Sonnet CCCLXIII

Unwary laughter stirs the languid air:
The weary robins interlace their yawns
Unbidden breezes charm our tickled arms,
meandering toward the heaven's stair.

The shadows of the trees are barely there;
the limpid flowers rest their lurid shawls -
In viscous resignation, stilled and calm,
Warm oxygen absorbs our every care.

As Artemis is dying all the clouds,
Apollo closes up his pearly gate.
The final sun-kissed photons scintillate
as conversation takes its final bow:
these summer hours sedately dissipate,
and Mother Nature packs away her day.

Sonnet CCCLXI

Interrogate the robins – ask them why –
some sudden sunshine peeks between the leaves.
Familiar laughter claims the startled ear
and torpid languor confiscates the eyes –


We spent such carefree days beneath the skies
and when the rain had interspersed between,
we hid like naughty children, impishly
and laughed and laughed and laughed away the sky –


Relinquish you –
                            beyond my feeble grasp,
released beyond my grandiose love at last,
such scenes we’ll see again our separate ways?
Rekindled in my solitary view
at all familiar turns I think of you –
do you remember me at all today?

Sonnet CCCLIX

Disintegrating into rippling shards:
the crystal earth, at once, is liquefied.
A subtle smile of sunshine at my side,
an unexpected twinkling from afar –
and thus, my heart, as well, is eased apart.


And all the tantrums and those icy eyes
seem silly…all these heartless thoughts, a lie?
Dissolved, at once, beneath the burning stars.


Some unknown bliss, some unrequited plant
shoots, surging, unpredicted, from the core –
and could I wish it stay here evermore?


The scent of joy unfolds beyond its hand –
and would these seconds last for centuries,
such simple days could paint eternities.

Sonnet CCCLVIII

A pair of crows stood, foolish, chatting!
Resplendent in the winter sun.
Was gossip ever idler, waiting?
Impending doom a distant drum!


And now my car comes crashing, wildly!
The earthworms tremble under, blindly…
The semi-frozen earth grows pale!
Vibrations thunder in the air!


But – ah! They flee too quickly – ninjas!
Oh, stealthy as the flashing winds…
Their flight igniting oxygen,
their wings opposing sluggish minutes!


But what a tale to tell at lunch!
"We only nearly dodged that one!"

Sonnet CCCLVII

The autumn’s infantry – how mighty!
Virile the plumes of gold arise –
exulted by each twig and berry.
The jealous, torpid summer dies!
No greater adversary vanquished,
no stronger rival fought and finished!


But how could pale and waxy sands,
and softest sunlights, light and wan –
compare! Our wispy, pallid present –
with haughty triumph? How we’ve aged,
ah, sea of frozen crystal days…
preserved, canopic fossil – aimless –


though in those sure and martial times
we stood incomparable, sublime!

Sonnet CCCLVI

At last I breathe again, at last I live:
perhaps my loneliness was only relative.
I once desired love – your company –
but I shall fill these hours easily.
From time-worn, weathered eyes erasing you,
replacing such projected joys with truth,
I live once more in grounded, present time
unbound of empty fantasy and rhyme.


I roam the changing earth, but pondering
as drifting, migrant snow joins, flight by flight –
and neither wind nor I know anything
of where we go from here and when or why –


but all we know is that we still exist,
if still unseen – at least by loyal sunshine kissed.

Sonnet CCCL

I stand, exhilarated, on the hills –
I burn with new and sprightly inner fire!
The winds of autumn cannot bind my will:
my yearning glance ignites with strange desire!
With fierce furore, these eyes will never tire –
I search the turbid skies for signs of warmth.
Beloved summer! Ever-tuneful lyre!
To leap into those warm and loving arms!


I’ll wait, unloved, forlorn, as lovers are,
but only when your promise sings again
will you return, melodious and warm –
and only then will carefree folly reign,
my foolish heart revived once more to mirth.
And only then will blossoms fill the earth!

Sonnet CCCXLII

The moths flit through the sea, ephemeral;

each emerald wave progresses quicker past.

The sky is blushing like a love-struck girl

and dreams, her troubled forehead overcast.

The youth of day, her liveliness fade fast;

great mountains frame the twilight of her face.

Her blazing iris tumbles shut at last:

the birds come flying for one last embrace,

imparting to that cheek an everlasting grace.

When laid to rest, surrounded by the earth,

unseeing eyes shall still observe this place.

The clouds forever sail this planet’s girth -

No death could steal them from my feeble grasp;

and evermore the grass shall faintly rasp!

Sonnet CCCXXXI

The summer has departed: autumn’s here.

The lazy, torpid days have fled in tears,
Afraid of chilly days, afraid of cold.
The ruby leaves replace the sunny gold,
Accompanied by silver of the clouds.
The daisy’s petticoats are dry and brown,
Discarded in farewell to lovely youth
In favour of their barren stems and roots.

But no more rain or tears! Enough of that!
The year moves on, forgetful of the past.
We’ll watch the geese fly south; we’ll wait for snow,
While treasuring the warmth that we have known.

Farewell, farewell to dearest summertime –
What joy we’ve felt, what joy we’ll always find!

Sonnet CCCXXX

Today the sky is tearful, dark, and sad.

