Category: sonnet

Sadness and silence

The cause of sadness also shows its end;
That we let go the loved one and remain.
Such comfort,aid and love we have from friends
Helps us bear the heart’s most dangerous pain.

 

But if our friends  fear their own  hidden  grief.
If sorrow is never let to touch their heart;
Then friendship’s stolen by a nervous thief;
As wishing to retain our self,we part.

 

The friends who sit in silent company
Who look for no reward yet love us true
Who show,  quite clear, desireless empathy;
They are friends who warmth and  hope imbue.

 

Patient silence may do more than  words
The utterance of the heart is not absurd.

 

 

A living spark

When those we loved are gone into the dark,

From where we come and so will also end;

Then mournful we await a living spark

To light  the fire within and sorrow mend.

 

Reality is not absorbed  whole;

Though we have seen, we cannot yet believe.

And pain torments our  jagged heart and soul

Until in time the grace  comes to receive.

 

We must believe that we can bear  this load,

Even when we fall and lie forlorn.

Help may come  or pain may be a goad.

Love may come from those we used to scorn.

 

To willingly accept  may seem too hard,too grim.

Yet when we do ,the spirit grows within

 

 

 

 

 

Synthetic tears

Synthetic tears  don’t benefit the sad,

Whose world is  trembling  after  recent loss.

Real tears may stop many going mad.

Though for the onlookers there is a cost.

 

Yet do not stand by helplessly confused.

Tears and grief are calls for loving arms.

If friendship’s real, we cannot be bemused.

Though in our hearts we may feel strange alarm.

 

 

Fear of grief is worse than grief itself.

Ruminating on our horrors harms

Feeling to the heart of what is here

Softens pain and  so will be a balm.

 

Fear,obsession,inward looking eye,

May cause us to desire  only to die.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I knitted Mobius strips whilst intertwined.

This poem is unsure whether it is humorous or very serious
He loved my  beauty, not my wandering mind.
In fact ,he preferred me to be almost mute
I knitted Mobius strips whilst intertwined.
And listened to his voice as to a flute.
I soon grew tired of hearing his   crazed  views
I found a man who liked to hear me speak.
Until I mentioned I owned  ten green shoes.
Bottles yes,but shoes made me a freak
Then I found a man who never spoke.
He listened with a kind,inviting smile.
I would have liked to test him with a joke.
But feared I might then harm his utter guile.
Formidable the quest to  match one’s soul.
I need a body too to make me whole.

Synopsis:the sonnet

Synopsis is a word derived from Greek.

Synthetic  has a similar undertow.

And as we modern English people speak,

The thoughts of ancient humans unknown show

Long dead are our ancestors of course,

Though each cell of our body has their genes.

And when the  scholar rises to discourse,

Hebraic,Greek or Latin gleams.

Education’s task is acquisition:

Vocabulary and  its written forms.

We don’t learn much from watching television.

Passivity may cause  our  minds real harm

What we say    is deeper then we know.

Words each have their special undertow

It looks and speaks just as a sonnet would

This poem is written in the sonnet form,
And yet I have my doubts about its shape
Though nearly to that structure it conforms
There may be holes where nightmare faces gape.

It looks and speaks just as a sonnet would
And talks of metaphysical concerns.
Do we conclude, as poets and readers should,
That in our schizoid age we cannot learn?

For humans may be decked in clothes of wolves;
And lambs be dressed with lions’ fearsome furs..
Thus sense is tricked and problems are unsolved.
Landscapes etched, yet details seem quite blurred.

It looks like one,it feels like one,it speaks;
Yet from these words, does human feeling leak?

Another place,another mind

 

From time and place and season I am lost,

Disorientated ,missing tracks well worn.

Do not suppose I’m unaware of cost,

Nor label me with epithets of scorn.

For usual paths lead to the usual place.

The safest way to live and perhaps to die,

But wandering through the woods I find new space

and in wild grasses with the fox I lie.

Through distant trees, I see a way to go

As narrow as a slit in  pale limestone.

I pass in silence as if in deep,deep snow.

My courage rises even as I groan.

Remember when we’re lost ,we may then find

Another way,a place,another mind.

