this

kiss

so

slow

is

bliss,

Though,

True

it

seems,

You

lit

dreams.

At some point in their writing careers, most poets will try their hand a sonnet or two. There's almost a sense that in order to be a successful poet one must prove an ability to write a successful sonnet. This is probably a burden self-imposed upon poets due to the enormous weight of The Tradition. For centuries the sonnet has been one of the most standard forms of poetry in English and many masters have developed and added to the form over the years (think of Shakespeare, Donne, Hopkins, Rossetti, St. Vincent Millay, and Cummings to name a few), leaving writers of today with a wealth of building blocks from which to construct their own contributions.

In Murray's The Rush To Here (Nightwood Editions, 2007), the sonnet, for the most part,  appears in a traditional form. It varies between couplet, triplet, and quartet stanzas and still retains the octave, volta, and sestet components in order to provide a kind of problem-solution or question-answer form. The poems tend to work in a free verse style, but maintain traditional line lengths. Where Murray really begins to depart from tradition, or rather alter tradition, is in his use of rhyme.

As many before him, Murray uses standard rhyme schemes for his sonnets, but the rhymes themselves take on a different element. Traditional rhyme uses sound echoes to signify a line or stanza's end and, therefore, a change in poetic unit or stitch. Murray uses thought-rhymes (his term). Instead of a word sonically matching with another at the end of a line we find meanings rhyming with meanings. This connotational link between lines and images at once solidifies a unity in each stanza, but also promotes a strong coherence throughout each poem, both elements very much on the minds of serious poets.

The Dear Water Sings

The weather turns chill, my angry new love,
but there's a trickle under the snow,
our world shrinking even as it grows. The dear
water sings, Cold, come and go; Come and go, cold.

Let your shoulders down against the wind,
unbuckle your face like a belt after
a holiday dinner, let your arms untwist.
Base your pleasure on what you feel, right now.

My mouth the harp it was always meant to be,
tongue a strong finger plucking the startled air.
She has starved herself down to the ghost,
down to her own disgust, down to the gasp.

Croon even when the air is sucked from your lungs.
Just be ready to speak, and song will come of breath.

This poem well displays the rhyme form and the skill of the crafter. Some rhymes are concrete and work on the physical level (snow/cold, lungs/breath), but we also find more abstract combinations (love/dear, after/right now, be/ghost). This type of writing restriction is one that gives the poet a focus, that narrow vision that often inspires and pushes creativity. It also leaves the poet with more options than a traditional sound rhyme, to which such devices as slant rhyme have tried to bring new breath and flexibility. This flexability can be used to another advantage: the poet can use the word light with more than one connotation. It can be rhymed with dark to signify an abundance or lack of brightness; rhymed with dawn to signify a time of day; rhymed with heavy to signify weight (both literal and figural), etc. These are examples of some of the rhymes Murray employs throughout The Rush To Here, showing us that rhyme need not be as restricted as one might suppose.

In an age when writers often produce works in the style of their own mentors, merely continuing an already established tradition, George Murray has created something new for poetry that others can add to their repertoires. He has, in a sense, inked his own stamp on form, which, if nothing else, embues poetry with a little more life and opens up realms of creativity for prospective poets.

I have forgotten, and what arms have lain

Under my head till morning; but the rain

Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh

Upon the glass and listens for reply,

And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain

For unremembered lads that not again

Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,

Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,

Yet know its boughs more silent than before:

I cannot say what loves have come and gone,

I only know that summer sang in me

A little while, that in me sings no more.

we lean on memory which best should speak

truths are left open for the world to view

and not a thing we learn is found brand new

our simplest urges have been branded cheek

this is the way when you offer critique

to any of that old and famished crew

whose lives are based on noise and ballyhoo

but honesty's a sharp tool for the weak

now all our signals have to be sent clear

with not a scent or symbol of the crypt

that might annoy or otherwise distract

our solemn purpose is to keep out fear

obey all orders and stick to the script

while leaving to you knowledge of the fact

My favorite lines are the last rather than the first:

"...-I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears of all my life!--and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death."

I feel that way about my husband and my family.  I can only love them imperfectly, according to my human condition, but once I die--if God chooses--then I hope to love them perfectly in heaven.

The sonnet is below:

How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they trun from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints--I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

2. There are two kinds of sonnets:  Petrarchan  and Shakespearean

3.  "The Petrarchan sonnet is Italian in origin, has an octave of eight lines and a sestet of six.  They rhyme scheme of the octave is ababcdcd of the stestet cdecde."

4.  "The Shakespearean sonnet was developed in England and has far more than just surface differences from the Petrarchan."

5. "The rhyme scheme of the Shakespearean sonnet is ababcdcdefefgg.  There is no octave/sestet structure to it.  The final couplet is a defining feature."

