face
A goddess who is more than words define
Strenua
Endurance is the greatest part of Strength
A goddess who believes I will succeed
To make me strong, she’ll go to any length
Her perseverance is the gift I need
My Goddesses are real; they’re part of me
I’m blessed to understand this Trinity.
The History of Love
Friday, September 30th, 2011Like sunrise marks the start of every day
The history of Love is rays of time
The sun may set, but Love, my love, will stay
Its history repeats itself, sublime
It rises in the east, with warmth and light
It brings the birds awake, and makes them sing
It kisses every flower in its sight
I love the life that Love will always bring
But Love is more than history can tell
It fills the world with angels’ perfect grace
The only place that angels care to dwell
Is heaven, held within true love’s embrace
Like sunrise at the start of every day
Come give angelic Love to me; come stay.
Triathlon Sonnet
Tuesday, September 27th, 2011Sonnets were made for triathletes! Okay, maybe not, but they work very well. Why? Because they have 3 quatrains. A triathlon sonnet devotes a quatrain to swimming, one to biking, and one to running. The sonnettic volta can come anywhere in the poem. It’s probably going to be somewhere when the writer/racer “turns” from strength to sheer determination! The final couplet of the triathlon sonnet is usually a realization that triathlon is a way of life. Here is one for all you triathletes:
The Final 26.2 of 140.6
The swim was just a minor 2.4
A contact sport because of this: mass start
I didn’t know what pain was yet in store
But I could feel the pounding of my heart
Transition placed me quickly on my bike
A century, and then a dozen more
I don’t recall a thing I didn’t like
Except to know I still had one thing more
A marathon, my third, but not my last
The slowest marathon I’ve ever run
It’s true, I’d started hours in the past
But hours yet before my race was done
It’s Ironman; it’s more than just a race:
A Way of Life that nothing can replace!
High Crimes
Thursday, September 15th, 2011I wish they would have left me there to die
I wouldn’t give a fuck about the shit
I deal with now, like wishing I could cry
Or sucking up to try and deal with it
Nobody gave a shit that I’d been robbed
Of more than just the year of time I lost
Nobody understands tears I’ve sobbed
Nobody cares how much it fucking cost
I’d give them back their nickles and their dimes
They think they paid the price; I think they’re high
If life was fair they’d have to face their crimes
I wish they would have left me there to die
I never asked for help to stand and live
But people think it’s theirs to fucking give.