Category: sonnet

I carried him alone

(0 minutes ago)
 
So you are gone  who once declared your love
Alas  for phantasm conjured in your mind
For onto me you brought down from above
A torment bitter and   your words unkind.
Used to  friendship from within your books
You did not understand that I was real
Irritation grew as  fierce  you looked;
You threw your poisoned  arrows  at my heel.
What once you loved then you began to hate
If not perfect then intolerable I must be
And then you cursed me with this  sorry fate
Our child was born and him you’d never see.
Illegitimate and born in desert grey.
I carried him alone from death’s dark rays

When thou hast stripped my heart

When thou hast stripped my   heart  of all its skin
And left me to the wolves  to be consumed
Shall I ask what was my mortal sin,
And hast thou never thought I was redeemed?

The pains I suffer I am loth to take
For I have thrashed been in thy machines
And no more can my little heart now break;
As fragmented it giveth forth its screams.

Yet should I be unwilling to accept?
Is it not the case that thou  made me?
So  shall I sin if I thy will reject,
Not knowing how to live and how to be?

The mystery of suffering is too dark
When shall I see thy living golden spark?

 

Endings take time

A baby too soon shocked from mother’s womb
May linger on for several painful days.
The life force is as strong as is a lion;
And infants too are subject to its sway.
A tree cut down when full of summer leaves
Will struggle on and take a month to die.
And so it is with friendship which is scorned;
Our grief takes time to dissipate and fly.
Bereft of love and child and human touch,
Be careful when you slip from human grasp.
The knife that pierced the heart will cause no gain;
And should we live we feel a bitter pain.
Though cunning wiles and tricks may give the lie,
When you have used them,your  heart too will die.


We feel our love absurd

Art though my own and may I now love thee?
Art though my own and shall I  thy wife be?
As waiting long  lays waste to love and joy
Art though mine,  or with me do’st thou toy?

O treat me not like  stuff disposable
O treat me not  as one intolerable.
For if  thou touch then thou hast made a claim.
And from  my heart, to lose is to be maimed.

For  women are not like  to sheep or goats
We have hearts to feel what thou hast wrought
And if  thou come to steal then   thou’rt a  thief.
One of many  causing women grief.

Do not touch with hand or with sweet words
For  if thou  lie, we feel our love  absurd

 

We must be incarnate

So much depends on mood and time of day

We interpret or mis-shape what we perceive.

The sun may shine to show a better way

Or absent that,a transient cloud deceive.

 

No lowing herds wind down our oil fumed  roads.

Tranquillity at dusk has disappeared.

With artificial light the daytime mode’s

 Prolonged and reverie’s  most feared.

 

To   truly live,we must be incarnate. 

God himself has paid the price alone.

For time misspent we do not get rebate.

As,like the leaves in wind,away we’re blown.

 

To live  aright perception must be clear;

Including in its breadth all that we fear.
march-2012-0491


When our spirit dwells in our body we are incarnate.Some of us don't 
feel we are fully incarnate.The negative view of the body in does not help.

 

Stones and leaves and flowers

painted-2-my-books-and-home-010.jpg

midsummer days evoke the trancelike past
where children played in joyous, daisied fields
with buttercups so bright the memory lasts
a freedom that our conscious growth will steal.

those stones and leaves and many coloured flowers
were gathered into images that glow
yet later we forget those treasured hours
when for a while we lived in life’s deep flow

we did not look and see,but felt at one
we lived as did the birds high in the trees
now we see , yet experiencing has gone
we no longer live like flowers all  filled with bees

to lose ourselves in nature is a joy
which to our adult selves we must restore

Of loving flesh

What angst you did inflict upon my soul
What grief gave you  mine eyes to weep afresh.
What  ire do you reserve  to take its toll;
What everlasting loss of loving  flesh?

What sorrow did you wish to save for me
What worthless thoughts did you intend to grow
What ends and means then wished you to see
What  un-contained shudders did you  sow?

Who you are has no interest to me.
Whom you pray for  makes a mock of God.
When you  feel ,then from it you shall flee.
And will he rule you then  with his own rod?

Do not think you’ve made an end of me.
Eternity and time my friends will be

 

A lover of the vapid is my friend

A lover of the vapid is my friend
So rapidly to boredom we  can wend.
Yet should  love like this  be brought to sudden end
Or clung to as we struggle through the bends?

Is the choosing  of insipid  acts
Genetic, to be treated with mere tact?
Or if it’s learned, then how should I react
To give him aid to  learn  that which he lacks?

