Sonnet. Poems

The Perfume Bottle

The crystal perfume bottle still remains,
the one he gifted her so long ago,
upon the dressing table veiling pains
of life’s uncaring, unrelenting blow.

The soft gardenia scent still takes him there
to moments shared when loving seemed complete;
unending nights beneath the stars they’d share,
and every sunrise was a joy to greet.

But then one winter day the angels came
to

Remembering Through Journeying

It’s caught up, always, in those little things:
street corners, half-familiar: shop facades:
it’s not so much expansive boulevards
as rain-worn roofs which pluck the silvery strings
of sorrow. Part of my subconscious clings
to remnants – ruined fragments, broken sherds.
They say the brain’s an organ which discards,
not hoards. Why, then, these cruel rememberings?
A tranquil helmsman, plotting perfect vectors,
is how

Veranillo de Membrillo

(Spanish people find September to be very sad:
they call it "the little summer of the quince".)

Somehow, the silver birches simply know.
This splendid heaven, pure refulgent blue
can not abide.  The grass fronds, stiff as glue,
like swifts and grillos, uninclined to go,
are troubled by the carking of the crow.       

Getting a Grasp on Our Thoughts

When trying to grasp thoughts through our mind’s haze,
It’s like trying to escape a thought maze.
As the bits and pieces accumulate,
How will they connect, how will they relate?

We try to relate them to things we know.
Each thought should be placed right where it should go.
So many topics to assimilate,
We constantly add and have to update.

Without

Now That I Have Won My Love's Heart

Now That I Have Won My Love's Heart

Now that I have won my love’s heart and trust,
I must prove myself as a worthy choice
And secure the fickle bond between us
When others challenge for her hand and voice.

They utter words to sway her opinion
And whisper sweet nothings into her ear
(To paint me as a loathsome perception),
Ready

Aenghus and Caer

A hundred-fifty swans in dancing light
of sun were shimmering upon the lake
when Aenghus, God of Love, beheld the sight
and called to her who made his poor heart ache,
"You haunt my dreams. I die for love of you!"
With her reply, the cloak that he had on
turned into soft white wings, for love was true.
And thus it

walk the talk

part time meditation is of no use
peace must become our orientation
deluded cravings of ego excuse
imbibing love’s divine bliss vibration 

cheerfully repay debts of love we owe
settling all our karmic dues one by one
making childlike heart pure like pristine snow
let our soul’s aura shine like yonder sun

free from thought, as awareness self-aware
doing nothing we invoke a

Poetess Becca Teagan

I thought of you today and shed a tear
remembering the poems that we shared
and though at times we fought 'twas always clear
that in the end the two of us still cared

the Soup at times can be a fickle beast
not always sure who is a friend or clown
and though attacks and insults rarely ceased
we had each

The Unbroken Sun Osiris

Glory to her hands that stitched the green,
That sought the pieces of a love torn wide:
For her strong grief, a river spilling light:
For her sharp magic, beautiful and keen,
That found the fragments and refused to hide:
And knit his broken body back from night.

All things lost, scattered, shattered, and undone:
Whatever's broken (who can say why?):
She holds

The Void In Plane Sight

I feel like I'm drowning in the stormy sea,
Tiamat help me write on the Void, please ,
My mind empty ;coming up with thoughts I freeze,
I feel I am drowing;what is the key ?
I drank some Jameson whisky to lube my brain ,
Today I feel like an empty beer barrel,
The words I need I find hard

If Bard I Be

The sonnet form's antique and mired in dust,
Why should I strive thus so to write one well?
If bard I be then learn new styles I must.
Will I achieve my goal, who can foretell?
So here I sit again with pen in hand,
Attempting some new quatrains that will rhyme,
Entreating Muse to guide my falt'ring wand.
The formula, so

Keep my memory

To him, and I hope he will always 
                                           have me in his

A Purposeful Life

As children life is just a game we play,
Learning new lessons as we live each day.
Year after year as we grow and mature,
We sense that there’s more than to just endure.

We must have a purpose and not just fun,
Something worthwhile to pass on when we’re done.
Something to show others, we understand,
Encouraging words to be all

True silence

how still is our silence if thoughts intrude
even as words in the conception stage
since symbols distort, being always crude
even latent stirrings, mind battles wage

negating this form and the universe
piercing pores of space, stopping flow of time
we as spirit have no need to rehearse 
mirroring God’s heartbeat felt as love’s chime

vibrant thus in a unified force

Get on with your die

some signal assigned you has not arrived
all doors locked with house's gatekeeper gone
removed remote heart not in to survive
with losses a plenty there's no will has won

lost love hangs ever present clinging past
across forward path and no way around
with futures foreclosed chance saying at last
blame guilt any excuse will bring you down

falls daily no regard

• Short Sonnet. Poems
• Famous Sonnet. Poems
• Best Sonnet. Poems
• Read Sonnet. Poems
• Long Sonnet. Poems
• Sonnet. Quotes