Strand and Boland Page 55

Harsh, it may seem, once blessed tree,
That like a dream the curse still came,
That you were brought such misery,
When you were caught in fruitless shame.
Whither you must but please don't weep,
All falls to dust that can't be reaped.

the universe is measured in one hand

that's all we know and all within each mind

a sight of this is given to the blind

there is no boundary to this command

we aren't allowed to think nor to demand

instead we're set to work and bid to find

the simple answers of the older kind

and set them out in manner plain and bland

this is the working of the true machine

which we have built in the familiar way

so we are told neither to faint nor fear

nor to be worried for what might have been

as this is passage of another day

and we are sailing through a better year

http://www.thepoetsgarret.com/2006Challenge/treten.html

The Saraband is based on a musical dance form and was originally an Asian dance. The poetry form was introduced in Spain in the 1700’s and later became known in France and Italy.

The Saraband Sonnet has four stanzas, alternating between tercets (3 lines) and quantrains (4 lines). The Saraband Sonnet affords the poet liberty in both rhyme scheme and either iambic tetrameter or pentameter.

Stanzas one and three, the tercets, carry a rhyme scheme of [a – x – a]. There are two options for rhyme in the second lines of the tercets. They may be omitted from the rhyme scheme, meaning they do not have to rhyme with any other line, or the second line of stanzas one and three (the x line in a-x-a) can rhyme with each other.

Stanzas two and four, the quatrains, may carry rhyme schemes of [b – b – c – c ], [b – c – b – c], [b – c – c – b], or any combination of the three.

The meter of the poem, in purest form, is tetrameter (8 syllables – 4 iambic or trochaic feet), usually iambic or trochaic meter, but it can also be written in pentameter (10 syllables – 5 iambic or trochaic feet).

Here is a Saraband sonnet I wrote in iambic tetratmeter.

Children’s Eyes

The breath of morning’s gentle breeze

aflutter, lingered, whispering

amid the leaves of linden trees.

The timid light of dawn awoke

where mating doves of mourning cooed.

The genesis awakening spoke,

alluring, lodged in solitude.

Along the banks of splashing streams,

he heard the voice of ancients sing,

reminding him – preserve the dreams.

As side to side his body swayed;

in native words of old he prayed.

He saw his people’s children’s eyes

and raised his hands toward the skies.

~~a Saraband Sonnet

Larry Powers

“kansaspoet”

2008

Now, create your own Saraband Sonnnet

Be creative, have fun.

http://spiritedpoetry.com

no giants guard against brigades of lies

so many horrors weigh upon each life

and there is nothing here to replace strife

upon each back is weight of thousand eyes

those are strange stars under the darker skies

and each will shine as brightly as a knife

while rumours of new horror still run rife

and no one wants to listen to our cries

this is an age of change and every breath

announces that we have not yet been felled

or placed within the boxes of the night

but there are worse conclusions still than death

we stood and watched while better men rebelled

knowing that they took our place in the fight

the ruddy glow of the old-fashioned lamp

a shadow though the jalousies a cry

as potoo grasps her prey this is the high

and reverent worship which we must stamp

upon each soul even as tired feet tramp

uphill again past every staring eye

through the long shades without a single sigh

within your thought you deem this place a camp

in the far distance something you can't see

will draw you onward fill your mind with fire

of what you do not know but want to find

past this last valley there's an open sea

and beyond that all that you could desire

the price is that you leave your heart behind

Goodbye Fredericksburg (1st Draft): a 30 line free verse

Inside Outside (5th draft): a sort-of-haiku

Midsummer Classic (2nd Draft): a sort-of-haiku

Coalesce (1st Draft): a sort-of-haiku

Choirs (3rd Draft)

What does it mean to live to work to try
I sat awake, I dream, at attention
Sat wondering why I wonder God, why?
The chill of echoes remains in motion
The prancing prairie dogs scramble and hide
From shadows o'er their heads that scream and cry
Tenors, basses, seraphim, Why God why?
Cold fires sing faults, sing flaws, taking their sides
Veiled eyes dance solo, spinning and crossing
And falling into place beside my throne
Towering higher and higher, feathers
Melting I cry no more, bereft, alone
But silence, he, though eternally near,
Replies, the wind banks darkly, far from here.

Goodbye Fredericksburg (1st Draft)

Goodbye molded bread
And burnt ramen noodles
Goodbye community fridges with Chinese food from
Midterms in exam week
Goodbye girl's field hockey in pajamas and socks
The ball ricocheting off the RA's door
Goodbye thunderous air conditioners
That billow winter winds into the summer heat
Goodbye silverfish; I will not miss you
You have so many legs, a ball of writhing needles
So long lack of parking spaces
The walk to my car half the commute to work
So long revving engines on College Avenue
Ambulance, fire trucks, and police sirens screaming
So long Carl's Frozen Custard, standing solemn and rich
Fredericksburg gravitates round you
So long history
Girdles, corsets and bonnets run rampant
So long Fun Land, place of children and bored young adults
And college students in kilts spinning and dancing on the mats
Goodbye constant construction
The towering construct, the busiest building on campus removed
Goodbye horrendously slow internet
And suspiciously sectioned off bandwidth for academic prioritizing
Goodbye cops conveniently paused in the turn lanes
With their lights off, waiting at the bottom of the hill
Goodbye jaywalkers of William Street
A fence now robs them of reason
Good bye Fredericksburg, Virginia;
Second home uncontested.

