Within the warmth of home, I sit amazed
at the gentle fall of snow through window pane.
Cup of tea in hand, my layered thoughts unchain,
and tumble from the tip of tongue unfazed
to land upon a pristine page appraised,
aided by the silent fall through snowy pane.
Oh, the soft white wintry glow 'pon the lane
leaves a graceful drape, Lord be praised.
Within the warmth of home, I muse on themes
of days to come and those gone bye and so,
I thank the Lord for all of nature's schemes,
for the gift of time, for peace, and for the snow.
Oh, make the blanket deep, I wish to dream,
may all my days and 'morrows have this glow.
Alone atop a hill,
an ornamental willow
dances in the breeze.
Long limbs form a lovely gown
that gracefully sweeps the ground.
Adored by the sun,
the willow is not weeping.
She blooms rosily!
April’s first shower has passed;
for the sun alone, she shines.
The Solo Dancing Ornamental Tree (new title for the sonnet version)
An ornamental tree with willow leaves
upon a promontory stands alone.
In April’s breeze, each limb, cascading, weaves
with fragrance. She is dancing on her own.
I wonder how she came to be at all.
Her roots lie in a solitary place
where few traverse to spy her - lithe and small -
there moving in rain’s aftermath with glee.
In small degrees, the sun has climbed the sky.
No longer pallid, he is smiling down
upon the swaying willow. By and by,
Her graceful limbs shine like a lacquer gown.
Her lovely blooms have opened to expose
The splendid blush of buds with hue light rose.
Because of eyes as warm as honey, I
was melting, but the love I first believed
was shown me in his gaze was but a lie.
He uttered not a word; I was deceived!
He leaned in for that first romantic kiss.
I melted more; my heart did somersaults.
How easily that man could bring me bliss.
But I would learn his luscious lips were false!
His gorgeous body, hard, pressed into me.
I felt his fingers softly touch my skin.
I totally dissolved! How cleverly
he’d worked unspoken lies on me again!
That young man with his beautiful brown eyes
at last destroyed me with his beautiful lies.
English Sonnet written 12/14/12 (late at night as most of my sonnets are!)
for the Beautiful Lies Poetry Contest of craig cornish and now for PD's
There’s a path of flowers I glide across
Such a beautiful color made of gloss
Orange pieces of delight made to pass
Within this meadow that is long to last
The blades of grass are surely tall with pride
Turning colors from green to brown inside
There’s a lone tree in the sight of the field
Where orange and red leaves become its build
Flowers impact this field in retrospect
Looking at it from my past with respect
Power of the flower is prominent
Secure in my heart which is dominant
Orange is the color of the plant’s choice
Field is glad of their presence, they rejoice
You ask me to explain what is love,
To my eyes, love is dead, it does not exist.
You say love is gentle as a soft dove
To me love is something I do not miss.
You say love is as beautiful as a rose,
But to my eyes, love is a waste of time.
You say love is eternal as a pose,
I say love will never, ever be mine.
You say love is a passion that I need,
But to me, love is just an illusion.
You say love is like a beautiful deed.
I choose not to believe this delusion.
You can’t live without my love any more
Then is your love something I should ignore?
wandering in thoughts.
promises and hopes.
Hand in hand,
tumbling on slopes.
This is love
Running away from this world.
Warm bodies sliding in sheets,
to find another world.
Burning in cold flames.
No fear ... no shame ... no games
This is love
It’s raining, it’s raining
Come see the peacock dance
How beautiful it looks
With its wings that look like small, feathery fans
When it starts to rain
It’s beautiful to see the peacocks dance
We love to gaze at the beautiful sight
And do not want to miss the chance
It’s such a wonder
To see them dance so gracefully
That we should accept to surrender
Our pride when we see them dance
We should not cut tress
So that we can see them dance in peace
Crown of Sonnets
I walk in the garden
To see the roses
While the dew is on the grass
So pretty to see
A place to be
Where sun shines through
A blossom so sweet
It opens up like a woman
The rose is strong
When the wind blows
While the rain falls
The storm blows
A rose is beautiful
With the grace of a swan
Long stem and thorns
It will rip you
Give's you joy
Lot's of pleasure
A big delight
Culture is beautiful when expressed in the right light
It is the drum we walk to, dance to
Everyday down city corner streets
It is the obstacles we walk through, run through
Everyday common as the passing faces we see
It is the temptation we indulge in, survive in
Everyday it rises
like the sun
and sets over horizons
It is the songs we hum to, succumb to
Everyday on the mornin' radio
constantly setting the mood
givin' that vision to our way of life
Beautiful culture yields to beautiful life
O for the skills to calm a flighty horse.
Compact its trombone limbs with reins and legs.
Exact perfection without noticeable force,
all trouble and delight that beauty begs.
One horse, one rider, indivisible;
sky-born with earth-bound duty to endorse.
Control from legs and seat must be invisible,
obeying smooth transitions on the course.
Struck by awe, crowds watch, as in a trance
a pleasure trip controlled by aids precise.
Such liveliness contained in equine dance,
by what divine device - this Paradise?
Each discipline involved must scarce be seen.
Before our eyes must seem a floating dream.