Love’s Sonnet
Tattered womb, shred by sharp blades of regret,
Weighed down by rough millstones, dark as shame,
Pale dawn stumbles from midnight to forget -
Stinging acids scar through showers of blame.
A whisper of consolation murmurs,
Infused with the incense of compassion,
A harbinger of enchanted grace demurs
Spellbound, purified enigmas refashioned
Love, like a lyric – a lady in waiting –
Steps out of ebony’s clinging shadows
Releasing hard night with nightmares abating
The pall of shrouds rent by empathy’s glow.
The chivalry of love – a silk caress –
Eternal perfection, fulfills love’s quest.
shock
in. abundance
transitory
& irregular
once
refashioned
in
random
diversity
of
erotic
existence
yet
deliberate
innocence
of heart
When this cold, broken world is healed of its sins,
and flooded with light and the warmth of your grace,
When all is reborn and remade for forever,
and time's paralyzing fear is erased from reality,
When you raise my humble body for an endless celebration -
a dance, a song, a heart-bursting Hosanna -
When you make all things right ...
Will I still wear my scars?
My scalded flesh ... it is all I have known.
Shall it be refashioned into flawless skin?
What age will I be? How skinny? How fat?
I have been many things, and there is more I could be ...
Forgive my curiosity, for I know it matters little.
Better to focus on shepherding the fragile soul you gave me.
I leave my future body to your hands.
It, as all else, is your gift to give.
4 February 2024
RELISH THE RICHNESS
luscious
notions
attempt
to demonstrate
vibrancy
touchingly subdued
original
precisely
endured
refashioned
fulsomely
in
gorgeous
desired
voluptuousness
feminine
apparent nonchalance
inhabiting
&evoking
sevelteness
semi-revealed
conscious
twinned
with entitlement
intriguingly
sensuous
stunningly
nurturing
the surreal
Dawn arrived beleaguered
and redrew the peaks
across a bruised sky that churned
a displeased blue and pewter.
Soon lightening, a brilliant white
with titanium opacity,
crackled with scraunches
and screeches across the horizon.
Rain labored brutishly
against the grueling winds
savaging the already sodden,
soppy, soupy earth.
Multi-dimensional, phantasmagoric,
noctidial nightmare till, conterminally,
the broken sky refashioned itself
in vivid electric pink and tangerine.
Off with the old
Into the new
Januarys gallant attempt
To startle the Year
Except we’ve been swimming in the rain
Refashioned old shoes with stitches
Missed the right pub
Spoilt for choice
Photography at Blackfriars
Perhaps its muse time
Find my friends keys
he needs a new mojo
yellow leaf leaves soon
assurance draft to return...
men yearn to unlace.
all awaits autumn
arrived, invoking slumbers...
hoist fingers to pen.
like seductive smile
autumn greens adapt reddish...
refashioned the soil.
the birds and ant rush
gathering bread before cold...
nostalgic relived.
giant eruption of
mushroom maturing season~
relishes flavors.
pure ecstasy, this
seasons bestow on mankind...
ignite, poet in me.
dated; 09/09/2022
used grammar checker from poetry soup for correction.
Shards of broken glass
mixed with dried flower petals
Refashioned as art.
Reborn --
Restored
Refreshed
Renewed
Rejuvenated
Revived
Reawakened
Rekindled
Regenerated
Remade
Revitalized
Reshaped
Reconstructed
Redesigned
Refashioned
Re-upped
Redeveloped
Reclaimed
Rehabilitated
Redone
Rewired
Refined
Reinvigorated --
Re-created!
Pain and fire; you understand?
No! I do not understand myself!
And what have I done?
O God - what have I -
I don't want the answer but I cannot run
What's broken then? Can circumstance really be faulted?
Or has the apple rotted right down to the core?
Nothing left but to perish in its own toxic flesh.
Yet ... if once pure then corrupt, could it not then be true?
That I could be refashioned for good all anew?
31 July 2019
Beautifully broken;
I’m tattered but not torn;
Beautifully broken;
I’m not lost in the storm.
Beautifully broken;
I’m put together with shattered dreams.
Beautifully broken;
I’m not what I seem.
Beautifully broken;
My scars out for the world to see.
Beautifully broken;
I’m not what I seem.
Beautifully broken;
My mantra is clear.
Beautifully broken;
I have a renewed purpose here.
Beautifully broken;
I’m tattered but not torn.
Beautifully broken;
I can withstand the storm.
Beautifully broken;
My parts form my whole.
Beautifully broken;
I can bare my soul.
Beautifully broken;
Refashioned with renewed dreams.
Beautifully broken;
I’m not what I seem.
4/15/18
when everyone has nothing
we will fight for scraps of bread
while the dogs are eating gourmet food
our school kids dine on things long dead
when all of “us” are equal
except the ones on top
we’ll eat the roots and spit the dirt
while “they” consume the crop
when all the words are “numbered”
with a level of “perception”
the talking heads and asses
will use mathematical deception
when the minds of children
are constrained by “liars” truth
and street corner rantings
the lonely voice of youth
there will be a rebellion
not of weapons but of words
refashioned into ploughshares
the uprising - tongues as swords
when everyone has nothing
something must cease to be
when everyone has closed their eyes
only the blind will see
John G. Lawless
©3/14/2018
"And now I drink a toast to your coffin.
May it be fashioned of lumber obtained from a hundred-year-old cypress tree
whose seed will germinate this year."
Rob Brezsny
Refrain:
And now I drink a toast to your absence of coffin.
May you become refashioned of organic fibers
gifted from a thousand-year-old cypress forest
whose vulnerable seed will regerminate yet again this year,
and every year to follow
to lead our future
through all past time
of well-rooted trees
born for regenerately crowning Earth.
s/he sits in her/office day in & day out
eyes popping out of her/his head from
pawing over endless manuscripts,
the yearning from voices all over the world
sits at her/his very fingertips &
from years of experience,
the editor slashes whole parts of another’s
masterpiece,
dicing & slicing in order to make them
marketable, neath’ the guise of
a need for structure & syntax---
the editor themselves in particular
remembers when they were younger &
not yet crushed by realities of the industry,
when they had dreams of their own &
it was only their own work which they
refashioned & polished, hoping to one day be
read & revered, as opposed to doing the mechanical work
for someone else whom for all intent & purpose,
they can’t for the life of them see why people buy
their ****.
A person’s life is all about choices.
Some are regrettable, others just fine.
Yet the one’s we choose rarely suffices
Our needs and refashioned minds.
Take a man with a chance for promotion
He’ll embrace it without further ado
Deciding on a capricious notion
Winds up regretting on Monday’s debut.
The same can be said of a high school belle
Forgoing the occasion for college.
Marries instead she's unhappy as hell
Missing out on a world of vast knowledge.
When faced with a choice choose not just any
Right choices are few, the wrong ones many.
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