The Choice

The best of dancers ruined by a host

of other loves that to the heart may call.

Some choices must be made or not at all.

The dance too brief ; the song may end for most

and fly away from splendor of romance.

Crescendo reached and still the dance she owns.

Life is too short to settle, oh, for less.

Eshoo the heart; don’t make the dreadful choice!

Her soul now hovers.  Grief is like a plow

that pushes every goal to here and now.

 

(Was watching the Movie, “The Red Shoes” when I wrote this.  The agony of being forced to make a choice between two over-whelming loves can drive one mad.)

Sonnet for Shylah

Shyla cocoonSonnet for Shylah

While Shylah rocks, cocooned within her sleep

what dreams are viewed inside her tiny head?

With all her world of warmth she snuggles, deep,

how near or far from heaven is her bed? 

What are such flights for dreamy baby girl?

She wanders far in whirls of silken trees.

She floats ‘oer hills where wing`ed fairies swirl.

She’s flung, aloft, amid a lilac’s sneeze.

A whispered tease from nature tweaks her nose

as drifting now, meanders forth the breeze.

The lark will pause to serenade this rose.

On wings of praise, shared notes with nature freeze

in awe.  They halt before their song begins:

it’s Shylah’s hushed, small breath they must attend.

The Garden

Field of Flowers

The Garden

Imagine all the love our lives enclose

 if placed within walled garden’s memory.

There gently falls the rain where grows the rose

as droplets tremble in the wind and flee.

A wondrous world with rain-bowed colors blown

‘neath places in the sun where true things grow.

So be our rose whose petals now are flown

yet youth and passion’s heart remain and glow.

Oh, love’s true colors want to beam and breathe.

She grows, undying,  in green bowers where

her petals show a bold, bright destiny

so wild,  her vines are willing yet to share.

And our imagined rose, forever free

remains within our garden’s memory.

 

 

“There May Be Dragons”

Photo by Jacqueline Casey

There may be dragons in that soul-less flight

where harpies;  hovering aloft her bed,

born of a spell that chills the wicked night

and winters in her heart some unknown dread.

There may be dragons in the hate-filled gloom:

a whistling as the icy wind now drones.

As thundering is heard; impending doom

may crack the branches of the empire’s thrones.

Oh, seek to know the reason they are here.

The slow roll and the glaring eyes proclaim

love’s mated with a devil’s crushing leer.

There’s mystery; their birth is foreordained.

There may be dragons in the frozen night

as all those kingdoms hold their breath in fright.

 

(this poem influenced by “Game of Thrones”…)

 

 

“She’s Gone”

credit: Dreamstime.com

When he’s here,
I’ll not be there.
Everyone knows I’m a coward
who’ll refuse his foot-in-the-door.
I’ll pull the shades
turn off the light
throw the chain-bolt.
I will be sneaky
as he is punctual.

“Mother Eclipse”

Solar Eclipse August 21, 2017.

Mother Eclipse

The morning doves now pause their cooing, grand!
The infant’s little lids close heavily.
All nature yawns at fading of their land
while green has turned to black too instantly!

How must our father’s fore us felt when torn:
their brightest sun is sprinkled on black leaves.
Like little half-moons dance about the morn
convince him of a dark eternity.

Forever gone, man’s mother-light has left:
she hides in darkness, cold, their world up-ends!
And falling to their knees, their heart’s bereft
as blackness shakes their bones and leaves no friend.

“Oh, light of all our life, please with us stay
as from your breast our universal sway.”

“How To Write A Sonnet”

How To Write A Sonnet

The miracle of birth when words do sing.
The hungry mouth so round from out its shell.
Stout voices from the nest may try their wings.
Newborns and rocking horses may rebel.

I am not made of steel”, the riddle plays:
“A magic song is soft and full of sighs”.
My bonnet, as it tilts and then sashays,
I’ll grab the golden ring before it flies.

And as his nostrils flare; we gallop round.
Calliope’d,  his pipes now spin and turn.
My pen becomes a dagger ‘fore he bounds;
escapes my inner critic ‘fore he burns.

For love of form, some well might offer scorn
but from my heart a sonnet, sure, is borne.

 

 

 

“Adrift, Upon the Lee”

free-wiki-Max_Jensen_Großes_Marinestück-seascape-640-pxAdrift, Upon the Lee”

My soul’s adrift; her spirit lost to wind.

I’m tossed and vainly seek a safer lee.

I pull the anchor chain and with it send

my heart a-flutter, full-blown, out to sea.

My boat has ample weight yet she is trim.

She dreams of color and a high romance

with sun and wind and frothy water’s brim

across a deck that cherishes the dance.

But I am ghostly silent.  Lethargy

and fear within my muggy heart resides.

No compass; no direction do I see.

My stern into a darker water glides.

Oh, save us from that whore; my soul set free,

or else this landlubber; this poet, bleed.

 

Sonnet For Siyah

Siyah 13012839_1259927520702259_4055680267965955538_nSonnet For Siyah

The song that springs from your sweet innocence;
The petal of your lips an open grin.
A flower is my Siyah; no pretense;
Her baby eyes remind us love must win.

Oh, stay, my little bud! It is your day!
Remind us that our moments with you now
will never come again in this same way;
far richer than King Solomon’s gold bough.

The mystery and magic of your smile
like precious water could a thirst allay.
The richness of our earth is in your guile.
I will remember all your balmy ways.

Whenever I am feeling down and low
I will remember Siyah’s golden glow.