Willow Me (A Sonnet)

Willow Me

Interred within the soil of youthful prime
A willow seed lies sown in dormancy,
That with the daily watering of time
Grows old and dies, a withered, weeping tree.
And years are petals on the bud of life
That when she blossoms unfold to display
A sapless flower; her petals, passed and rife,
Hang virtueless, bereft of sweet bouquet.
Yet what possesses virtue, worth or reason
Save framed within this frail mortality?
Or whence derives one’s passion for the season
If not from this temporal symmetry?
And if in life I find a love to cherish,
Then I shall gladly live and love, and perish.

Weeping Willow by Claude Monet Click Image to visit WikiPaintings.org

Weeping Willow by Claude Monet
Click Image to visit WikiPaintings.org

You

you

all my life
you have
stood
between
me
and my
dreams
obsession
possession
you are
my life’s bane
every time i
see you
seeing me
my heart
screams
the tears
i now weep
for the
tears and
the pain
in the
souls
that I love
when i’m
gone
you’ll
remain
reflecting

James Ford broken mirror

James Ford broken mirror

What is Love

What is Love?

Image courtesy of Steeve Wheeler at Learning with 'e's Click image to visit

Image courtesy of Steeve Wheeler at Learning with ‘e’s
Click image to visit

You ask me what is love, I say it’s naught.
For love can not be framed in logic’s reason;
What mind can comprehend those yearnings wrought
In hearts enraptured in love’s vernal season?
Behold the rose in bloom ‘neath summer’s sky,
Drenched in the morning dew, her fleeting fashion
Sparks fission in the musing poet’s eye,
His quill is filled to brim with ardent passion;
For passion’s root lies buried in mortality,
Yet love transposes finite mortal measure,
A moment shared becomes perpetuality,
A stolen kiss, immortalized forever.
    Two mortal hearts flushed bright with love’s vermilion,
    Walk boldly, hand-in-hand, into oblivion.

Orb Romance

cool-pic-of-spaceThe sun arose before the dawn
The morning of his day of rest,
With rays a-trim and beams a-shorn
He donned himself his Sunday’s best;

The astral aura fringed his crown
And cloudy frills bedecked his vest,
With trousers wrought of misty down,
His coat–a braided, cobalt crest;

And up he shone in dark of night
His wake a golden vaporous trace,
While off a-far stars twinkled bright
Below the world in sleeps embrace;

Into the heaven’s vaults serene
Beyond translucent silver billows,
That parted to reveal Selene
Reclined across her argent pillows;

And oh how radiantly he shone
To see her pale complexion flush
With love’s white heat reflected from
His ardent passion’s burning rush!

Then all around the Milky Way
Resounding o’er ethereal seas,
Celestial strings began to play
The waltz of Fate and Destiny,

And all night’s creatures awed to see
Their star a-waltzing with his queen
Go dancing ’round the galaxy
Enraptured in their lover’s dream

As hand-in-hand they twirled and swayed
In Gaia’s ballroom of the night,
Reciprocating hearts portrayed
The joys of sharing love’s delight;

‘Till in his luminosity
That passion’s bent his soul enkindled,
Like a tide gone out to sea,
Night receded, starlight dwindled;

‘The eastern skies turned fringed with light,
A draft churned mist in valley’s deep,
As birdsong broke the spell of night
And cocks crowed from the rooftops steep;

Then dawn broke o’er the world below
And Gaia sighed delightedly,
To see those love-struck orbs a-go
A-waltzing off beyond the sea.

Catador

Drinking-bacchus by Guido Reni Image: wikipaintings.org

Drinking-bacchus by Guido Reni
Image: wikipaintings.org

Catador

The bottle, to the wine, is of small matter;
Can pewter not conserve as well as glass?
The wine will either disappoint or flatter,
Fine crystal makes cheap fare taste no less crass;
But when I pressed the rarest of my vinery
In your exquisite vessel to ferment,
My cup (befitting, gem-encrusted finery)
Brimmed acrimonious quaff to my lament!
For bitter is the cup served with deceit
When poured from cherished vessels of affection,
To penalize the heart’s naive conceit
And taint love’s sweet bouquet with rank deception.
By this, dear Catador, you are forewarned:
Keep fine reserves well-corked and unadorned!

Barcarola

 

Nach-dem-tornado by Winslow Homer Image: wikipaintings.org

Nach-dem-tornado by Winslow Homer
Image: wikipaintings.org

Barcarola

A craftless ship afloat ill-tempered waters
With neither star nor compass to avail,
Blown on those wintry gales far from safe quarters,
Caught-fast upon a reef my yawl did flail;
For tempests of the heart will hard pursue
On passion’s tides that run love’s ocean deep,
Those ships of lovers seeking harbours new
In ports where love’s rare booty they would reap;
And wisdom’s compass is no guide for lovers,
Infatuation’s stars do but deceive,
To foil intrepid sailors, like all others,
And dash them on those ragged rocks to grieve.
Lament no more my barcarola triste,
For love is least where doleful tears persist!