Inside Outside (5th draft)

Midsummer thunder
A horse frolics in the field
He does not mind rain

Midsummer Classic (2nd Draft)

Flashbulbs all alight
Beads of sweat cling to skin
Players run ablaze

Coalesce (1st Draft)

Rifts in the body
Artificial light hides night
Chirps drown dogs afoot

Stephen Hawking, The Great Hawk, currently at Cambridge in Britain for almost 50 years, might be moving to Canada!...to the Perimeter Institute in Waterloo (created from a $150 Million gift from the Blackberry Creator, Mike Lazaridis.) This would make me infinitely happy because I have a thing for Black Holes... and older men... with melodious voices.

Apparently, according to The National Post, the factors leading to his decision includes: upset at U.K. science cuts, a Cambridge peer and friend Dr. Neil Turok appointment as executive director at the Waterloo institute, and Dr. Hawking's belief that the British gov't is making the nation the home of "dull science".

This could just be a rumor... a quick front-page story... or a dream. But what's science there for if not to think beyond the realm of possibilities... Hey, Stephen could build upon the great Canadian astronomical tradition: The Canada Arm.

1:37pm… update:

Apparently…. The Great Hawk will not be moving to Canada. Although he might visit. Either way – look at that cool picture of him levitating! (http://www.thestar.com/News/Ontario/article/461406 )

3:11 pm - update -

I feel guilty. For the sake of current events and my own secret patriotic desire to be nearer to living greatness, I posted this story on Stephen Hawking. It was based on several sources, including the National Post, Toronto Star and Montreal Gazette.

But poor Stephen. He’s been working at the Cambridge place for 50 years and now we are bartering him around as thought he’s the shoehorn in Monopoly. I feel bad for contributing to the, now apparently false, attributions that he is moving to Canada. I do not know if attributions is a word, but I typed it up sans red-squiggly spelling line.

And so, I will write a poem inspired by his discoveries on Black Holes:

Celestial Obesity: A Sonnet

I know you are not a celestial vacuum
You just got too fat and supernoved
Too fat is 10 to 15 times the sun’s room
Causing you to transmorph a la Ovid
Collapsing the chair of the universe
You fell through and into the basement
When you were fat things were bad but now they’re worse
You’re gloomier than the Old Testament
You used to repel with flabby skin
Stinky bedsores and Pringles addiction
Now when life forms come near, you suck them in
And exist only in bad science fiction
‘Cause you achieved morbid obesity
And reached singular infinite density

if we will measure only the green glow

of noontime forests we may not learn all

that we desire the way that the slight fall

of tired leaves has marked off what we know

from what is hidden not a daily show

but something that might lead us just to call

our hearts to action the sun must stand tall

above our heads and our feet not be slow

not now the time for hope in magic forms

our choices must be urgent and depend

upon the blending of our thought and sight

it is our duty to obey the norms

not to bow down before each changing trend

but always to proclaim the rising light

you do not want to ask just how to fail

those who would build the wall make war a game

and climb the stage to loud cheers and acclaim

while on this side all hangs upon a nail

so many hours spend outside in the gale

while fools debate the costs and spread the blame

without a one who knows to fit the frame

at the right angle this is the whole tale

so much will happen when the day is warm

before the moon has sunk into the mire

and on the mountain other fools may dance

awaiting the true honesty of form

that comes when we declare fullest desire

and give ourselves the final decent chance

..

Jorge Lois Borges

How Happy Two Can Be

You, sir knight, have truly won my heart
In every single love-like thing you do
It's as if you've sent me one sure dart
Almost enough to make me rue
Your sweet and kind and graceful nature shows
Beyond reason why I truly fall
There's a calling - feel the loving blow
Next to you, my heart feels not so small
Life seems so short - my love's everlasting
Though death should come, my love would never fade
I feel as if you've been forever casting
And you've caught me my love - I am saved
Tell me, my love, if you love me
The world will see how happy two can be

The Hook

Never have I known one
To be such wonderful fun
We both laugh and play
Every day by every day

You bring joy to me
Without any hidden fee
I wish I could see you look
And know you feel my hook

Your Princess True

You're my prince and I'm your princess true
Freely, I give you a loving glance
You look back the same way - what a dance!
Bound together by love me and you
Every day, our love we find it new
I'm so glad you took just a small chance
If you loved another - painful lance
If you ask me if I love, I do!
Ever slowly, time will fade away
Your loving arms tightly wrapped around
To your love, the sun's only a small ray
For all eternity, we are bound
Will you say that you love - will you say?
You make my feet never touch the ground

From Head to Heel

From head to heel, I love you
Let me count every way
You've been kind and gracious to me
Far beyond what I deserve
You've suffered through my foolishness
Never saying a word
Your kind and gentle heart
Never fails to win you friends
And your smile could make an ice cube melt.
Your sparkling eyes match your smile
And they have sparked my heart's love
I don't know if I could stop it
I know I don't want to.
Your artistic skill is beyond mere words
How does your drawing come alive?
You love to read, to laugh, to live.
Have you noticed I do too?
There isn't much I wouldn't do for you.
You would provide and protect,
Two qualities I need.
Everything about you is wonderful.
I know no ill of you
Nor do I know anyone who would claim to.
Do you know how rare that is?
I have finally realized that I have long ignored
What I was looking for was right there
How did I miss it?
How could I ever have even seen another?
My eyes are now open
Please don't be frightened
And don't let it be too late.
From head to heel, I love you
There is no counting the ways.

