Poetry?

Writing sonnets embraces the complexities of crossword puzzles without the futility that Hesse despised. Sonnets are of course love poems but they are also a way of constructing order in the confused twilight that lies upon the borders of spirituality and carnality or between duties and desires. However iambic pentameter does nothing for me!

Coventry Blitz

How easily we dance within shadows.

Gracefully avoiding light’s slender beams,

Intent upon what our desire hallows,

Determined to accept the world that seems

Most fitting to the image of belief;

The concrete emblem we’ve chosen to see

Of narrow stepping stones lying beneath

The ground, upon which we measure and flee.

Should this antique object be standing still,

Revived by loves sweet illumination

An erect memorial to its will

Waiting still with upright attention?

When gloom is released by honours balance

The weighty thing is not embraced by chance.

Baby

What greater gift than the unbidden tear

Dropping from a sweet girl’s bright eye thus

Hot from above her chin to disappear

Tracing an unchecked line across her blush

Cooling to the heart that had given birth.

Yet before me are the snow covered tiles

Covering the child eyes beneath the earth

Set free from shame’s soil that shields her smiles,

She laughs, not caring for such sorry care

Rising away from all that could confine

Pausing to accompany the dream filled pair.

Lives in wind blown flowing scarves entwine

What love does not care for lover’s hearts?

Yet bending steel and sinew still departs.