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.

To the Garden of Butterflies

To the butterfly garden I ran
its beckoning pulsed against the imminent sadness
of mourning and fading dreams
Its lush green vines and scattered wildflowers
a magnet to the journey of my feet
And just as I longed for and expected
when I entered there was no one there
Only the Longwing and Cloudless Sulphur
to flit on flower and autumn wind
to taste the nectar and dance again
And take with it the heaviness and suffering
endured
release it to the sky
so the sorrow would not weigh upon
so heavily
and my spirit may too
freely fly

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Walkabout in the Land of Fallen Trees

And we passed the place
where we weren’t supposed to go

A hidden corner
on a rare chilly morn

Crunching of foot upon acorn husks
and withered needles of pine

She kicked sawdust
on me unknowingly

And he could neither
be still nor quiet

A spiderweb clinging
to the last branch outstretched

The hawk gliding high above
keeping a close eye

This is where we found
the dying babes of the forest

The wind tumbling them
to their last breaths

But this is where we sang an old song
I did not know you knew

And held hands distended
in our wooden circle

in the land of the fallen trees.

fallen trees

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A Migration of Butterflies

Would the waves take me away
from the sorrow of life’s pain
along the crest we could fly
like the flitting migration of butterflies

Beyond the milky way
beside the gulf coast shore
its freckled sparkling light
as if never seen before

Time has ceased upon this
corner of earth
and we are sentenced to it
yet never pardon us from this moment

The only passing of minutes
by the slow descent of the sun
and the dance of insect wings
never coming undone.

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The Rabbit Outside My Door 

A rabbit lives just outside my door
I call him Bun-bun

He travels the cloud-filled night
And nestles all day while the sun shines bright

For him a cozy nook under a pygmy palm
watching me leave with each new dawn

And when I arrive alongside sunset’s burn
the alcove is empty, awaiting his return

What goes on behind his big, black eyes
Where does he go underneath starry skies

It has become quite routine
for me to greet this cute little thing

And I shall be saddened so
when his nook is bare forevermore.

images

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Along Autumn’s Shadowy Road

Along Autumn’s shadowy road
among scattered leaves
and ever-blooming hibiscus
a scent surrounds and encapsulates
a time when you were here

Lace curtains and tobacco
warm biscuits and apple butter
a long drive to your houses
the train chugging beside the highway
or heard in the distance at night

Afternoons on the red metal swing
climbing trees
stepping on crab apples
dancing clothes on the line
robust tomatoes in the garden

You came to me in a dream
respectively
young faces
and smiling eyes

Along Autumn’s shadowy road
among a post-summer wind
a lamenting of the past
and an emptiness in the heart
yet peace settles in

Still I stare at the photographs
and pretend you are just a long drive
away.

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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.

img_0288

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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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