Peace of a Dove

From the moment I met you
You've been nothing but kind
I always feel safe - how new
I can relax as we share our minds

Wishing you could somehow know
That without you, I'm brought low
Though we've known each other for
Some years, it's only now I've opened the door

Come to me, my love
Take me into your arms and life
I wish a peace with you and never any strife
I'll bring you the peace of a dove

Love Me Back

Your love is like a Hershey bar
Sweet and addicting
I can't get it out of my mind
You are just a little nutty - so it's with almonds
Have I mentioned I love almonds?

One of the things that would
Make my happiness complete
Is to hear from your lips
That you love me back
As much as I love you

You are the first and only guy
I've ever written poetry to
You are that special and unique
Without trying, you've grabbed me
Now I would know that you care

Hoping above all hope
That my gift is precious
I know that it's pure
Do you have any doubts at all?
Don't make me stand and wonder

I am painfully shy, my love
And I give what I can -
My eyes, my smile,
And, if you ask, my hand
Your presence protects me

Deep Down

Am I dreaming this strange new world here,
Or hoping to much for what cannot be?
Am I seeing real things in my mirror
Or viewing only big fat fool me?

Did you know it's you who bring me joy?
Deep down, deep down, only you my boy.

I Think I've Lost My Heart

I think I've lost my heart
It's certainly not residing in my chest anymore
There, where it used to beat
Only an empty tomb

I've looked around so hard for it
Hoping to see it near
I bumped into you and didn't realize
You held it so dear

I found someone else
And thought they held it close
But it turned out he didn't
Wasn't even interested

I kept looking far and wide
I went far away to look
I didn't see it there either
And almost despaired

Now I'm close back home
And I've bumped into you again
Suddenly, I've remembered
That an empty tomb means resurrection day

I Can't Remember

I can't remember how we met
Only that I'm glad we did.
I can't remember my first glance
That was filled with you

I can't remember when your family
Became so close to ours
I can't remember when I didn't know you
That's a good sign of friends.

I can't remember when I fell
Head over heels in love
I can't remember any of it
But I will never forget you

Meeting

The last time we were scheduled to meet
You came not. I know it was for a good reason.
Still, I hope that you missed me
At least a portion of how I missed you.

Our meetings will soon come to an end
Oh, how I wish I could tell you
That if it were up to me,
We would never need to meet

How I wish we would never part
But I know I stand little chance
Of gaining entry into your heart
Your kind, strong, wonderful heart

I Miss You

We haven't met as of late
And how I've missed you
Just your very presence
Sends a smile to my lips

Your presence brings me
Delight beyond any words
Beyond hope and beyond
Reason - I dare to love

I dare to love you when
I know full well you may
Never even bother to look
In my humble direction

If you never pay attention
Eventually, I will turn
But I will never forget
You who were first

And I'll miss you forever
Your presence my sunshine
I just want you near but
I fear that's too much to ask

Nobody said it was easy
To fall in love and give
Especially when it's you
Oh, longingly, I miss you

~~~~~

Do try NOT to laugh at this next one. I had a crush before Sir Galahad and one day, I just imagined them duking it out . . . okay, okay. I know it's corny, but if you're a female, isn't there a place in your secret heart of hearts where you too have imagined men shooting themselves for your sake, and the greatest man of all being the victor? . . . Okay, maybe it's just me. I swear I had a song in my head to go with this, and this poem would be about ten thousand times more awesomer, but that is just not as easily transfered to the blog as words.

A Ballad of Two Knights

Steel clashed on steel
As the two knights fought
Aye, and fought for two nights they did
With nary a breath for p-a-use
With nary a breath for pause

One tall and fair and cavalier
The other shorter, darker, and kinder
They fought under a rose-covered trellis
While a fair maiden watched from on h-i-gh
While a fair maiden watched from on high

It was a cruel fight to the bitter end
Though the two rivals had been friends
Some parts the maiden could not watch
Though she had captured both their h-e-arts
She had captured both their hearts

Sweating, tired, gasping the two
Circled each other like tigers
Watching each other warily
Awaiting the final b-l-ow
Awaiting the final blow

At last, the kinder felt such rage
He delivered the killing strike
And stood there, panting
While the maiden she did w-e-ep
The maiden she did weep

Down she came from her vantage point
To proclaim both fallen and victor
Though truly saddened by the loss,
The knight then claimed her h-a-nd
The knight then claimed her hand

The two were married in a year and day
Upon the bloody battleground
Ne’er did you see two in such love as they
And many o’ their years were b-l-ess’d
Many o’ their years were bless’d

~~~~~

This is what I imagined a poem from his perspective might look like. I couldn't resist. Well, okay, I probably COULD have. But I didn't.