The walls are greyish-brown and drab;

they’re not the taupe I chose the other day.

Awakening today is bitter, full of pain;

my bed sheets strangle me; they hold me back.

Their jarring, lurid yellow drives me mad;

their cheerfulness is mocking, hateful, dry.

The windows drown me with their torrid light.

My neck and back are sore; I need a drink.

An anger burns my mouth; my teeth are clenched.

My empty cup sits, waiting next to me –

my heart agrees. The world is emptiness.

It takes a massive bound to leap from bed,

to have the guts to face the day ahead.

Sonnet CCCXVIII

You’re quaking privately like aspen,
your wings aquiver from the chill.
The concrete, grey and bleak, is barren,
the air above you, dead and thin.

Your limbs, like those of trees, are trembling,
as if igniting airy kindling.
Your body’s twisting to and fro,
as if escaping from the cold.

There isn’t joy, but bitter coldness;
there is no pity from the breeze -
there’s only its brutality –

And yet there’s my benevolence:
I see you scrambling down the wall;
I place you in the corner’s thrall.

Sonnet CCCXIV

The trees, encased in pallid ices,
are groping at me dolefully.
I touch their limpid, frozen branches –
although my heart, as well, is bleak.

The snow has little hope for better,
and lights upon me, cold and tattered.
I melt each ashen, snowflake face,
and wish, at least, I had their grace.

But spring will come, I tell the frozen,
and thusly thinking, search for hope.
The rain will soon replace the snow;
returning warmth will soon embolden -

And cold despair shall dissipate,
as joy and bliss rejuvenate.

Sonnet CCLI

The winter’s such a crude reminder of your face –
how could you be so frigid in this time of warmth?
These wintry hexagons shall always be a storm
and never beauty, only wickedness, light grey,
so pallid, lethal in betrayal – oh, such grace! –
that murders me, and murders me, and snaps my heart,
which melts, refreezing to the bitter, icy stars
of winter – snowflakes – delicately, cruelly made.

And snow I shovel, push away in growing piles.
But you – I cannot purge – yet you have purge my wiles.

And what have I but tattered snowflakes, littering,
polluting blank expanse within my asphalt mind,
obstructing darkness with the ancient hope of time?
Now even Spring cannot amend my shabby wings.

Sonnet CLXXXIX

How long ago those pills had danced inside
my maddened head, the key to sleepy death.
It seems like yesterday the water’s breath
was comforting, a friend that would abide
and smother me in welcome suicide.
It seems the plans I made are new and fresh,
exciting, festive, joyful happiness
that since departed as all thoughts should die.

But thankfully all that is gone and now
replaced by hope – more truthful in its form,
more loyal in its character but proud.
No more shall sadness land beside my shores
or in my seas. Instead, within my ground
no fears abound nor cruelly wage their war.

Sonnet LXXXVIII

Once I was your age – small and spry and young.
Although we learnt the planets, stars, and sun,
things changed: “My very earnest mother just
served us nine…” what? No pizza, only crust.

Apparently the “p” for “pizza” ’s gone
(as Pluto’s not a planet – we were wrong).
And prices of our food and gas went up,
restricting just how full we filled our cups.

When I was your age, cell phones didn’t ring.
We had a thing called snow – this cold, wet thing.
Our phones weren’t portable, with lots of cords
and we used huge “CD’s”, now stuff of lore.

But what I hope will always still exist:
a sense of fun and lasting happiness.

Sonnet LXXXVII

Today I am sixteen. How do I feel?
Almost the same, perhaps a bit more tame.
Tomorrow I write two exams, then three,
including one exam on Saturday.

Another day to me, same everything.
No presents, cakes, or birthday songs I need.
I’d rather sit here, quiet, studying.
Achievement fills a void too easily.

But then again, I’m happier today.
New hope and inner peace make life more bright.
So much to see, to feel, to do, to say!
What joyful days enclose this path called life!

I know there will be days I’ll wish were through.
But now the grass is green and skies are blue.

Sonnet LXVII

Pandora’s Box is sitting on my desk,
an artifact of old once more revived.
Wrapped up in ink and crumpled papers crude,
here darkness thrives, whilst daunting dreams will brood.

I put the Box upon my shelf at night
and let it flaunt and taunt my visions dark.
But still the next day I will take it down
and smother it with smiles, sighs, and frowns.

For therein lies no imp nor beast nor sprite.
Instead - my precious muse, enchantress, light.
And yet, despite my honouring of her,
cruel clouded words peruse the thoughts that were.

But still - within the devils of my work,
remains that Hope that love within her lurks.

Sonnet XLIV

The silence that’s between us shall not quell
The love I have for thee, oh darling friend.
How painful that thought is – to stay your friend!
My feelings of compassion are but dells.

To think, this may be all I am to you.
To think, I love you so, but still you are
Oblivious to my love, as high as hills!
How cruel, oh innocence, how cruel are you?

And yet I tend my withering flowerbed
Of hope, of joyful hope, that you love me -
And one day, all this hidden doubt, like trees,
Will sprout from seeds to bliss, and scruples, dead.

My aching love, how insolent thou art!
How hard to live to spurn one’s heart.