This Red, Red Rose is Out of Place!

One does not leave a rose mid sandy beach:
Perchance, a seagull dropped it here somehow?
As much as I might like, I cannot reach
or bend to such poor logic will I bow.

Oh, No! This dying rose is out of place!
It needs some dainty green and shady lawn.
The sun has wrinkled up its little face.
You’ve left it frying here but still I yawn.

My modern ways want none of your goodbye.
My love,  you’d best leave words to show your heart
You’ve better chance to make my sadness fly
than wilted rose of red regret to part.

So, hear me well as I shake off this sand:
Please leave a better note or better plan!

Love is Blind on Such a Summer Night

T’was on a summer solstice such as this
when drunk with idleness, old Bottom napped.
Awakened then, his new reflection kissed
two donkey ears, a toothy grin; a sap!
“Hee haw!”: a screeching noise that made him frown.
But through the eyes of love, Titania sees
our Bottom, hero, in the place of Crown!
So, love is tilted as the summer breeze

with lofty dreams and sprightly attitude.
Old Oberon’s pretensions might be blamed
for all the fairy pleasures that are brewed.
Beware! a maze of errors may inflame

for love is blind and surely ecstasy;
Old Shakespeare knew of love…and you and me.

“A Book Review”

A Book Review

From Alabama’s red clay earth she runs.
Her forebears, Englishmen. A welcome song
is heard all through the green wood in the sun
and with the loving dove she sings along.

Her tunes are written for the lavish oak:
her love; the red, red flutter of their leaf.
And if you sense that heart with which she spoke
you’ll find among her pages bits of grief.

Atop the swaying Chinaberry tree
she found her way when climbing, as a child.
A glancing back in rhyme her memory
where borrowed thoughts from nature is her style.

Oh, happiness a tearful book of Now
as verses calm the speaker with a vow.lovebirds4-best-2

 

(Rondelet) “I Searched My Heart”

I searched my heart; forgiveness brought;
her schemes were poison and my hell.
I searched my heart; forgiveness brought:
Her lies, dead promises I fought.
So drew the water’s magic spell
for damning holds an empty well.
So searched my heart; forgiveness brought.

Rondelet (French form) 7 lines, 3 Refrains, line 1,3,7.
Rhyme Scheme: AbAabbA, Meter: Iambic Tetrameter.

“Grandmother”

(Hexsonnetta- iambic hexameter)

Grandmother

Awakened much too soon;
so premature that glow,
her budding mouth was closed.
So warm but without bloom;
so silent as the tomb,
the sound within her froze

Her marker leaves no joy
though flowers shadow where
her mom has left them there.
A faded, rattled toy_
the sun a faithful ploy
as if it somehow cared.

And so my rose is gone
and in my heart; no song.

Growing Up In Southboro Park

“Growing Up in Southboro Park”

A landmark on a map, forever there.
Southboro Park, a place not far from school.
Forever pasted in my book to share,
I do recall that day I was a fool.

At summer’s end, a picnic then was planned.
My gown, a strapless, Lerner’s, stretchy bust.
My mother warned against this fashion, grand,
for adolescent boys are curious.

And so we played a game of reckless tag
and reaching back, he grabbed my frock (I frowned,
appareled as I was) but there’s no lag
mid cries of jest my dress came tumbling down.

Oh, vivid still, Southboro Park, for me;
indelible, when lost, your privacy.