My Lady Fair

My lady fair,
She has dark brown hair
And dark brown eyes
Where my heart lies

And every single day
Come what may
I stand by her side
I don’t wish to hide

Love like this – rare!
To be handled with care
She is so lovely –
My lady fair

A Knight At Night

He stared above him,
Into the inky blackness
That held the aloneness of the howling desert
And the ache of his heart

He waited for a glimpse of her
His heart beat like the horse
Galloping away from a panther
Who was preparing to spring

He waited in the desperate hope
He would no longer be alone
That she would join him
Out in the darkest dark

As dark drew on,
His heart grew faint
With dry mouth and quaking voice,
He softly called her name

She glided from the shadows
Where she had been,
Waiting and watching
For someone to call out

His throat constricted
How could he claim her?
She, the fairest. He, nothing.
He looked longingly, but . . .

She saw his hesitation
And with trembling hand
Reached out to stay him
And . . . she said his name

They stared at one another,
Not daring to believe . . .
He took her hand
And pressed it to his lips

Who was he that she should notice?
Who was she that he should pursue?
Yet, though trembling - in mighty fear
The two overcame their mutual cowardice

He said her name
She blushed rose pink
He smiled and . . .
So did she

Not Looking!

I refused to look for love
It didn't exist - not true love
Boys were immature heart breakers
So proud of the pain they gave

I carried myself so proud
I wasn't looking I said
Happily unattached were the words
No way was I going to get wed

Kids? Goodness, no.
Who'd want to go through all that pain
When they would never appreciate it?
No. No kids for me, thanks.

So proud to stand alone -
In the fierce way of the world
The howling desert wind
Knew more friends than I

All people gave you was pain
Nobody bothered even to try
To tell me I was wrong -
They knew I had the right of it

I was so convinced in not looking
So firm, so unyielding, unbent
No one, not even the boy I looked at twice
Could sway me otherwise

Then I met him
Well, I didn't really meet him then
I just got to know him better
To talk with him some more

We'd been friends for a long time
Our families were close and often ate together
So it felt like we knew each other
For a lot longer than we had

It wasn't one supernova -
It was the coming of a gentle rain
Slowly, drop by drop by drop
Friendship filled - plop, plop, plop

Nothing more than friendship
But what a good friend he was
And I was riding with him one day
Simply not thinking about anything

I turned and mentally reviewed
All the reasons I wasn't looking
I looked at him and suddenly
They completely fell to pieces

Everything I'd asked for
Was there in that package
My eyes opened wider
And I absolutely could not believe it

Him. Of course. Him - why not?
What had I been thinking?
How could I possibly have ignored him?
Did he feel anything like me?

In a flash I went from not looking
To seeking his approval
Any sign of favoritism
Was, of course, rewarded

That's where I am right now
Seeking his favor and face
I wish I could tell you the outcome
Whether or not I'll know grace

Life is too uncertain now
For me to predict what will happen
How can I know the inside
And what he's thinking?

What is he like you may ask
This man who convinced me
That looking wasn't wrong
Or even so very very bad

He's tall, thin, and lithe
All the grace of a panther
He's humble, cute, and kind
And oh, what a reader

I could go on for stanzas
About his hands alone
Or how about his drawing talent -
Or even just his smile

I wasn't blindly in love
I kept my wits about me
I knew he had faults
I knew also I didn't care

I couldn't begin to care less
What some of my friends would say
Only his opinion mattered -
Did he think about me at all?

It seemed as if he did
In some things he seemed to care
But in others, he wouldn't go forward
It's begun to drive me crazy!

So from not looking at all
I'm starting to think about pushing
The limits and boundaries
Of my circumscribed world

Maybe that's what love is supposed to do to you.

Come Over Here and Sit By Me

Come over here and sit by me
Just let me lay my head on you
Have patience, listen to me read
I'll watch you as you draw

Come over here and sit by me
Just to talk a little while
Have patience, listen to me talk
I'll listen when you speak

Come over here and sit by me
Just to be still for now
Have patience, watch me be still
I'll watch over you now

Come over here and sit by me
Just to pray a bit
Have patience, listen to my concerns
I'll listen when you give yours

Come over here and sit by me
Just promise you'll always be here
Have patience, rub my shoulder
I'll listen to your very heart beat

Glowing

Haven't you noticed yet that
I always glow when you're here?
Is it really that hard to figure out?
Am I wearing too thick a veneer?

You don't seem to even note
When I'm around or not
I notice and miss your absence
I enjoy your honored presence

You bring out the best in me
And make me want to be more
Have I totally misread you?
Weren't you glowing too?

Glowing is so easy to fake
But I thought you were real
Now I'm starting to wonder if
You were only a mirage

Questions to a Certain Boy

Why are you so distant?
Do I really scare you so much?
I promise I'm not so terrifying.
Sometimes, I'm even soft to the touch.

