Category Archives: Sunday Night Sonnet

I’ve been writing poetry since I was near about ten. Every Sunday evening I will post a poem, either current or from the vault. I hope you enjoy and can relate in your own way.

Farewell September

We came back to thank god
all is ok
but the stench of humid decay
and fallen trees
rises like a bubbling swamp
and nighttime loneliness
pricks mockingly at the heart

Flood waters and sink holes
rip and drown requisite dreams meant for peaceful sleep

Blinding sunlight falling with the spit of rain
I want to sleep next to the open window again

A disconnect with those who stayed
and those who love but far away
a rash urge to flee again
or chop off all the hair
and wish it to grow back times ten

You are not sad
and I hope you never have to contend

I’ll take it all and bear through it as I wish September to end.

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Breakfast in Milan

Green tea and almond cake
two cappuccinos and a cream-filled croissant
ordered in broken Italian
among the bright white cosmetic lights
of the Milan airport

Breakfast before our flight back home

Your happy-go-lucky smile
trumping my usual pre-flight nerves
I ordered you another brioche
and they understood.

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In a Field of Flowers

At dusk’s glowy light
as the moon began to rise
and the summer sun slowly sank gracefully into the horizon
I rode an old but sturdy bicycle
to a field of flowers
A dream this was in my mind
many a time
And I stopped for a moment to let it in
to feel the breeze on my face
and watch the white daisies sway
Could I live here forever
I calmly asked myself
Could I bask in country’s earthen simplicity
I surely am not a big city girl
Could I keep my hands dirty
and ride this bicycle for miles in solitude
The black horse in the distance neighed and I dreamed for a moment that I could
In a field of flowers
as evening settled in.

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As the Rooster Crows

As the rooster crows
the hidden sun shines behind murky grey clouds

But the air is not murky
as tepid drops of rain fall and gather like pools of light on pink pedals and green leaves of oak
soaked right in an early summer festival of storms

I watched as they rolled in quietly then came bursting in loud and quick as foxes

Then leaving in a rumble rumble want of repetition 

The morning does crave the rooster’s crow
as pale silence beyond rainfall waits for its decision to bring about inference of breath 

A gentle stirring of the day
Some work, some play
And a space to curl up and ponder 
Set forth creative endeavors

Basking walking smiling dreaming
As the rooster crows.

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A Place to Make a Fire

Among your heart’s desire
be there space for which to retire

Not in suffering resolution
but in courageous absolution

Contentment here as well as there
but something amiss in our breath’s air

And in between all feelings of woe
a dormant shimmering glimmer of hope

Destiny’s will come forth and received
a space to reshape the before besieged

Through clouds of storm and hurricane
among sorrow, forgiveness, exaltation, pain

Within your soul amid the muck and the mire
wholly a place to make a fire.

 

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It Has Come to My Attention

It has come to my attention
though arduous in its reasoning of how

There is room for things slunk away
in the corner of heart’s bough

that in this instance a sprouted seed
green with fury of survival

pushed away dirt and muck and haste
against the push and pull of rivals

I do not know when or how
the why I do however know

There is room here as there’s always been
for love’s arms to embrace
to free and grow

Yet with apprehension this ardor onerous
A virtue like truth to see

Patience in heart and mind and soul
Love in earnest be.

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The Fallen Leaves (the passing of time)

Trudging knee-high in leaves
discarded shelter now food for soil

The passing of time long arduous
and fleeting all at once

We wish for high winds
to carry all away

And when they do come
blow our hearts out of our chests

Maddening deafness except
the blind chatter of our minds

and the crunch swish crunch
of fallen foliage at our feet

Trek on still
with our eyes set forward

Lest we cackle like mad men
in the unforgiving forest of
despondency.

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