Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Sonnet #50: End of an era

This picture, this photo that I did not create,
captures a moment, a highlight in my life:
a play I wrote -- what fun, to generate
set, characters, laughs and lines ( all joy, no strife) --

won an award! The audience's favorite!
-- for that night, anyway; the judges did not agree --
but just to have it happen; what a treat!
(even though I know I only won by three

votes -- I'm grateful my family could attend,
as without those three it would have been a tie!)
But I digress, and stray from my intent,
which is to admit graciously, with a sigh,

that sonnets just don't thrill me anymore,
so I'm stopping at 50.  There will be no encore.

The end.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Sonnet #49: Night Thrust

Evening comes, with its forward thrust of light,
a punch of gold to throw us into the dark,
a weight of clouds to keep us holding tight
to whatever soothes, to whatever keeps the spark

of hope alive when all seems black or gray:
that emptiness when joy and sorrow leave
and all that's left lacks color, when decay
abounds and we've no strength; even to grieve

is more than we can manage, so we sit,
clutching that last shred of childhood dreams,
our eyes shut tight, one last small candle lit
and flickering, then sputtering... It seems

so long, this night that we endure --
and yet dawn will return: of that I'm sure.

Friday, August 1, 2014

Sonnet #48: Sweet Cellist, sit

Sweet cellist, sit, and play your song for me:
place fingers on the strings and slide your bow
across the bridge. Now drift, deft melody:
give beauty voice, and set our souls aglow.

Your hat and beard may hide your face, but still
your music tells us all we need to know
about your spirit, and your strength of will,
your practice; all the work you undergo

to bring this tender ballad to our ears
and stop us in our tracks as we pass by.
This gift, given by one of your young years,
is precious, rare -- an aural butterfly

that flutters into hearing and then departs,
spreading color and delight to all our hearts.

Monday, July 21, 2014

Sonnet # 47: God bless the friends

Sometimes you need a friend who's really solid;
who's calm no matter what your crisis is,
who's there for you in times both rich and squalid,
for birthdays, Mother's Days and Christmases -- 

All those moments when life fails your expectations
or gifts you with unpleasantness undeserved.
They listen without judgment to your frustrations,
and snuggle close and murmur "Why, that's absurd!"

So here's to all the rocks that keep us steady:
a toast to those who don't freak out at tears,
who know just when to tease us, and when we're ready
to laugh again, and when to honor our fears.

May all those folks be blessed with sun and flowers,
and may they find safe shelter from life's showers.

Sunday, July 20, 2014

Sonnet #46: An occasional gambol

We dance along the edges, you and I.
We browse at the intersections: no extremes,
no drifting from the center, into low or high,
but striking some equilibrium in between.

But subtle movement's movement, just the same,
and I can see you heading toward the right
so I glide left to counter.  It's all a game
we play to maintain balance and delight.

Such delicate machinations have their charm,
but just to add excitement, today I'll leap
out of this frame we've built, just to disarm
you; just to spice things up -- it's a way to keep

us on our toes, our relationship alive:
love needs an occasional gambol in order to thrive.

Monday, July 7, 2014

Sonnet #45: What we can't see

A mirror, flat, reflective, never lies --
except, of course, each image is reversed.
But life's reflections (unlike water's, of skies)
are rarely flat; more twisted and diverse.

Curved surfaces, both convex and concave,
organic, elemental and ubiquitous,
exaggerate, stretch, mask, and misbehave,
seeming both crisp and accurate while deluding us.

Each path we take has its own bends, and coils
around back on itself from time to time. 
Those twists and turns each have their counterfoils,
which then help build each personal paradigm.

We can't assume that what we see is right:
each human's bent, and that distorts our sight.

Saturday, June 28, 2014

Sonnet #44: Drop anchor, and then rest

This fragile earth, our precious island home,
this haven for all life, both yours and mine,
the blue unending sea, these clouds which comb
the sky with streaks of light, those hints divine

of life beyond these shores, of depths below
the surface, yet unplumbed, where Self lies waiting
for us to stop and listen, learn, and know
what fuels our thoughts, our hopes, our loves, our hating --

all this provides both guide and inspiration:
a place to live and move and have our being;
to glide or rest - both critical for creation --
or simply to absorb what we are seeing.

So lift your sails, and fly before the breeze,
drop anchor, and then rest, and simply breathe.