Why do you keep silent?
Don't you know I'm screaming?
Or, at least, I would be
If I knew you cared at all.

Why are you so afraid?
Does this mean a real promise?
I promise there's nothing
I would do to harm you

Why do you value yourself so little?
Don't you know you're my sun?
You warm and light my world
And make me shine inside

Fireworks

Watching the fireworks
From the stern of the Hornet
After dancing nearly all night

I stand there in awe and wonder
If I'll ever see fireworks
Of another kind in my life

And I don't mean that scum bucket
Who smelled like sour liquor
And was old enough to be my dad

I mean someone kind,
Gentle, intelligent, Christian,
Loyal, patient, and good

Maybe if I just wait some more
I'll find what I'm looking for
Perhaps it's not folk lore

That people fall mutually in love
And watch the fireworks
Light up both their lives
As long as they both shall live.

Licorice Sticks

You, my friend, my interest
Are like a licorice stick
Sweet, addicting
Long lasting

It really is too bad
You're about aware of me
As that licorice stick
Would be

This is a call to
All licorice sticks
To pay close attention to
Licorice addicts

And a call to the addicts
Who love their licorice
To take action, even a
Small one

The Story

This story is old
Time and again told
This story is new
Written down too
It's the simple tale
Of a heart jailed
A tale well said
Of a soul-filled dread
A song that's sung
Until day is done
A song that's true
Of a love that's new
A journey that started
For a near broken-hearted
A journey when stopped
Could not be topped
An old melody playing
To a heart that's baying
A melody crooned
To a wish for the moon
A new glowing star
To two far apart
And a star so bright
It lit up my night

Yet no story is this
The account of my bliss
‘Tis a true tale
It will not fail
A song of pure joy
Regarding a boy
A journey I took
Just for a look
A melody by doves
To my heart's true love
And that star so holy
I love him solely.

You Lit Up My Night

I wandered around, looking for a sign
That my love would not be on the vine
Dry and withered, like a dying rose
A beautiful, sweet maiden in her doze

A rustle outside yonder window pane
Ne'er did I think by that I would gain
My handsome suitor come to free me now
But then the question arose as to how

For I was walking in my blindness see,
I could not see him holding out the key
To open up my cold stone prison door
So captive was I, my will was no more

I turned and followed the wrong path for me
Trusted the wrong person - now, so stupidly
What was there I saw in that boy then?
After him, I'd had enough of men.

Yet you were waiting for me in that hall
I heard your voice and answered one more call
You were the one who lit up my night
And I've seen no thing that lit up so bright

~~~~~

The next two poems kinda go together.

Shielded

Too safe and sane behind my prison walls
So safe were they that I called them my home
Many people, my name they did call
An aging ceiling was my only dome

I thought I was safe and shielded there
I knew a boy I thought could be my life
My present hope - it was beyond despair
So resigned that I would be his wife

First, I found that he was not kind to me
Although he acted like he was the key
Second, I decided I would wait
For a love light even until late

Humbled by pride, I went further down
Into my dungeon, far below the ground
I stayed there - no remnant of the sky
Dared to come down and stay with such as I

I saw no future nor some hope for love
My dungeon walls I thought would keep me safe
Instead they kept out suitors for this waif
Still not ready for her one true gov

I heard a noise outside my dungeon door
So I got up to have a look outside
I took a look and saw to my surprise
A friend I'd seen so many times before

You had come now and I saw you at last
As if we'd met, but now I saw anew
Everything I'd asked for in the past
I saw I must never say adieu

You stood there grinning, hopeful and so kind
For a time, I did not know my mind
I was captive, but you did not care
You offered a key - question: do I dare?

I saw you with a gleaming, golden key
I felt the coolness in my clammy hand
My heart tightened as by a steel band
Along you came and then you set me free

Dazzled by the Sun

I walked outside,
Newly escaped from my prison home.
Thanks mostly to your key.
I'm sure you don't care now.

Slowly, I turned the knob
And heard the door creak open
My eyes closed instantly
Blinded by the sun.

I had to slowly adjust my eyes
To the bright outdoors
I finally saw the glaring sun
Full strength beating down on me

I thought I might actually turn around
And go back to my prison
But you stopped me with a simple word
I lingered there for awhile

Finally I saw you as more than friend
So overjoyed, I thought it would not end
But you like my brother more than you like me
And I still live my solo symphony

Blinded by the sun. Blinded by you.
Will I ever open my eyes again
To see a strange new world?
No. You're the only one that dazzles.

~~~~~

An apostrophe is a conversation or a monologue with something that isn't human, in the case of the following poem, various . . . body parts. It's not dirty, so don't give me that look.

An Apostrophe to Someone Who is Not But Should be Here

If you were here as
You truly should be
And we talked freely,
What would I say?

If I could speak clear and honest
But once in your presence,
I would say to your eyes,
"Look favorably at me."

I would say to your hands,
"Hold mine tight."
I'd tell your feet,
"Never step away."

