We help each other with…

…likes. The fact is, sometimes we just click “like.” It does not actually mean we ‘like.’ It does not mean we actually have read. Still, it does mean something. We do this. We perform this action for each other–fellow bloggers. We do this, in part, because we hope that our blogger friends–as well, we hope that we–through the long chain of bloggers connected to other bloggers, will be connected with those who will appreciate their special brand of comment or insight.

Regardless of our art or position or our views on anything in particular, we seem to care for one another in our quest to be heard by those who would appreciate our work, or comments, or views. At least at this low level of notice, none of us seem to be concerned with whether or not we understand or relate to a message. We seem all to be friends regardless. On this day, which is a day of thanks in the United States, it seems appropriate.

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Sonnet VI: Exalted

In aire, dost–poise thou in His image–fly
Perfection! bronzed against Hyperion’s blaze;
Exalted! at thy nadir by His rays;
With mastery! dost thou hold thy piece of sky.

In aire, for thee, hath stopt all time; on high,
At perfect flexion, as His Son displayed:
Retract, and tense, ’til once thou deign obeyed
His gravity, that deign thou not defy.

Down! by His unseen force, to Earth art thrown;
Descend thou! as I gasp–thy devotee.
Thou! slicing air! perfection still outshone!
And twist! and roll! and turn! to all degree!
As fly thou through devoted hands alone
With thee, who hast so Godly kist the sea.

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

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Sonnet III | Lyrical Love

The scrolls of words rolled like pathways of green,
Pattered little steps into a deep grove…
Through hawthorns, nettles, poison ivy, wove…
They weaved a song bladed in tangerine,
Slicing open with knives of sweet citrine…
Whispered on winds far, of some secret trove,
Ever coldly buried in the deep iced Nov’.
Does it exist, if ’twere not truly seen?

Thinking some treasure must surely exist,
On the traveler sailed through storms and gales.
Faced bravely the disorienting mist…
Repaired the broken mast and tattered sails.

When all the seas and forests searched, none missed,
Was it a pointless search of empty trails?

Intro 3: Instinct

Every twist and turn
Makes me hold you more tightly.
You can’t get away.

You know you are safe.
No matter where you may go.
I have to hold on.

Twist and slide, knowing
That I can always find you.
You can not get lost.

We are made this way.
Like hand and glove we are made.
That’s how well we fit.

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All this writing of reverse…

…Spenserians, I have finally (I think) ended the male body series with number ten, the last of which is a more or less standard Spenserian.

And, I believe perhaps, this is the one that causes me the most embarrassment.  I found myself blushing as I wrote this one–quite a comical picture, I may assure you.

To be sure, this was very definitely not the most embarrassing moment I have felt during this sonnet project.  I believe I have never been so embarrassed in my entire life as while writing the sequence which idolised me, myself, from the eyes and words of my sweet wife.  That was by far less theoretical, and hence, much, much more embarrassing.

Regarding the ending of the series, I say “I think” it is the last one in the series, because…  well… one never knows.  Embarrassing or not, it really is quite an intriguing subject, and does, from time to time, elicit moments of curiosity and reflection.

Even in cultures wherein such things were known quite openly to be commonplace, as in Ancient Rome, for example, there was still a bit of embarrassment among ordinary men regarding the subject.  Such things needed to be kept in proper perspective, after all!  Among the vast numbers of men–the great majority of which had no degree of unusual inclination or nature–even given that it might have been more common a subject at such times–such things would have been met with reticence, particularly when in the case of admitting such things personally. This kind of reticence spans all ages of the world, as far as I am able to discern, and even seems to be woven deep within our DNA perhaps, along with such inclinations as and of which we are capable.

And, of course, I am not speaking, or rather writing, of any of us less usual, such as today might be so labelled as one type or another.  Such people also were well known to those  as in my example of Ancient Rome.  Known and well understood, much as they are today, quite in contrast to the nature of the vast majority of us so glossed over, or perhaps, to re-purpose a common term of deconstruction: “marginalised.”

And…  I believe I have now said much more than I had at first intended, and certainly, even by Roman standards, far too much!!