Moon

Woman Silhouette... Image: geralt, pixabay.com

Woman Silhouette…
Image: geralt, pixabay.com

Moon

Lone orb, that in imagination’s vision
Ploughs silver wake through cobalt seas on high,
Your solitude enkindles passion’s fission,
Love’s avatar eternal in the sky;
What ocean could contain those endless tears
Or valley ring the cries of sorrows torn,
Or tome contain the words of countless fears
Borne up to you on winds of sighs forlorn;
On every heart a sonnet you have written
And every heart in you has sought solace,
Though you can never cry for lover’s smitten
Too arid is your ancient dusty face;
Yet still you bear the scar of every trace,
Of wounds on tender hearts love’s scorn did chase.

Spring Eternal

Eternal Love by Jahar Dasgupta

Eternal Love by Jahar Dasgupta

Spring Eternal

Upon the touch of Erin’s clement breeze
‘Cross beryl seas where vernal currents flow,
Through feldspar rime of winter’s icy freeze
Blooms verdant spring where lay the barren snow;
What bent pervades within those wisps a-fleet
Whose touch can pass so subtle and unfelt,
That with one kiss from Gaia’s lips so sweet
A season’s empire falls and glaciers melt;
But nature wrought in you her work’s increase
When I, in Uller’s bondage you did kiss,
And from the frosts of Holda’s field release
My love to blossom in your season’s bliss.
Now every day at dawn the swallows sing,
To cant the birth of yet another spring.

 

Porcelain Story

Porcelain Story

Written for my daughter Miriam and inspired by her first alarm-clock–a little porcelain girl below a clock in an apple-tree, and her piggy bank (which was always empty!).

 

Beside a big old Apple tree
Within a pleasant dell,
There was a tiny house wherein
A piggy-bank did dwell;

And when that piggy-bank walked out
One fine bright sunny morn,
He saw a little porcelain girl
Pick flowers on the lawn;

In hat and blouse and shoes of pink
And pants of pastel blue,
She strolled amidst the clover trailing
Footprints in the dew;

With skin of polished ivory
As white as falling snow,
Her braided golden-ivy locks
O’er slender shoulders flowed;

And ocean-pools of deepest blue
That paled the morning sky,
Where dreams beyond the rainbow’s end
Behind those eyes did lie;

And as the piggy-bank approached
That China figurine,
He stopped and stared to see her lips
Of ripest cherry sheen;

For on those lips a simple smile
Of greeting there did glow,
While in her tiny china hand
A daisy did she hold;

“Do you have dreams?” her voice intoned
A kiss upon his ear,
Like stardust falling through the mist
Yet ringing true and clear;

Forlorn the piggy-bank did pause
And turn toward the sky,
“I do,” He whispered with a sigh
And yearning in his eye;

“I dream of hidden treasures lying
Buried in my hull,
I dream of being satisfied
I dream of being full”;

“I dream of being opened-up
To shouts of joy and glee,
Of happy children running to
The candy store with me”;

“Of spending all my hoarded jewels
On Mothers Day’s surprise,
And seeing well-loved mother with
A teardrop in her eye”;

“But I am just a piggy-bank,
An empty vault of clay,
And I can only dream upon
That happy rainy day”;

“For many are the rainy days
That I’ve seen come and go,
But ne’er a silver shilling for
To line those clouds with gold”;

“And vainly does the needy soul
Seek charity in me,
For empty do I e’er remain
A dry and lifeless sea”.

And through a sudden mistiness
That in his eyes did gleam,
He saw a porcelain teardrop fall
That from blue eyes did stream;

“Oh dearest little china girl
I beg you not to mourn,
For I will gladly empty be
To see your sorrows shorn!”

“O’ piggy-bank you’re wise and good
My sorrow’s for we two,
For I am lost and all alone
My life is empty too”;

“For I was made by loving hands
To love the march of time,
And care for my beloved clock
That in this apple chimed”;

“And as the roots of this old tree
Grow deep in to the ground,
So was the love by which my dearest
Clock to me was bound”;

“But then one gray and fateful day
A dreadful thunder cloud,
Did see me from the sky above
And in love’s spell was bound”;

“Impassioned he did beckon me
But I refused to go,
And in his rage a lighting bolt
Of fury he did throw”;

“And struck my dear beloved clock
A mortal sundering blow!
So now I have no time to love
And I must love lone;”

And as her heart at last became
Unburdened from her pain,
She turned her tear-swept eyes upon
The piggy-bank again;

“Oh piggy-bank why do we bide
Where torments never stop,
You with your sad emptiness
And I with none to love?”

“For I was made to give my love
And you were made to take,
Let’s put the past to rest and seek
For happiness in fate”;

“Stay with me now and I will fill
Your emptiness with love,
And both of us shall be fulfilled
Our purpose from above”;

And so forever they remained
A happy porcelain pair,
A piggy-bank filled to the brim,
A doll with love to spare;

And in that tiny house that stands
Beside the tree so old,
There’s ne’er a rainy day who’s cloud’s
Aren’t lined with streaks of gold.

Little Dog

Little Dog

The little dog is old and grey
From childhood you loved him
and you gave him to me
a lover’s sacrifice
on that far-away day
when you kissed him in playful parting
I held him often
seeking something
anything
of your essence
yet no comforter was he
most pungent
bitter-sweet
memory
The void you left those many years ago remains
derelict somewhere in my soul
He was beautiful bathed in the fragrance of you
Just a tatty old stuffed-toy
that we both loved.