Most important would be
The message I'd whisper
In the dark to your heart,
"Love me - oh love me."

~~~~~

About the only thing I can say about the next title is that I thought it was ironic and funny at the time. Now I just think it's silly.

An Italian Sonnet to a Chinese Boy (by His Infatuated German-English-Irish-Scotch-And-Possibly-French Admirer)

Why do I love thee? It's not really fair -
You stand there in your shining self and know
You smile at me and I am brought too low
Around me all may fade but I don't care
Will you e'er run your fingers through my hair?
You have my heart all tied up in a bow
The two of us are like the stag and doe
You do not make a speech of how you care
I love thee for you are the best of men
I truly love your face and nameless grace
I'm almost ready to quote Byron's line
To look upon your strong and rugged face
Perhaps someday you will be known as mine
Your kindness starts to make my heart beat race
I'll wait forever for a single sign

Harder Than it Should Be

Why does it seem
I'm always retracing the same old lines,
Learning the same old lesson, and
Singin' the same old song?

Why's it always gotta be
A stupid uphill journey
A vastly outnumbered battle, and
One more task that can't be done?

Why does everything seem
Like the hardest thing to do,
But the thing you've got to do
No matter what the cost?

Why is it that I can't let go,
Can't be okay for once
Can't win the battle
And finally be at peace?

My walls were built so high,
They stretched into the sky,
And I kept sharp shot watch
So how did he get in?

How do I tell him
He's gained easy access
To a sacred place
I allow few others?

Do I love him? -
There's the crux
And is it returned?
There's the fear

Will the world admit
A small cleft for two,
Just the two of us,
Or will they close the doors?

If we two loved,
I'd find my ponderings
Easily resolved, but for now
They're harder than they should be

They work out in my brain
Every single day
A hundred million times and more
Still there again on waking

So do you love me,
Oh my love? -
Will I find courage
To ask you once for all?

Can you find courage
To tell me the truth?
So at last I'll rest
And cease to grind

Out the very old
Questions every single day
And at last things'll stop
Being harder than they should be

~~~~~

I have no idea why this is number 23. It just felt like a good number (and I had a small thing for Shakespeare's iambic pentameter at the time . . . rhyming iambic pentameter, to be precise).

