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.