Sonnet VII: Lotus

I lid mine eyes, yet not in sleep, but wake;
Not hid to prize the darkness, nor to see;
Nor magnify some other sense; nor be
Bereft of beauty; nor once more forsake

The heft of duty, as a way to break
The thrall of such cacophonous debris.
Nor shall so thin a veil set me free
From youthful ties, nor hail its mistake,

Nor truth, nor lies, but merely grant repose;
Which waking purpose, clearly, I’m inclined
To take, whenever I may know such throws
Of agony or bliss. And when I find
Such irony as this, I then expose
Myself, to all the wealth, in all my mind.

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Sonnet VI: Violets

‘Til noon, before these Violets lovely stir
With bloom that splendour morning’s promised awe;
Too soon, I made my contract, drunk on her
Perfume, and swore this compact as my law;

And strewn for all, to savour all the more,
Presume this Moonlight-sweet enthralment were
Immune to circumstance; that here, before
The gloom,  ill-fortune shan’t to these occur.

From Moon unto Aspasia, then, I go,
Subsumed by Columbine ’til Dawn’s deplore,
Marooned and Wild; to Corsican I know,
Entombed this fivefold Covenant I swore;

And prune such flaws, assuming naught will show;
Festooned and drawn: my doom from long ago.

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Sonnet V: Her Majesty

A word, then two, a fountain like a stream
That wears away a mountain. Time, a spring,
Reflection over aeons; it can bring
Perfection. Though it presses down, extreme

In ways of mystery. Its form can seem
To press its history:  On such a common thing
As common coal–transformative–may wring
A diamond fine and whole.  And so supreme

A form may limit, yet such limits might
Become the set of forces pressed upon
So commonplace a line as these I write.

The queen of all poetic forms: I fight
Her storms of pressure, educated on;
And open up my mind to all her light.

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Sonnet IV: An Oath

No Oath, no cause, nor promise do I need;
For promises, with duty, must be kept.
This violet, a promise could impede;
For I, by every faculty, am swept

To tend, and make to prosper, every bloom.
I long have tried to stay my hand; but could
Not ever stay my soul; nor–and, assuming
Such could keep me whole–remand, for good

Or ill, that Holy Thread I share with God.
His will–all beauty, and all bounty, came
From His divine, all knowing light–abroad
To His creations fly; and in His Name,

Created He those beings He deemed as great,
Entrusted, in His image, to create.

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Sonnet III: A call

No albatross is this around my neck,
This talisman to set my soul afire,
A host of angels, heavenly; a choir
Who, singing endless blessings, at my beck

And call, continue to adorn, bedeck,
Enthral, enslave the muses they acquire.
And, subject to my will, they must inspire
My pen to greater heights; until no speck

Of life remains within my body; or
My soul is, from its heart still beating, ripped;
Or locked in shadow, knowing only breath.
For, nothing less will end the oath I swore;
Until I have, this mortal coil slipped;
Or when the shadow takes me unto death.

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Sonnet II: Steps

First one foot, then the next, and then the next;
They step on recklessly five at a time;
Hindered fecklessly by internal rhyme;
And by Olympus mercilessly vexed.

First one, then two, then three, this playful text;
Until the beast is bested; until I’m
So mercilessly tested; and sublime
Pursuits I may attend. Much more complex,

They joyously transcend this five foot beast;
And I am taken in: to my own world;
When to this world, my life may be released.
To better times and places I am hurled

Away. ‘Til four, or five, or six, can this,
My day allow, and dream, and write, in bliss.

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Sonnet I: Not Alone

I sleep and then I dream and then I wake,
And live and work and play from sleep to sleep.
And sleep again and dream, and wake, and keep
My hand, to pen, and psalm, and song; and slake

This lust I feel when, weak or strong, I make
Them manifest; I sow, and press, and reap;
And joyously, my vintage test; I weep
And laugh as, for one day, I quell this ache;

And thrill to share each cup with those I love,
And even those I may; though not in hope
That I might ever sway, or help them cope;
But merely seek them out; and deem, above
All else, they might not doubt that there was one
Who felt as they, when sleep and dream was done.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all: