We think we own our bodies and our minds
Not knowing when we have the gift of health
We use them without thought ,.with vision blind
Yet nature creeps up with her sylvan stealth.
When to work or when to take our ease,
The signals sent may never reach our brains.
But later, they will turn to constant pleas
For help to stop imposing far more strain.
Days we work and never take a rest
Except to slump by TV, tablet,screen.
It takes much time to learn what is the best
If not, what is will soon be ” what has been”
Let us learn our body’s signals clear
For then on earth our life will long endure
I only began to write sonnets a few months ago.I was afraid to try as I imagined it was very hard,but eventually I wanted to try.I sometimes do find it difficult but I am enjoying it now.I was reading a book by Leslie Farber called,The Ways of the Will.In this he says that anxiety neurosis is caused by, “trying to will what cannot be willed.”I found that idea fascinating.
We can make ourselves lie down,but we cannot sleep by will power.
We can sit at a desk all day but cannot will ourselves to get inspiration.
I am sure you can think of many examples yourselves.So we need will sometimes but also we need to allow things to happen;we are not always in control.. we cannot be but we wish to be.
Think of our brains and bodies… it’s all outside our control…as is most of the Universe,God and all… despite our technology and science.
The daydream is despised by many folk
who feel that willpower is the better way.
Yet daydreams often bring creative thoughts
and teach us what to do and what to say.
I fear it is the modern curse to will,
When will cannot achieve the wanted end.
And trying too hard is effort and may kill,
where reverie and dream can make us mend
The emptiness of mind is too much feared
As if we do not trust in God nor man.
Yes,take the tiller, and with perception steer…
We do the little that we should and can.
For dreams can work in harmony with will,
As long as we can make our minds quite still.
Whatever evil humankind may do,
The sun will rise and shine on one and all.
Mercy ,grace and love are spread anew
As apples ripen and the sweet birds call.
What is the mystery of the world we know;
That God looks with dispassion on us all?
And what his wondrous virtues are to show
When wolves attack and murder does appall.
Will heaven compensate the refugees
Who starve in camps when money is withheld.
From those who gave us prophets and great seers
We see confusion,fear then ethics felled.
So often we are blind to wider views
And get mere entertainment from the News
He eluded to his passed with wit devine.
He traveled on and passed the perish all.
And when reel tired he often wood recline
If not he went out for a bawl.
This spelling tests the most astyoote of mindes
Yet Shakespeare never spelt the same whey twice.
As well it’s often felt to be unkinde.
For being obsessive is, in truth, a vise.
But used we r to different methods now.
Texting changed the whey we all now rite
And even if we learn the rules ,I vow
Writing onto laptops makes me byte.
No more attack the witless for your pleasure
For we have many skills which you must treasure
Butterflies can light upon a rose
And sparrows miss the prickly holly leaf
So thorns deter most larger, useless foes
And safety bring to birds instead of grief.
The butterfly is symbol of the power
That weakness has in entering sacred ground.
A butterfly can fly through hail stormed bowers
His wings send waves across the world by sound.
A cat too has its claws as well as fur
Yet they do have a a modicum of choice.
For those of us for whom they have a care
Claws are held ; mioaws or purrs given voice.
Am I a holly tree or fragrant rose?
Am I the cat who may unsheath her claws?
I’d like to have a sausage for my tea
I’d like a roast potato and some greens
You can share my portion for a fee.
Or bring along some tender runner beans.
I know my home is modest but it’s mine
My headboard broke off during a cold night.
Of what despair may that be a dim sign?
My hope of mending myself is very slight.
Still I’ll make a date with you today
Shall we eat our meal with knives and forks?
Chopsticks are de trop,what do you say?
Your eyes are following me as if on stalks.
Some days I feel I should not rhyme again.
But better that than dwell on long dead men
In sweet darkness, love calls down a soul
To be embodied in its mother’s’ womb.
Our growing pains by her are soon consoled
In this way we make an inner room.
Our sacred space is where our spirit lives
God alone can enter that deep place.
We touch a shining blackness which so gives
Life itself through fruitful dark ,rich space.
For those whom fortune has too soon betrayed
Whose mothers lacked protection and kind care.
Lack of such a space may soon degrade.
And lead the lost to live in blank despair.
If we have fortune ,let us aid the weak.
And in vain quarrels,silence let us keep
The season alters imperceptibly;
No point exact which demonstrates the turn.
Yet soon come changes which our eyes can see
Leaves dry and crack, the acers seem to burn.
And so it is with human beings too.
Each day our loved one looks the same to us
And yet the body alters like leaves do.
Small changes made with neither noise nor fuss.
We change into transparent ghosts of self
Thus totter down the avenue of life
Soon death approaches with its common stealth.
And separates the husband and the wife.
In winter all is black and we despair
Yet deep in earth,worms silently repair
My faults are now the opposite of sin.
For I was taught that women never swore.
Yet is this but a private world I’m in,
Where women love and men, at least ,adore?
No language Anglo-Saxon did we hear
Ensuring we thought not what “fuck” might mean.
Was it related to good luck yet freer?
My mind throws up a lark in moorland scene
The man who was my father greatly loved;
And often sang us into sleep and dreams.
But sadly from this life he was removed.
Leaving me accursed wtrh blocked out screams .
Today I tell my tale in my own tongue
Translated into melody and song
An apple bit by woman caused our grief
So ordinary yet an act of will.
To think if she had merely bit the leaf
Sweet holiness would surround each human still.
When Sylvia bit Ted Hughes upon his cheek
She marked him for her future appetites.
Consciously she looked for kind love sweet
But marked him more for evil in her rite.
Jonah was not bitten by the whale
Which let him hide inside her womb-like form
And so he was allowed in her to sail
Until his calling hearkened him go home.
Biting wit and words can also cause much grief,
As caterpillars feast upon a leaf..