Dialect and grief

Between my child self and my adult  lies

A chasm composed of dialect and grief.

Banned from   speaking of my father’s death

Then later of  my natural tongue bereaved.

 

Fished from my poor street,  beloved ones;

Encouraged to become a bureaucrat

Broad accent  mocked   and scorned by  holy nuns.

Confusion in my heart, made sadly  furious   brat.

 

When I returned  to streets of happy play

No longer did I fit my former place.

And I had not got  feel of what to say;

No cliche, proverb or even  a bare phrase.

 

By speaking in the tongue of the elite

My head had separated  from my feet

What value

What value  is there in a widow’s  hours?

Her love’s gone, now she’s restless in her grief.

Does she from  life’s insanity now  cower?

Or welcome madness as a kindly thief?

 

She sits forlorn and gazes at the trees

From summer ripe to winter bare of leaf.

But no-one  knows  quite what  it is she sees:

Not surfaces but  skeletons beneath.

 

 

Unthinkable,  immeasurable sorrow deep

Uncontainable the cataract released.

Destroying  the tranquillity of sleep.

Suffering which  mere death cannot  make cease.

 

No, elimination of both holy life and   death.

Return of  all that is  to nothingness.

This variegated colour

In between the  blackness and the bright,

Graded shades of grey and lilac lie.

These variegated  colours give delight.

And from my soul, I hear a  gentle sigh.

 

As we live, we dwell in mysteries;

Must take decisions based on  various views.

And unknown memories from our history

Bring out  the old , so misperceive the new.

 

For  true perception, we must humble be.

Not for moral reasons but for sight.

The emptiness   lets flood creative seas.

And allows  bright  rays of  guiding golden  light.

 

We need to know we do not know at all.

And, trembling, hold  the doors of vision wide.

So gentle  should be judgements when we fail.

Then errors  we’ll appreciate, not hide.

 

We will  deal with life unknown, unclear;

Perception is  a better   guide than  fear.

 

 

 

When doubts and drawbacks struggle in the mind

When doubts and drawbacks struggle in the mind
And certainty seems but a demon dream,
When the faith to love is what no-one can find
For even when asleep, the mind still schemes.

When darkness and defeat seem close at hand
And lights dim even as we pray for peace
when wrecks and ruins rile the native sands
When in this life we feel we’ve lost our place…

Then, at the saddest depth we see the light
Surrounding with such warmth, with love adorned.
The path that seemed so wrong now leads us right
And in our hearts, warm feelings are newborn

Within each storm ,there is a calm still eye.
From there we see the fiercest clouds blown by.

And people looked like watercolour flies

The morning  sun still low in winter  sky

Made brilliant light with darker shadows thrown.

And  people looked like watercolour flies

As ,  nonchalant ,through the  shopping mall they roamed.

 

So here we see in colours black and white

We do not see the usual shades and  hues.

And so inside our mind, a too great light

May prejudice our judgement  and our views.

 

We learn to understand by metaphors.

As did our unthought ancestors before.

Jesus was our  Shepherd   and neighbour

We were sheep not wolves with slavering jaws

 

 

What we see depends upon the light.
And , where we stand and when , invites the sight

 

 

 

 

But then we learn

Trapped in  cultivated  ways ,we may  forget

That usefulness can also be a trap.

Am I the one who never makes a bet?

Am I  the one who always has the map?

 

We are no automata, we are flesh.

And even older brains can be rewired

Maybe we need to clear  our  boring cache

And light  a few more glowing mental fires.

 

Reluctance seems  to  cage us with our fear.

Though ,despite our wishes, we all age and die.

Time goes and  the end will soon be here

But  it is never too late just  to try.

 

It is myself to whom I speak in sonnet form

Anxiety is  fierce  until we learn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When darkness comes again

When darkness comes down like a blinding blow

And ,all alone, I sit and see the  stars,

Then what is or out I do not know

Nor shall I muse nor look ahead too far.

 

To recover from the damage we call life,

Can become the purpose and the flow

And even when our heart has felt the knife

That will heal and all the pain will go.

 

Yet nightfall brings reminders of our  end,

Though summer light can give us false belief.

Under too much strain we jolt and  bend

And know that time does nothing but deceive.