And who am I to judge that he  should change?
For vapidity’s subjective  in its range.
And criticism if ept may then derange,
To lunacy his mind  be rearranged.

Personal  judgements   should not issue   fast,
As  the pains we cause may for an era last

Shall I my life of evil start

When true love’s gone and doom hangs over head
When life runs like a river to the sea
Then shall I take new lovers to my bed?
And with their carnal touch consoled be?

When my love lies,so breaks my tender heart.
When life seems grey and rocks bestrew my path.
Then, shall I my life of evil start?
And on the world shall I bestow my wrath?

When true love lies and wrecks all loyalty.
When puzzlement makes all my world seem mad.
Then I shall upend causality
And let myself do deeds which make me glad.

For I have love’s sweet child inside my soul
And I shall tend her till at last she’s whole

Abject

Definition of abject in English:

 abject
 Adjective
Pronunciation: /ˈabdʒɛkt/

1(Of something bad) experienced or present to the maximum degree:his letter plunged her into abject miseryabject poverty

1.1(Of a situation or condition) extremely unpleasant and degrading:the abject condition of the peasants
2(Of a person or their behaviour) completely without pride or dignity; self-abasing:an abject apology
Derivatives
abjection

Pronunciation: /abˈdʒɛkʃ(ə)n/

NOUN
abjectly

Pronunciation: /ˈabdʒɛktli/

ADVERBabjectness

Pronunciation: /ˈabdʒɛktnəs/

NOUN

 

Example sentences

Origin

Late Middle English (in the sense ‘rejected’): from Latin abjectus, past participle of abicere‘reject’, from ab- ‘away’ + jacere ‘to throw’.

How to count infinity by hand

The uncanny is a space which I avoid
I do not wish to meet with spirits  vile.
Though with some men ,it’s true that I have toyed.
I  dropped them all and sane was I the while.

Yet when I met your eyes so dark  and strange
A force more strong than my own pulled me in.
A   premonition that my life would surely change,
Before I knew your double,your dark twin.

In dreams and  in my nightmares he will come
To capture me and take me  to his land.
I do not know what choice to make of man
Nor how to count infinity by hand

The double is an augury of death
Yet in this space uncanny is a path

 

Astonishing that we should live at all.

To fulminate against the hands of fate
To vent our anger on  beloved friends
Will not repair our ills and our mistakes
But may bring friendships to  a bitter end.

For who are we to know what is the best?
Who are we to choose when loved ones die?
And  do not think this is a needed test.
As if on us God wastes his time to spy.

Once  we were a joining of two cells
The lively sperm, a salmon riding high.
The egg awaiting without  need for bells
Is fertilised and grows that which  shall die.

Astonishing that we should live at all.
Unsurprising, that a loved one falls.

If this be love,then let me dwell alone.

If this be love,then let me feel your hate.

If you be true then let me hear your lies.

To save my heart,your message came too late.

And now my need is for the thoughtful wise.

If this be marriage,let me have divorce.

If this be holy,hasten I to hell..

For love comes in its time without such force.

And of its message who are we to tell?

If this be love,then let me dwell alone.

If this be love, I’ll be forever chaste.

Your love is like a blow that breaks my bones

A love that leaves in mouths a bitter taste

.

You do not love yourself and so not me.

Far away from you. I wish to be.

Dignity’s own dance

What did she convey when she moved thus
A branch of willow bending to the lake?
So eloquent the gesture,with no fuss;
So brief , yet   there,  an image I could take.

 

We dance with gestures,  sometimes seen and shared;
With awkwardness as   over desks we’ve bowed.
Yet in these movements , our deep self is bared
And  given dignity when  none’s allowed

 

For as there is no name for this, our form;
No vigilante’s listed it as sin
And so our human dance goes on and on
From what is now and what  once might have been.

 

We are all partner’s in the earthly dance,
From serendip to  glorious happenstance

 

 

That places value on the good of all.

IMG_0031.JPGT

There is a sense that permeates our souls
That places value on the good of all.
Humankind is viewed then as a whole.
Blame not allocated to  a Fall.

Shall we believe that God can sulk for aeons
That he will torment  creatures for their sin?
Such theories are dilemmas to our brains
And put us in a  race we cannot win.

Should Eve and Adam still be here on earth
If  on that plum they had not sucked and bit?
It makes our lives seem to have little worth
To take this as a given in Holy Writ.

