Immersed inside a book outside a storeThe lady stopped, involved in stories deep.To break into her mind might prove a boorBut surely one could ask to take a peep. What novel had she found inside the stall,A queer old book or volume bound in calf?Perchance a quaint old tale to hold in thrall?One hopes it isn't just some worthless chaff. A strong allure is built from many quirksDisplayed while one has lost oneself inside.A...
We walked a lane in Wales one morn in MayOur eyes took note of blooms on shrubs quite near.We sniffed some sprigs near Hay on Wye that day,Each bush had scents and smells both clear and dear. A whiff was like old books on stands and racks, Each big thick tome could match that scent so strong.And we had smelled a few in bins and stacksThe smell was just the same, we were not wrong. In rooms where we would sit to read and...
"The Poetry Lesson" (inspired by Osip Mandelstam’s “The Stalin Epigram”) The cell is pitch black except for two cones of stark light, One over a man wearing a sea-green single-breasted tunic, Breeches, polished jackboots, and a peaked cap, Sitting behind a metal desk, And the other over a naked man whose arms and legs are Chained to a four-legged chair with one leg missing. First man: Name? Second man: Mikhail. FM: Mi...
We may not let our heroes fade with timeLest martyrs be erased from honor's scrollWe must make sure the memories stay sublimeOf deeds that still define our nation's soul Collectively we share the warriors' painAnd cradle fallen soldiers of all kinds We soothe the brows of patriots againTo feel their sacrifices in our minds So raise your glasses to the ones who gaveAnd let the poppies bloom upon your chestWe celebrate the...
Strong heart is beating in a harmony,Each movement set angelically with pride. So subtle that it matches musically,To center stage exquisite form does glideOn pointe, on tiptoe, swaying with the tuneThe wind caresses, gently singing free.So calm her soul, like summer days in JuneBut every step is like a storm tossed seaBehind sweet lips and eyes, typhoons may hide,With calmness and with prideful dancing eyes,The chaos an...
Their cunning voices coyly soothed his fear.Their whispers damp and cool, a subtle treat. They tempted him with pledges, in each ear, To sate his every bliss, most welcomed feat. The charms of ageless beauty drew him nigh.Pervasive sparkling visions swelled his dreams.Soft dainty fingers stroked, eyes meet his eye, Lest he resist such sweet seductive schemes.They trusted he would not withstand desire,Each nymph beguiling...
The sky is bright'ning as the night retreatsThe meadows and the fields still hide in mistThe dewy grass is waiting to be kissedBy sun's first ray that orange heaven bleeds The sunlight strengthens until it defeatsThe darkness with its never yielding fistReveals the things my eyes thusfar had missedAnd creating all the shades its palette needs Its painting a new day in pastel blueAdds color to it with each line that's draw...
She lies with me and we are still Yet in my mind, forever moving, images of her, so many fill my senses; exciting, soothing, and I forever see and smell and feel: her eyes, her hair, her skin, her smile and every place and time with her is real inside my memory. And all the while she lies asleep, not knowing that all the days and joys and pain and love and song are with me now, and now and always. No moment shared is ever...
A cold and rainy May appears with songs.Outside the feeders wait for hungry wings.My thoughts return to past unsettled wrongs,It seems that I can never give up things. The trees are filled with buds and greening flecks.But will the cold destroy the eager bloomsOr shall we hope that life in all respectsWill once again return from winter's tombs. In just this way I dream that I may passBeyond my pain and loss that brought d...
"I'm sorry." "I don't care." "I wrote you a sonnet." Now he has her interest. "A sonnet?" "Yeah, like Shakespeare." "Why a sonnet?" "I don't know." "Is it a good sonnet?" He looks at her, his chocolate eyes meeting her icy blue. "I don't know." "Then, why are you trying to read it to me?" "Because, it's up to you, I guess. To see if it's good." "I don't take unconfident boys. Come back when your sonnet's good." "Okay." "O...
Poetry and I never could get along, I grappled with the rules, and the gist of the stanza. Frozen with fear I might do it all wrong, Over poetry writing, I chose reruns of Bonanza. Part of the problem was this business with rhyming— It had to be perfect and, of course, also make sense, Keeping in mind meter, scansion and timing. And on top of all that was — or is — the matter of tense. Haiku, pastoral, limerick or free ve...