 

Yet do not  bang your head to see the stars.

Just turn  off all the lights and there they are

 

 

 

 

 

His words were wisdom stalked

His eyes were piercing like a bird of prey;

Though  often soft and tender was his gaze.

Do hawks and men share instincts still   today?

How usual are these fierce and frightening ways?

 

Affection was his  strongest , human gift.

Discernment and evaluation  graced,

As  perceptions he was long prepared to sift

Made their   fine,patrician patterns on his face

 

To  gossip or waste time in fruitless talk,

He did no more than would a  wildebeeste

He spoke as if each word was wisdom stalked

With carefulness, yet joy, at this life’s feast.

 

The lines of  pain accepted and outgrown

Make our   faces to  the gods be known

 

The child is parent to humanity

the light within, the sun inside  my heart

is seen by those who meet my  glowing eye.

my soul as well is smiling with delight,

as from my lips is never heard a sigh.

 

enlightened by the  sight of child at play

enwrapped in dreams ,thus making  real his world

without  a word,  he shows me   how to say

i love and hold him close and play and twirl

 

some guiding sense will indicate enough

for thrills can turn to  panics in his mind

so out he runs when this play’s too rough

and mother’s lap will give him succour kind.

 

the child is  parent to  humanity;

and each one  needs   their spacious world  of play

 

 

The memory lasts

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  may write yet experiencing has gone
we look but have no   blessed desire to see

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

Blind now are my hours

I feel soft ghostly hands around my throat

That want to pull me to the  darkest deep

My husband cannot leave or be remote

He wishes me to join him in his sleep.

 

I shall resist for I desire to live

Though  blind now are my hours without his face.

I have no more I hope to give

Since he withdrew from me his  kind embrace.

 

As lonely as a swan without its mate.

As tired as swallows after they migrate

I must accept my unconsoled fate

I'll  not  accept this be a constant state.

 

From my loss I shall recover when

The birds return and summer comes again

 

Loving winter

Winter love comes when we near the end

Yet do not wish for solitude each day.

Cupid wtih his arrows may descend

He jokes with us and invites us out to play.

Winter love may come amidst the snow

When frost bites noses and nips fingers dear.

But despite age a woman out may go

To walk her lover and content appear..

The age of frost has not entered my heart

My mind  has  filled up with fine new desires

The problems come when lovers desperate

Show contempt and start a bitter pyre.

Yet winter love can grip me despite flaws

Hope and laughter circle me uncaused.

t

Unused to Winter mild and damp and sweet.

 

I sit alone inside a darkened room

To mourn the passing of my lover dear;

Yet this darkness brings me not to gloom,

Nor does it aggravate  historic  fears.

 

I see   forsythia’s light and windswept twigs;

The sun is higher  despite  that it is weak.

And  in the earth I see  a squirrel digs

Unused to winter mild and damp and sweet.

 

What will be the trigger for my move

Into the sun which once I loved so much?

Will it be the dawning of new love?

Or will I be deceived that it is such?

 

I seek no warmth from inter-netting trolls.

For flesh to flesh is how fresh love will call

A winter day describe

Grey, damp, dark, a winter day describe,

Though sunshine comes  with  white and wintry frost.

While on my paper curving shapes inscribe

The alphabet I learned at childhood’s cost

Humankind can’t bear too much of night

Hallucinations,dreams, symbols confused.

We like the sunny sky where birds take flight.

In warmth soft air, our tension are defused.

Accepting night is one of our sad tasks

Light and dark needs balance in this world

In the light of sun. our sorrow’s masked

We feel false ecstasy as colors swirl.

God created light and darkness first

Their divided unity is blessed

Winter Solstice

Wind-powered  rippling branches catch my eye

 

Outlined against the grey and  sinking  clouds

My cat is stretched immobile  where he lies

On last night’s paper, he his weight allows

 

No frost has come to emphasis the  night

Nor snow to cover ugly roads and cars.

Nor to  tune into  the squawking neon lights

Which decorate our  pavements  for long hours.

I wait in silence for the birth of Christ.

Born  in time  into eternal snow.

The stars gazed down to see Wise Men arrive.

And shepherds with their sheep made progress slow.