For  life’s for adults, not for girls and boys.
Do “Christian” theories take the place of toys?

What are sonnets?

Examples of Sonnets : Poetry through the Ages: From Sonnets
William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die.
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, mak’st waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and th

What fearsome God

 

6255489_f520How gently,sweetly softly flowers pose,
Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose.
For their intricate petals form a shield
Yet bees with striped force shall make them yield.
Appearances, both natural or contrived,
Mixed with the wiles of men and women thrive.
As knowing not, we pluck the apple rare
And bite its flesh,with teeth we love to bare.
We too deceive the innocent who pass
Not seeing watchers hid behind the glass.
The windows break,the dark earth quakes;
Seized is the maid and he her virtue takes.
Beneath the surface,force and fierceness thrive.
What fearsome, burning God directs our live

Beware the man

No woman ever can be what he dreams

Nor can she give him comfort on the road.

Yet every night he plots and thinks and schemes.

And rarely does he ever go abroad.

No food he eats will satisfy his tongue.

The best wine is as naught to mother’s milk.

He grumbles and will not admit to wrong.

I‘ve known more men than him of this same ilk.

No bed can be the right one for his sleep.

No sheets and pillows suit his wary skin.

He often has made gentle maidens weep

Crying out they’re fat or boney thin.’

Beware the man who never can adapt

For in own lone wishes he is trapped

A mere mirage

My  new-found hope may be a mere mirage;
Illusion of no help in my despair.
Yet imagination   stirs up needed courage
And helps the mind and heart in their repair.

I’ll dwell not in the mind’s relentless thoughts;
I’ll use my eyes and ears and skin
Then i that trap, I  never shall  be caught.
I’ll see  and hear to moderate this din.

In wider focus all will take their place
I’ll focus less on  this  wound I bear late
And see  both good and bad in every space.
So not dismiss the world and all its states.

Changing  vision show   us  truer measures.
Perception valued brings to us much treasure.

 

 

 

I have no mind

I have no teeth and comb-less I remain.
My hair once silk is now a tangled briar.
Men gaze on me with dumbness and disdain
My crumbling visage lighteth not their fire.

I have no mind and so I cannot think.
I cannot love nor hate now I grow tired.
Yet runs my nose and do my eyes not blink?
Where is a man with care and keen desire?

I have no heart,or it turns cold and hard.
Yet soul I have and spirit and my sight.
At life’s long game I fling down all my cards.
And ask for nothing but a means of flight.

For beauty withers as my wisdom grows.
And none observe the circling of the crows.

The trees are calm for they have grown deep roots

 

When of the world of doctors,I am sick.
When diagnosis is not any aid
When from the choices given, I cannot pick
Although I feel my deepest debts were paid.

Then off from thinking I must take my mind
To gaze upon the beauty of the woods
And feel the sun not fiery, even kind.
It warms and heartens even my cold blood.

The trees are calm for they have grown deep roots
Though storms may strike their trunks and branches too
breaking off new tender green tipped shoots
They sway and take it without much to do.

Strength needs flexibility and give;
With no such, the brittle shall not live

Liminal and long

After nine months comes the crisis feared;

Acknowledgement of total,long feared loss.

With grievous pain ,the soul and heart are seared,

As we feel inside us all it’s cost,

 

The threshold of  this world   and of the new

A place to linger, liminal and long

We cannot see  new  landscapes in one view.

Without perception we may well  go wrong.

 

We wonder as we reach the point of choice

Who will guide us when we  must decide?

Shall we hear an inner,wiser voice

Or walk  with indecision by our side?

 

Loss brings   grief;evasion  does not heal.
Lonely ,we must eat this final meal

 

 

Till you feel the same

Her beauty was incongruous with her mind
For men who saw her  curls were not amused.
Her conversation with them seemed  unkind.
Or possibly their own brains were confused.

She should have been beheaded or beqeathed
To someone who could enjoy all  that she had.
Alas she was by clever men deceived
Until at last she became raving mad.

Think what you like,she cares no more
For men’s opinions change ten times an hour.
And if  her lover shows her his  front door
She’ll ask the king to send him to the Tower.

Does this  life have meaning  is it a  pain?
Do not answer till you feel the same.

 

 

Then we shall learn the limits of our will

When soft winds blow and air strokes our bare skin.
When days are long like melodies of youth,
when light wakes up the soul from out her sin
Then shall we know when this sweet life is truth?

