Long ere breaths a chalice dawn, eternal
trials beleaguered gone, test the wayward course
yon distant clinks, bespoken image seized
his past governed weights in tallied journals
that time possess and nonesuch empty force
where quills and parchment favor bags clang-freed.
Light gusts midst a low mountain scroll past fish
and bread, the first author writes his new creed,
"God is Emmanuel" with us, endorse,
"Jesus is God's Messiah" ... crowds, Jewish
profit taxes, Prophet souls ... source.
My buttercup bewitched me evermore
Those mesmerising eyes of a gazelle
Celestial cerulean 'amore'
Enamoured I'm by my breathtaking belle
I prize the bonny sunshine of my heart
She's my pulchritudinous 'querido'
Catalyst of my Parnassian art
She's like a splendiferous soignée doe
The moon can't compete with my 'priyatham'
The sun shivers at her angelic touch
Together we're in resplendent rhythm
She is a noticeable nymph nonesuch
My summer's entranced by 'dulcinea'
Forever we're entwined, she's my 'jiya'
05.16.2021
**amore - Latin for sweetheart
Querido - Spanish/Portuguese for darling
Parnassian - poetic
Priyatham - Hindi for heartthrob
Dulcinea - Spanish for sweetheart
Jiya - Hindi for 'life'
***soignée and rhythm - counted as 2 syllables
Dulcinea - counted as 4 syllables
For John Hamilton's "Summer love sonnet" contest
With body and mind you respond to my touch,
gobbling up kisses, like sweet penuche,
I could not ask for a better lover; there is nonesuch.
When I grind my gears, you become my clutch
and I lean on you like an emotional crutch.
A magic elixir, you quench my heart
like sweet nectar, neither bitter nor tart.
Forged on passion's anvil, your lovemaking's an art.
And paused on the moment, my smile presses restart.
Your granite body buffed to a sheen
has a vulnerable heart; you're not a machine.
And yet, you make the impossible look routine.
With rippled muscles, as though chiseled from stone,
you're a warm schnook where dreams have blown,
You're the wind in my sails, without uttering a sound.
Behind the scenes, you don't speak much,
but like dawn's first light, you offer a new start.
Cushioning my falls, you spot me on life's trampoline
and somewhere between estrogen and testosterone
you find balance, both feet firm on the ground.
(Minuanetta)
1/26/2018
Be still and know
God’s Spirit shows
us where to go
Selah. Be still and know.
We talk too much
Spirit, nonesuch,
leads with soft touch
when we’re talking too much.
God is still near
when we can’t hear
lost in our fear
have faith, God is still near.
Peace be still, words
from my Shepherd
my heart was stirred
Peace, be still, all I heard.
God's still small voice
hearing? our choice,
Selah. Rejoice
heeding God's still small voice.
May 29, 2017
inspired by the thoughts of Linda Bishop
in her story, God Knows Where I Am
summer had slipped away
but the days still had sunshine clinging to the fading trees
and 'neath one such white picket fence copper colored oak
she lay in the cool cool shade
with the magic of her momentary grace
with the delicate beauty of her face
and gave me back all my summer days
wrapped up in one of her smiles
we ran hand in hand in winter fishing town
we had been laughing sweetly over some nonesuch thing
and our joy was a beauty to behold
could have warmed the world with the love laughter shared
with the heat of the hearts beating
with the magic of her momentary grace
all the delicate and lovely beauty of her face
winters eve
found her in my arms
never could have known just what
wonderful things the world can hold
till you find yourself in the gift of loves tender kiss
could have warmed the world
with all i found in her tender eyes
we made our way back to our white picket fence oak
now bare with winters hand
stood neath her spread branches
kissing in the moonlight
her momentary grace
and all her sweet beautiful face
could warm the world with her heart
even on winters eve
(for my friend Kara, whom could warm the world)
CAMELOT
In nonesuch age was there a world so fair
Wherein the rule of justice led the way
All men could prosper with good work and care
With sun and law and honor every day
Twelve good men true gave all an equal share
In nature’s bounty, and held careful sway
An ideal place and evil there was not
The myth impossible of Camelot
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck
Entered in Nette Onclaud's Contest MOMENT IN ANOTHER TIME
The scent still lingers on my fingertips
Of days and nights and houses on fire
We are the nostalgia of nothing that tires
A metaphoric phrase amongst the most literal of days
The poise and the name will always remain
My recent awakening, a beast nonesuch
And our mothers never knew as much
A stroke, a glance, a branded touch
`
So we dance within this hourglass
As if time is whipping by
For we neither have such a thing to waste
Nor are the fools to turn awry
We’ll continue these weightless rounds
Our limbs contently extended and sound
Tongues that talk of shapes and escapes
Oh, the routes we’ll take