Sonnet #23

There is no single reason why I fell
So totally in patient love with you
One single moment - I know this is true
It is so precious, I could never sell
My time with you is precious - can you tell?
Asking to see you every day that's new
To talk, to walk, to love you truly too
My love for you is an unending well
I love to be with you in every place
It is as if you are my single joy
Would that you knew our holy love is right
I truly love to gaze upon your face
You know I'll never treat you as a toy
I hope that we will never have to fight
To put it simple, love for us spells grace

~~~~~

The name Jonathan means gift from Jehovah. Yeah, that little discovery TOTALLY didn't help matters at all.

God's Gift

You know your name - it doth mean gift from God
I feel as if the gift is mine alone
Although my heart feels like it is a crumpled wad
I would that all my sins I could atone
I wish I knew you loved me in return
And that our love would last forever more
You know, I hope, to come and say you burn
For I do love you to my very core
I wish you would return my love and be
Someone who knows to hold me tight for now
And promises to stay and stay with me
I give to you my very solemn vow
You are the gift I have been waiting for
Give me your heart, I shall expect no more

Once More to My Knight

I see you, sir, and honor you
From on high in my ivory tower
Wishing I could somehow speak to you
But alas! My tongue is numbed by sorcery

You're so kind, thoughtful,
And a rare true gentleman
I wish you'd look up just once
And see for yourself a gentle lady

Woeful is my lot for I cannot speak
And my knight does not look my way
He deserves so much better
Than the chained monster I've become

I wish I could find the fairest
So that I could see him happy
I expect no heroic escapes
And he cannot wait forever

None of you'd change with me
Nor I with any of you
For as long as I can gaze on him, happy
I'll ask no more favors

Still, how I wish I was free
Free to fly from this cursed tower
How fast I'd fly - straight to him
He could be mine that fateful hour

Would that I knew my way out
Yet, I am my own worst enemy
The ivory tower is of my making
And I do hold the keys

Yet, though I am my jailor,
I wonder if I can be free
For if I were not imprisoned,
Would I still be me?

So I watch him from my tower
And wish him all my love
Even if I am eternally trapped
He is as free as the dove

The speckled shadows play upon your face,
and yet I notice nothing but the light
that shines within your eyes, a brighter place
for me than twenty summers. Oh, I might

kiss you… how could I not? on days like these,
your lips a simple muscle twitch from mine,
and with this bed of grass, these ceiling trees,
these walls of diamond sky, these sheets of time?

This fair warm air will fade come this September,
but summer days like this I will remember.

By Gary David Johnson

Published December 2006

iUniverse.com

116 pp.

ISBN 0-595-40338-7

Date reviewed: April 19, 2007

Originally reviewed at: BookReview.com

Like most everyone who’s taken an English course, I had to sit through weeks of studying English sonnets and memorize the form until I counted syllables in my sleep – which is one of the reasons I enjoyed reading Gary David Johnson’s “Head Trauma” so much. It’s a book of sonnets that keeps some of the basic structural elements, but takes them beyond the boundaries set by Shakespeare and Edmund Spenser.

While his poems mostly keep to the “abab” rhyme scheme and the quatrain format, Johnson is nowhere near as strict as the old masters. Syllable count changes, one sentence runs on for three lines and there may not be a single rhyme in the poem until the last couplet. Johnson claims in his introduction that he is drawn to the discipline of the sonnet form, but I think the fact that he deviates slightly from that discipline is what makes his poems unique.

Johnson branches out topically as well as stylistically, covering a broad portfolio ranging from “Tookie” Williams’ execution to a woolly mammoth hair. My personal favorites include “I Make No Pact With You, Walt Whitman,” which makes no secret of his distaste for the legendary poet; and “The Life Electric,” an excellent metaphor connecting people to light bulbs. Honorable mention goes to “Starkweather’s Confession, 1958,” a sonnet assembled solely from lines of a serial killer’s actual confession.

“Head Trauma,” the poem which the book takes its title from, is an outlier in the book and an interesting piece of work. It’s a blend of free verse and sonnet, mixing Latin phrases and Greek mythology with insect metaphors on par with William S. Burroughs. Less accessible than the other poems, it’s still an interesting read that exposes mankind’s false perception and apologizes for the consequences.

When I read poetry, I look for someone who’s willing to experiment with tradition, and that’s what I got out of “Head Trauma.” Johnson’s work removes the sonnet from the bondage of iambic pentameter and crafts some truly innovative prose.

winter may come and go and with it pain
and summer's heat reminds us of no woe
the passing storm will burnish solar glow
and life seem cleaner for the heavy rain
all of the signals turn out quite arcane
since we are left with words we cannot know
like creaking thunder or the lightning blow
they serve to crush all meaning in each brain
the darkness would not lift and when we spoke
of worry of or fear not one could say
just how the trend of all our thoughts would twist
from calm to fright at the old-fashioned joke
that seemed to presage one more judgment day
and monsters looming once more in the mist

Winter brings snowfall
Lovers snuggle by the hearth
Writing sweet couplets

Little Miss Mary had a red bonnet
Down by the river she sang a sonnet

A girl went to bed
When she was tired
She lay down her head
And so I was inspired
I typed at my keys
And breathed a deep sigh
Weak at my knees
I gave a strong cry
Woe is me
Boy with black hair
That soon I will not see
The one that I care
So I sit here and write
Until my departing flight.

a moment more and the great sun will shine
you'll see more visions and the world will crack
open into its parts you'll see the track
and follow it you'll know the simple line
as well as i do and you will divine
how to go forward and the swift way back
the best reward and what we will not lack
some mark of wisdom some redeeming sign
there is a meaning in each stage each test
of working patience but we do not wait
on simple matters fear will lead to flight
and eagles flee into the ruddy west
but those aren't symbols of a deadly fate
merely the harbingers of normal night

Être est un geste simple pour toi ;
Que suis-je que désordre, fébrile feu,
Ou crispation sauvage au prix de ce
Sensuel dénouement – de ce miel

Sur la hanche du temps étiré, détendu.
Cœur, croisière, crue… les mots
S’entre-dévorent, qui enflamment
Ce rameau de mémoire, ton nom.

– Ange d’adoration, sur chaque maille
De l’air tu vis penché, et chaque cri
Grandit en fleur entre tes mains.

Et comme toi par le soleil mon crâne
Sera-t-il fendu ? laissant briller dans
Le feuillage les plus simples symboles.

-----------------------------------------------------

                UN ÁRBOL

Para ti, gesto simple el de ser;
Qué soy sino desorden, agudo fuego
O crispación salvaje a costa de este
Sensual desenlace – de esta miel

En la cadera del tiempo estirado, laxo.
Corazón, crónica, riada… las palabras
Se devoran entre sí e inflaman
Esta memoria en ramas, tu nombre.

– Ángel de adoración, en cada malla
Del aire vives agachado, y cada grito
Crece de flor entre tus manos.

¿Y como a ti con el sol mi cráneo
Se partirá? dejando que en la espesura
Brillen los símbolos más simples.

(Traducción: Versions Célestes)
------------------------------------------

Maxime Durisotti (Lens, 1984). Poeta y traductor francés. Tras su estancia en París por estudios, se encuentra a punto de ir a Lille en donde se dedicará a la escritura y a la traducción. Ver su blog: à saut & à gambades

1. Walking and walking down the river
    When the sun's reddish rays appear
    Water and the sky of the same color
    Eyes wouldn't have neglected to view that nature
    Whose beauty was here but not anywhere else

2. Green belonged to grasses and trees
    Fruit belonged to us and consumers
    Bows and arrows, my best weapons
    Large family that I could've taken care of
    That was my signal everyone should've aware of

3. With all of a sudden I was beaten and lost
    Never dreamt of west stabbing me but east
    Centuries later pains gone and me recovering
    I found myself in world that completed all inning.