An Angel's Sonnet (National Poetry Month: Day 24)

With weary step you make your mournful way
To weep again together o'er your Lord,
To cleanse and wrap his body, then to pray
And sing a parting hymn in anguished chords.
In this dim light, for sun has yet to dawn,
'Tis hard to see at first with tearful eyes:
The stone that once had sealed the grave is gone!
Alarm o'erflows your hearts with fearful cries.
Fear not, beloved! Come, and see inside.
Why look ye for the living 'midst the dead?
I know that ye seek Jesus, crucified;
He is not here, but risen as he said!
Tell all the world Christ lives! He reigns above
And soon will come to visit you in love.

A Mother's Sonnet (National Poetry Month: Day 23)

How are you gone to where I cannot come?
Lost beyond doors unassailable
Nor e'en to be approached, my blessed son;
The way is hedged-up, guarded, terrible!
The watch is fixed and sleepless day and night.
It will admit no other to come near;
The seal is set, the stone secure and tight,
Preventing those who'll not be held by fear.
But even could I pass beyond those portals
I could but cold hands and cheeks caress
For you are passed beyond the reach of mortals-
I felt the nails and spear in my own flesh.
As son of God grief could have passed you o'er
But now, dear son, I ne'er shall see you more!

~~~

Today is the day of mourning that followed Black Friday.
I chose a sonnet because it is the traditional form for an expression of love, and also because today (April 23) is recognized as the birthday of William Shakespeare. The Shakespearean sonnet (of which this is an example) is the most common in English. You can read the Bard's orginals here.

Why I'm Smiling Today

 Through morning rain a wakeful light expands
diffuse and gentle as the soft'ning gray
that furrows rich and pregnant oe'r the day,
so confident in sure, capable hands.

The air alive with smells that dance and sway,
with sounds washed clean of dust and healed of scars,
contains the strength of seeds, of unseen stars,
the wealth of wind that breath alone can weigh.

There's music in the mist no tune can mar
and calls to mind the power of the sea
endowing with a calm fertility
each motion, thought, and moment that is ours.

Suffused with this same light, this air, this song
I can't but smile, and breathe, and hum along.

The Hourglass

However many thousand-thousand grains of sand may lie
in glass above as time to come, or beneath as time gone by,
still in this trickling instant only one may tumble past
the narrow neck of now that is the soul of the Hourglass.

This fragile moment funnels the to be into has been
through an is that is too slender for all but the slimmest when.
I wish sometimes, when time is thin, the barrier might collapse
so that the years to love you in might hurry down en masse.

But flowing seconds filter by--some beige, some black, some gold--
enough to run your fingers through; far too many to hold.
And, blessedly, now stems the flow that else would far surpass
the breath and life with which I hold time briefly in my grasp.

Let moments, then, fall one by one until the very last
has tumbled singly, subtly through the soul of the Hourglass.

Winter Wind

The song she sings is beautiful, an aria of the soul.
Majestic music moves the skies with the sadness of a world.
Beneath a cold and muted sun she tends an empty land
unhelped, alone, and yet she sings through every space she can.

Standing there to hear her sighs is chill, and cleansing, too.
Tears unnoticed frost my cheek, a silent frozen dew
that knows somehow her tragedy and can't but stop to hear,
but to me the weight of grief is much too cold to bear.

Ashamed then of the shivering that drives me back indoors,
I guiltily cocoon my home in levity and warmth
and only listen from afar through panes of frosted glass
to wisps and strands, e'en though she sings as long as winter lasts.

I'm yet too young, but hope someday to have a heart that's deep
enough to hear the winter wind, the grandeur of her grief.

When I Have Fears

This week we all started with the same first line, provided by Nate, and wrote the rest of the poem. This was mine.

When I have fears that I may cease to be
I clutch the present tight into my fist
Lest loosing it to vanish in the mist
No future shall appear supporting me.

The hole I'd leave behind so empty seems
That thus with cramping fingers, aching tears
I hold and squeeze the feeling from my fears
And find myself in life, in hope, in dreams.

But clinging to receeding time in vain,
I'm battered, twisting, breathless in life's flow.
It softens only when I let it go
And learn to live in doubt and truth again.

May fears and pain and present find release
In peace and good and future when I cease.

Jun 19, 2009

February Fourteenth

Roses and Violets - poetic cliche
Red for love and Blue for truth
Colors invoked ev'ry year on this day
By the smiles of love and youth

Flowers perennial, buds ever new
Roses of the heart and eye
Beautiful Blossoms reminding of you
Violets constant as the sky

Though 'tis still winter and all here is white
Frozen 'neath deep banks of snow,
Sharing thses colors in mutual delight
Warms our hearts and flowers grow

Roses and Violets for my Valentine
Mine are yours; will you be mine?

Feb 16, 2009