An Epitaph

Deep in the earth, beneath unknowing skies,
I rest at last, far past the centuries.
The visitors have long bid their good-byes;
no maidens come to lay their laurel wreaths.

Though on a summer stroll across the hills
a courting couple oft pay their respects:
and wishing well with stolen daffodils
invite a blessing as they introspect.

"For love, for truth, for art," engraves the stone:
beyond the fateful words no history;
and all the joys and sorrows that I'd known
are silent to the traveller, wondering.

But from immortal eulogy begins
a second life, reborn to brilliance.

Sonnet CCCLXIV

Alone, amongst the waves, beneath the sun -
I fear I'll drown; I've waded out too far.
The seabirds cackle in a frenzied bunch,
detecting noontime spoils from afar.
So far from land, so far from everyone,
I cannot say why I feel merrier:
my cheeks exude a strange vermillion,
my eyes ablaze with some unearthly star.

Perhaps I do not need an audience:
if I should whisper some aquatic rhyme,
the simple joy of it is bountiful -
if one should pause to note its loveliness,
then it is Art; if one should call it crime,
then I am mad as any starving gull.

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 CCCLXII

A picnic we could have on ruby Mars,
upon a single orb of crimsonness –
surrounded by the solvent swaddling us,
delighted by the swarms of smiling stars?


If universes sang in students’ jars –
perhaps, perhaps! If dreams and fables lived
in every Erlenmeyer flask and dish,
how many poets would be turned to Bards?


Some silver snow bewitches ether skies
in Lotus Lands designed for gleaming eyes!
A foreign galaxy must beckon tales,
beyond the formulae and recipes –
it must transcend the ordinary Jail!


But is it only hapless chemistry?

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 CCLXI

If winds would carry me, I’d fly to Neptune’s globe.
I’d stay awhile, wrapped in furs there, merrily,
the clouds of noxious gases swimming like a sea.
Perhaps you’d see me, dancing in the evening’s lobe,
an earring topaz-blue, a shining memory.
As darkness spreads, my piercing punctures holes to see,
the sequins shining in the woman’s nightly robe.

I’d wink at you, but all you’d see is twinkling light,
the lofty ritual of stars within the night.

One cannot tell the quasars from the galaxies
nor what the constellations render anymore.
One cannot see my face in Neptune’s tiny orb
nor even find it, lost within the hidden East.

Sonnet CCXLX

The air is white, from windows where I do observe
the season’s bliss. The wind I cannot hear is there,
with airs of chilly warmth, a racing, snowy hare.
Its form opaque, form snow endowed its whitened curve,
I see him now, an ancient friend still quick to serve
his frozen blizzard, ceaseless in his rumble there.
Perennial, he calls again to me and dares
to tease in moaning, teasing tones, with biting nerve:

“You’re free from chilly frost upon your precious ears,
but can you be as free as me, to dance and veer?”

Retorting, “No”, I say, “However you may prance,
I’m just as free – not physically – but in my mind.
And with my heart, I go with you, and twirl and wind,
and part of me shall join you in your wintry dance.”

Sonnet CVIII

What is this strange and closed Society
comprised of Average Joes and plain Jane Does?
This group of those elite enough to be
the ones some call the “Normal” hominids?
Who are these foreign, strange communities,
closed up with plastic, joy-inducing lids?
Why am I so excluded from their creed?
Was it a thing I said or thought or did?

Perhaps, But really, I don’t care at all!
The Normal have conforming Greys and Blues.
And me? I have the freedom to appal…
to do whatever. I have all the hues
of individuality – but all
the rest must deal with their conformist views.

Sonnet CIII

The chemicals on jars of mayonnaise,
the toothpaste, soap, and flies upon my sink,
the harsh critiques of global warming’s blaze,
the many riddles to the ones that think,
the notes to friends and loved ones that I praise,
the sorrow, rage, and angst that since did shrink,
the winter snow, the rain, the sun, the haze,
the condemnations of society…

So many thoughts I’ve written all about!
Some mentioned here, most not, more coming soon.
And now, I look way back – at frowns
and love and joy – within my written brews.
All seems content with life within this house –
my inspiration, vibrant as high noon!

Sonnet LXIV

I swallow mayonnaise, the sumptuous spread,
all slathered on a piece of ancient bread.
The quiet afternoon is restless still
and pricks my skin, thus urging me to quill.

But nothing comes to mind and nothing will
as blank stares greet me from the window sill.
Sad empty promises all sing above,
for things to do are things to never love.

And schedules and timetables fly by
and drift away, forlorn by desperate sighs.
I relish reading facts on calories
that say that fat is actually good for me.

And so I eat my mayonnaise and bread
while reminiscing of my future dread.

Sonnet XXXIX

Within these lines my thoughts are thus confined,
Within these lines my fantasies have shined.
Within these lines new happiness was found,
Within these lines new loneliness abounds.

Within these lines I tear myself from crowds,
Within these lines I find fresh friends in clouds.
Within these lines my bliss is found outside,
Within these lines I search myself inside.

Within these lines ideas are buried deep,
Within these lines ideas to others weep.
Within these lines not much can be expressed,
Within these lines the meanings tell the rest.

Within these lines my soul and mind take flight,
Within these lines words illustrate my plight.