When flowers droop and leaves are dried and brown;
When water’s short and all  plants are forlorn’
Then do not meet disaster with a frown,
For out of heartfelt sorrow new life’s born.

When winter’s here and all is quiet and still
And nothing seems to move or grow or speak
Then we shall learn the limits of our will
for through the soil the first green shoots will break.

For seasons change and actors come and go.
Yet through such changes, life is what we know

I see more clearly where my comfort lie

When death and loss and grief fill up my heart
And behind an icy wall I am entrapped
Where should my work of holy healing start
Where is the hidden place where loss is mapped?
As on the earth I walk amongst the trees
And on the grass I lay my sleeping head
I make my friends from stinging wasps and bees
Who comfort me on this my own deathbed.
Yet do not sun and moon still shine as bright?
Do not men and women tender lie.
Does not this small glowworm give me light?
Do not courting tom cats saunter by?
With wider vision spreading from my eyes
I see more clearly where my comfort lie

The nasturtiums

Stems of  long nasturtiums  catch my foot;

For from the red brick path I let it slip.

And spiders  fill the long neglected hut.

I peer though windows and regain my grip.

 

The yellow flowers are eaten with the leaves.

Mixed with oil and lemon they taste good.

Yet  a maternal gardener in me grieves

For I have watched them since they were in bud.

 

The truth that I evade again explodes

That little buds and flowers  will  have to  die.

And even as these flowers  grow more bold

They’re still a crop, and so with grief I cry.

 

Yet life is process and goes on and on….

Even when particular loves are gone

The spirit freed by man

Ariel, the spirit freed by man,

From  Tempest  to the work of Sylvia Plath

Made famous as a horse on which she ran

In such bitter, suicidal wrath.

 

Or was this  a rebirth that never came

The risk she took,  a gamble,  careless,wry.

For death of body is no children’s game

And from a  husband  brings a hellish sigh.

 

Was this a test to see if we survive;

As madmen  may stick knives into their hearts

To see the blood is real and so derive

A knowledge that they live and are a part?

 

The test we make to see if we’re not dead

May kill us and so end  the work of God.

Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose.

How softly sweetly,gently flowers pose
Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose.
Their intricate petals form a shield
Yet bees with striped force shall make them yield.
Appearances,both natural and contrived,
Mixed with the wiles of human nature thrive.
As, knowing not, we pluck the apple rare
And bite its flesh,with teeth we have to bare.
We too deceive the innocent who pass
Not seeing watchers hid behind the glass.
The windows break,the deep earth quakes;
Seized is the maiden ,he  her virtue takes.
Beneath the surface,force and fierceness thrive.
What fearsome, burning God enjoys our lives?

No handkerchief shall I boil e’er again

When tasks and labour wear us into shreds
And burning sun does shrivel up the skin
Shall we like lovers leap into our beds
And see how rapidly we can now sin?

When vests and Y fronts decorate the halls
when trousers seem to multiply at speed
With thermal undies ready for a ball
And bras converse with panties as they breed.

Then shall I throw the whole lot in the trash.
As sorting and disposing invokes wrath.
We’ll wear nothing but watercolour wash
Until in winter we all sneeze and cough,

No handkerchief shall I boil e’er again
To signify my fresh revolt from men.

Life is what we know

When soft winds blow and air strokes our bare skin.
When days are long like melodies of youth,
when light wakes up the soul from out her sin
Then shall we know when this sweet life is truth?

When flowers droop and leaves are dried and brown;
When water’s short and all  the ground’s forlorn
Then do not meet disaster with a frown,
For out of heartfelt sorrow new life’s born.

When winter’s here and all is quiet and still
And nothing seems to move or grow or speak
Then we shall learn the limits of our will
When through the soil the first green shoots will break.

For seasons change and actors come and go.
Yet through such changes, life is what we know..

Imprisoned spirits

How like a prison   is my cubicle;

A prison,a trap, a cell,a place of fear.

For humans,this  is truth indubitable;

We need to roam ,to see,to smell,to hear.

 

Yet in the bureaucrat realm , we must observe,

The rules laid down by  generations gone.

And from their ancient code we cannot swerve.

Even if by rules we are undone.

 

Did Euclid discover how grave was a bath?

Did Moses fear  to see the burning bush?

Did Einstein follow someone’s else’s path?

Did Socrates  give voice to utter trash?

 

Imprisoned spirits are to revolution called.

Lest by lioness they should be mauled.