Tell me I'm the one, the love of your life.
It's not my fault you won't become my wife
I'll look in your eyes as I dream my dreams.
We can both pretend, it's not what it seems.
I know there's another who holds your heart.
I can't stand that it's ripping mine apart.
So I will take this, just one more night.
Hold me and rock me, till the morning light.
My pain is to great, please whisper sweet lies.
My brain knows what my Heart can't realize.
I'll give you freedom, please let me pretend.
I am not ready, for this love to end.
Tomorrow walk away, that is your chance
I will survive, if you give me one glance
Sonnet on an intimate relationship.
She looks around the room with worried eyes.
So many things are missing. What became
of all her pretty clothes? With great surprise
she notices her dresser’s not the same.
The fancy music box that held her pearls
is missing too from where it used to sit
beside the picture of her precious girls
there on the dresser. What became of it?
She hears her husband walking toward the room
and cries out as she sees him on the stair.
He lies down on their bed. She feels his gloom,
and then she knows. . . . He cannot see her there!
She lingers, helpless, knowing she must go,
yet hears him sob, “My love, I miss you so.”
Written for Susan Burch's "Missing" Poetry Contest
Down on row and pit and mortal flower
The undertaker's men stood grave and bier:
And brave stoic death fills the living hour
For ever more a day, a week, a year...
Where bathed in shafts of exalted light toll
The bells of Mass and vigil in Greenhithe:
When in bound clay an unmolested dole
Grimly hung the shadows in hood and scythe:
Yet I upon this ploughed earth sullen gaze
And wonder what cold disconnect is death!
What sting its prick to a full end of days
That dares to breathe on me its cankered breath.
Withered is the bud and brief flower shed,
Yet for a time its beauty shone outspread.
Burnished bronze, tarnished teal,
flare warnings yield to winds of steel.
Their urge to jump, to flee and hide
cuts off the warmth for suicide.
They leap and land at such a cost,
far flung debris- refulgence lost.
They shrivel brown, dark fibers done,
decay beneath the wayward sun.
Their shredded shells in supine piles,
small hells ignite by human wiles.
Gray smoking wraiths slip out to sigh,
soar off to smear the flannel sky.
Green progeny will take their turn.
One chance to live is what they earn.
The clouds have formed a mare’s tail in the sky,
a fitting image, for I’m being led
beneath them, where in eerie silence lie
abandoned stalls, untended land, a shed.
And on a gate, like some strange souvenir,
a halfway broken sign reads “Wagon Wheel.”
That horses once were bred and ridden here
both grime and span of time cannot conceal.
But farther down a lane, behind some trees,
(where happiness once lived!) awaits my spring -
a large house, shuttered, with its memories.
In front of it still hangs that wooden swing.
Above long grass and weeds it starts to sway.
The ghost of me has now returned to play.
For the Love and Loss Poetry Contest
Released and slowly drifting to the earth,
the leaf departs her tree in mournful grace;
though both will live to see another birth,
none same will be returning in her place.
We meet as always in the space between
the branch's bud and parting leaf stem's end;
a tearful eye, a tugging force unseen
does will the laws reverse, gravity bend.
Enhanced though was the nearly naked tree
by springtime's bloom, her fallen trembling love -
released to serve another destiny -
in turn, will be the better than above.
Leaf falls to rest, and in her fading sigh,
she breathes to tree her final sad goodbye.
The ocean softly laps the boat
as I watch the setting sun.
I drop the flowers and watch them float,
relieved this day is done.
Ashes are scattered in the sea
followed by flowers of white.
I watch an eagle soaring free,
flying into the night.
Tears slip silently from my eyes
as the waves gently lap the boat.
I turn back home in darkening skies
while the flowers and ashes float.
Alone, I head the boat to shore.
My heart, bereft, forevermore.
The pool grows green through the leaf cover.
Large pears hang upon ancient tree.
Mocking Bird sings chanting to his lover;
As the dew sparkles, like water in the sea.
Crepe Myrtle has turned red how time has passed.
Moma admired some trees said they were pretty.
Daddy dug up a few runners, oh! memories from past.
In most things, think of daddy how witty__
Daddy brought (them) here to brighten moma's life
To give her something pretty to enjoy.
Today I enjoy them, this is reallife.
Now as I look at them they are my buoy
Clouds are coming in hiding the sun rays
But their light and life brightens my days_
For Nancy's contest;
Contest name: Gratitude
Starring into the dross of amber brew
no face see I reflected, simply hollow I.
The stein of crystal tells no fortune spare,
nor one of bounty, yet what is true?
With drink, I dredge the pain of life anew
and wallow in the grain of cheaper wares,
degrade myself and blame fate, for my strife,
ignoring all God's gift, so loud I cry,
as salted tears stain trails of my despair.
If only, I had been a better wife
I'd not be sitting here.
Form: Curtal Sonnet [A precurser to the Italian Sonnet]
abcabcdbcd c [10 1/2 lines]
The things that we value are lost in time
and only preserved in one's memory.
It's useless to try to capture in rhyme
as all else is changing ceremony.
I remember what it once meant to meet
or welcome a loved one at the airport.
Time spent waiting for a daughter was sweet.
Moments of recognition at the port
door was worth all the traffic to get there.
In this world terror and security
are acceptable so we must beware
and lose all the small forms of dignity
we valued a moment ago. Truth is
not war's casualty, humanity is.