Sonnet #42: Awash in a tide of love

Each heart's a cavern, awash in a tide of love

that rushes in, glides out, and then returns

to unite this life below with that above:

sweet harmony, for which each being yearns.

From emptiness to full and back again

we cycle through and then go back around

sorrow to hope to joy to loss and then

from grief arise anew, new purpose found.

And in each stage, whatever we might feel --

abandoned, lost, ecstatic or betrayed --

the love continues. Whatever our ordeal,

we're not alone, so do not be afraid.

Just trust that affirmation's always there

and nothing will be more than we can bear. 

Sonnet #41: Seek far and wide

Seek far and wide for that which lies within,

follow each path away from the truth that's yours

drink deep from others' cups, but don't begin

to look inside your heart; just bolt those doors.

Find someone else to tell you who you are,

to fill the holes you can't admit exist,

and save you from yourself. Smoke a cigar,

do drugs or drink or eat.  Do not resist

temptation's lure: what pleasure you will find

lies in escape, not facing all those demons

you're so certain you'll find lurking in your mind

if you ever stop to look, or cease your scheming.

Don't ever pause to sit, or breathe, or dream:

You might discover love, or self-esteem.

Sonnet #40: The loneliness of grief

This week I reside in the loneliness of grief:

flat plains where nothing grows but loss and tears,

the home where we once shared your life (so brief,

so rich with love and joy, so poor in years),

a tiny speck of white in a field of gray,

where visitors come and go like tumbleweed,

drifting through but setting no roots to relieve or delay

the cloud of night that with each hour gains speed,

to hurl again resounding bolts of sorrow

to burn my eyes and split my heart anew,

with visions of the past, and bleak tomorrows,

awash in memories of love, and you.

This, too, shall pass with time, but how shall I spend it?

Must I keep battling despair, or somehow... befriend it?

(for Abra, and for Alex)

Sonnet #39: Celestial, resplendent

Though we know the sun resides up in the sky,

we also see that light reflected here,

in flowers, as in faces, we can spy

that telltale glow; that golden light so clear

it could only have its source in some Divine

manifestation; an all-encompassing Yes

that in a burst of brilliance could design

a blaze to both illuminate and bless.

Each artificial bulb's pale imitation

leaves us hungering for radiance more true;

for colors whose depth's a constant invitation

to feast on yellow, violet, red, or blue.

This light and that are wholly interdependent:

together they're celestial, resplendent.

 

 

Sonnet #38: Push Through the Rock

Something there is, in even the hardest of hearts,

that seeks to grow; that pushes through the rock,

finds room to root and branch, to thrust apart

the granite walls we build, and to unlock

the doors we shut so long ago, attempting

to shield and guard what’s already been stolen,

but though innocence was lost, hearts never empty

but fill again, as rivers do when swollen

with the rushing melt of winter. When spring's sun

honors its ancient promise to return,

its heat awakens hope where there was none;

makes seeds to bud and longing souls to yearn

again for something they thought lost forever;

a love so strong its force great stones must sever.

Sonnet #37: Climate Change

 

Gray tumbleweeds roll thick across the sky

scattering wet dust on cerulean plains

which the sun burns off as she slowly passes by,

There may be clouds, but it rarely ever rains.

Old fences weave their variegated scars

across the dry fields, remnants of better days

when cattle chewed the grass and there were no cars;

when cowboys roped and branded any strays.

It's empty now and dry, land once so fertile;

the riverbeds now barren between the hills.

What water rushed between the banks and hurtled

over rocks, and sang so sweetly in the rills

is gone.  Who dares claim climate hasn't changed

has to be blind -- or just, perhaps, deranged.

Sonnet #36: Non-verbal communication

The What-Not Shop in Cerrillos sells antiques,

Indian crafts, and guns, and also rocks,

but woe to any tourist who dares peek

through windows, or perhaps rattle the locks.

A cactus plant now grows on the only stairs,

the ramp to the front porch is blocked with wood,

and a battered sign out back just says "Beware!"

(of dogs? of tumbleweed? surely nothing good.)

We stop to look and wonder, then drive on by: 

it's clear that we're not wanted in this place

appearances the inviting words belie:

there's no welcome to be found within this space.

The non-verbal communication here's quite clear:

don't look, don't touch, don't even dare come near.

Sonnet #35: Trust

While driving back to Boulder from Santa Fe,

past billowing clouds and cattle in the fields,

we chose a path that took us out of our way:

a minor risk, with great potential yields.

But bouncing up the rippled mountainside,

on thin dirt lanes with potholes big as calves,

I asked him, "Are you SURE?" and he replied,

"You have to trust: we can't do this by halves.

"Marriage:" he said, "it's an all or nothing deal.

Don't give up now; I've never let you down."

And so I took a breath, and said, "I feel

quite nervous but I trust we'll get to town."

And after two hairpin turns and a steep descent

the view that opened up -- Magnificent!