Our salvation lies in nature and new birth.

As angels ever dance in gracious mirth

What virtue

 

What virtue is there in a widow’s hours

Her love’s gone and she’s restless in her grief.

Some  from feared insanity  do cower.

Some blame God as all would blame a thief.

She sits forlorn and gazes at the trees

From summer ripe to winter bare of leaf.

But no-one else  knows  what  it is she sees:

Memories of the funeral and her wreath

Unthinkable , unthought her sorrow deep

Uncontainable  the cataract released.

Destroying all the images of sleep.

Suffering which  mere death could not  make cease.

Pure elimination of both  life and   death

Entire destruction ;total nothingness

 

A Gordian knot describes my new made life

A Gordian knot describes my  new made life

For I’m confused and feel misunderstood

My lovers all are tangled in their strife.

Yet,narcissistic, I desire my good.

 

Alas, I am as beautiful as dawn

This gives a false  description to these men

For as I struggle feeling quite forlorn

Each  man wants to take me to his den.

 

I’d rather read then be adored and served.

No longer youthful ,I have had enough.

I gave my lovers more than they deserved

Now I’m sick of them and all their stuff

 

Be off you men  and find yourself elsewhere

I warn you  now I  shall soon curse and swear

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh,joyful eye

How beautiful the feeling of the air

Upon my skin as I walk beneath dark trees.

Sunlight   shares their pattern while all’s  bare.

Oh,joyful   eye to see  such shapes as these.

 

Under the old cherry I look  at

The little branches  geometric form

My hand  extends as if I want to pat;

To share  my joyfulness  and feelings  warm.

 

I glance to see the time upon this watch

A gift from one who whom   time has torn away.

A tear drops to my cheek and my   heart knocks;

For I must buy my Xmas  stamps  today.

 

Yet though I miss the bus  again, I’ve had

The wit to pause to see this vision glad.

 

The cost

My velleity is not enough to call desire.

It summons up no demons with its power.

Yet  denying it would make me a true liar.

I have a wish which  fills  my surprised hour.

 

If    tremulous velleity should fall away

My life would be  a sentence to be served.

I cannot judge if I have gone astray.

Did I go straight  and miss  some hidden gentle curve?

 

At any instant, we may make a choice

Which sets us on a track we did not see.

Or daydreaming,  ignore dear psyche’s voice;

And with will power, demand how life should be.

 

Attention must be paid ,or lost

Is our vocation and we pay full cost

 

He whom once I loved

He whom once I loved I now do hateHis words and actions shared a harsh disdainRefusing to allow this bitter fateMy boundaries now exclude his bleak terrain.To win me, he displayed a tender care;with courtesy and flattery he disarmed.Then when my heart was opened up and bare.he suddenly removed his wondrous charm.His harshness ,rigid mind and steely heartShowed him a terrorist in my own sweet lands;For, suddenly, our love he broke apartAnd empty was my once outstretched hand.Beware of charm and love bestowed too soonOr you may likewise suffer dread and do

When doubts and drawbacks struggle in the mind

 

When doubts and drawbacks struggle in the mind
And certainty seems but a demon dream,
When the faith to love is what no-one can find
For even when asleep, the mind still schemes

When darkness and defeat seem close at hand
And lights dim even as we pray for peace
when wrecks and ruins rile the native sands
When in this life we feel we’ve lost our place…

Then at the saddest depth we see the light
Surrounding with such warmth,with love adorned.
The path that seemed so wrong now leads us right
And in our hearts, warm feelings are new born

Within each storm there is a calm still eye
From there we see the fiercest clouds blown by

 

Drastic action

The drastic measures of  our governments

They say will bring more safety to the world.

But  one wonders what is their desired intent?

As we watch the roll of images uncurl.

 

As Paris  is much closer than the Middle East

We fear that we too  might be soon attacked.

This shows  us humans are  yet narcissistic  beasts.

We  narrow gaze to Europeans’ lacks.

 

Ironic thoughts of Armistice appear.

How France and Britain  punished Ottoman.

No vision of a  future hell was feared.

An Empire to be looted;oil rich lands.

 

Now our world has shrunk and  history repeats:

It’s folly to  ignore our real defeat.