Sonnet VI: Her Call

I hear the rain; she calleth as she did
So many years ago. But now I can
Not heed this pain. She claimed me as her man;
No longer is it so. Thus am I hid

From she, whom hath she been, my dearest love.
Thou canst but ask: But why dost thou forsake
This holy path of love which thou bespake
To be the flask who’s nectars rank above

All fruit; wherethrough, all Gods and men, subsist.
But to be true, I sometimes answer her;
Though not so loudly she should know exists
The man she proudly loved, because he were
The shell of what he was, so shan’t she know
The depths, so shut, a failing love may go…

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

Permalink

Advertisements

Sonnet V: Inscribed Elegy

The gentle rain, as gentle notes, inscribe:
A mourning song for images withdrawn;
A pleasing elegy to moments gone;
Or passing fancies, never real. Describe

The rain, and gentle airs will drift to mind:
The dreaming sounds of feeling; river songs,
A never ending symphony, in throngs
Of sound, imbibing, then, of rivers winding

Endlessly about the morning light;
Entwining dewy havens of the heart;
And mountains of a mighty spirit’s height,
Transfixing grateful captives of its art.
How beautiful the rain and music are,
That take us into paradise so far.

  • To my friend Jena:
    So that you may remember
    How I love the rain.

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

Permalink

Sonnet IV: Her Dance

Curious, the rain whence cometh down,
She falleth soft in overwhelming drops;
In peace, her quietly pervading sound
Transformeth sun and moon–so uninvited.

Strange, that once her drops, when they invade,
As former they, her forest’s ardour stops;
Though cities in the stead of trees pervade
And held as quiet sway–so unexcited.

Pleasing, how again she doth return
Such streets and buildings, parking lots and shops;
To older days  for which they seem to yearn,
So mixt with all her fallen tears–united.

Older she than land they wrest; her crops,
If brick or straw are we–and unrequited.

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

Permalink

Sonnet III: Family

At last! the Rain! who triumphs as She falls
To tame the Wood who drinks Her as She calls
His name. Insatiable tonight, this Rain
Who nourishes His great and wooden halls.

So long, so passionate, this sweet affair;
Young Forest; sweet, His Rain; discrete, Their care;
Adorns She this, His stature and His strength,
His fingers, leafy, brush Her streaming hair.

When first I saw Them courting through the night,
Her tempest, brazen, teased His leaves to flight;
And coy, Her tear-drops mingled with His dew;
So sparkled He, as She, with joy and light.

Though Earth were His, and Sky were Her domain;
Her squalls prepare and then delight, at length,
This bassinet wherein Their Children grew.

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

Permalink

Sonnet II: Deprived of Thee

My Rain, why left me here, hast thou, alone
Without, luxuriant cool, thy tender kiss?
Of thee, I dream, confess of that I miss,
Deprived of thy caress. My Rain, mine own

Sweet Rain, hath left me only wind, and blown
Away. Thy lofty havens toss and list
Astray. Hast thou forgotten me in bliss?
And am I not thy dearest love alone?

Come back to me, my cool and softing Rain!
And cover up this never-ending blue!
Touch now my lips, my hair, and end this pain
Of missing you. I long to see thy true
Face shining through my lonely night again,
So prest against my yearning lips anew.

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

Permalink

Sonnet I: Thine Alone

My beauty-rain, O let me feel thy cooling
Warmth again–thine effervescent touch;
To sink within thy sweetest nature, pooling;
Feel thy sweetest yield surround me such:

First hint of tender touch and faerie fire
So doth mee now thy promised passion lend,
And fill mee with my single heart’s desire:
To dance the love thine elements portend.

For thee, my passion climbeth as none other,
Yearning songs, yet melancholy, slow;
When thou art near, my gentle, warming love,
Thou bringest lasting peace though must thou goe.

Could any foolish mortal claim the right
To boast thou dost caress, unknowingly, thy man tonight?

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

Permalink