How To Write a Sonnet

How To write a Sonnet

A miracle of birth; I see one word,
“ring`ed”, appear upon my pristine page.
Like angel sent, he mumbles, barely heard;
a fluttering of wings becomes my sage.

“I am not made of steel”, I hear him say.
“Your magic ring; it must be made of brass”.
My bonnet; let it tilt as I sashay
and grab the circled gem as we fly past.

And as his nostrils flare; we gallop ’round.
Calliope , he sounds; we sing and turn.
My pen is one much twisted `fore he bounds;
escapes my inner critic; burns and churns.

For love of form,  the freedom may be torn;
But from my heart a poem may be born.

The Empty Chair

“The Empty Chair”

At table, next to empty chair
we gather thoughts; give thanks and care
to muddle through the holiday
and mourn for him who is away;
missing In action_ none knows where.

Our wall holds baby pictures there;
Our family remembers; shares.
And here, his dog; ol’ George, he waits
at table next to empty chair.

We raise our glass; the wine is fair.
The food delights mid candle’s flair.
Our hearts let go, but long the day;
a mist of sadness hangs and stays.
We pause, observe ol’ George; aware
at table, next to empty chair.

A Letter To William!

Dear William, metaphor is gone from view.
Your sonnet is with snickers lately sent.
The Moderns now make mince-meat out of you.
Word nerds say your ‘summer’s day’ a vent.

Oh, William , where must mindful poet step?
The Moderns have no heart for thoughts of love
They know not of pentameter, (those shleps)
or how to rhyme expectant like the dove.

Now, rhyme, they say must be a gambler’s chance.
And all the words, wired, juxtaposed through air.
The line is not conditioned for romance.
Egalitarian, each poet shares.

“There’s nothing new beneath the sun”, they squawk.
As each bard copies other like a hawk.Vulture

Ballad For Brandon and Conner

“Ballad for Brandon and Conner”

The raging wind had damned her home that night.
She must take steps to save her children, too.
She quickly gathers up her boys with fright
and stumbles out her door; what can she do?

A dang’rous drive; she seeks a shelter strong
but then, headlong, the car falls in a ditch.
She clings to branch of fallen tree ‘ere long
and clings to children then, the wind would pitch!

She bangs upon his door and cries with fear!
The wind has eaten up her darling boys.
She cries for him inside who will not hear;
this hardened heart of man who gives no joy.

How could I help, said he, “I had no shoes.
She was to blame; it was her choice to choose!”

(For PAD WritersDigest Nov 3, Prompt: write about something ‘fearful”) Brandon and Conner, age 2 and 4, lost their lives in the storm, Sandy, which hit the east coast Sunday, Nov 3, 2012.