Sonnets From A Charioteer
First Sonnet - A Time
(11 February 2002)
In sorrowing songs of time deprived,
I discover the you and me disguised.
And as I watch the woody nightshade climb,
I know we be, you and me combined,
Amid soulful rhythm and sweetest rhyme.
Each wistful word and tender tune pity --
Us, who with only airs and verse embrace,
With kindly odes to life's inequity;
For denying Thisbe, her Pyramus.
But what is the sense of time after all?
A time for Pyramus and his Thisbe?
If mingling of their breaths, by time, mean we,
Through the crevice of a cool, callous wall,
That time is here; a time for you and me.
Second Sonnet - Disenchantment
(18 February 2002)
Oh what denial of glazed enchantment!
What betrayal of my contentment
To discover the great magician is -
Nought but a trickster; a diddler; a dud!
His alluring spell nought but one great ruse
And the precious stones and nuggets of gold
That flowed from his mouth just common pebbles;
Mere, mediocre tunes from sidewalk fiddlers.
Yet, enthralling wizard that he is,
I baulk to see him 'neath his glittered guise.
Just like a foolish, moony, witless chit
Who would insist that unicorns exist;
And like one in deepest trance, it would seem,
I resist rude nudge to wake from this dream.
Third Sonnet - The Sea
(26 February 2002)
To me, you are the vast and endless sea;
Aqueous, deep, blue-green unnerving sky.
You can be violent, restless, ever frothy;
Gentle and soothing too, I'll not deny.
I am the constant beach, always waiting
For you to crash upon my agog whole,
With your tender touch, in turn, wild heaving
And thrashing that livens my breathless soul.
Lapping up your murmur, caressing hand,
I haply take your corals, shells - your gifts.
Yet with each lash, you pull at vitreous sand,
And, in great rage, you leave me - palled with rifts!
I chase you, never wanting to let go.
Engulfed, I cleave to you in deepest throe.
Fourth Sonnet - Sybil’s Leaves
(14 February 2003)
Apollo's ephemeral kiss upon
The nymph's expectant face, with open arms
Aspiring to enfold ennobled charms,
But in a twinkling you, the sun, are gone.
Like the lush, though brief, light of Endymion
The rapid flow of sand through glass with you,
Ethereal moments - so precious few -
Is that robust gush from World's empyrean!
This reign, with Aeolian gasps to rouse the trees,
In its wake does make refulgent colors
And subdues the thirst of parched flowers.
Yet, I glimpse our fate scrawled on Sybil's leaves,
Blown by the noble Zephyrus with ease,
And, in haste, gather what I can of these.
Fifth Sonnet - Day and Night
(28 October 2003)
Grateful I, for signs of day that remind
Me of the tender sorrow your death brings
That you have departed and left behind
The gift of sturdy trees and joys of springs!
Glad am I, to feel your touch ‘mid the breeze
And hear your loving songs from larks unseen;
To feel you near in the rustle of leaves
And, through these things, recall where we have been.
But fleeting day gives way to odious night
To give the illusion you have survived;
To make me want to clutch at ghosts in flight
And make me bleed from confidence contrived.
I cannot stop the sky from turning dark
All I can do is brave the wretched murk.
Sixth Sonnet - Remember me not
(7 November 2003)
Remember me not, only as winter
For I was the woebegone autumn too;
Often brooding and in sullen temper
Often sulking like yellow-green willow.
Better yet, think of me as fine summers;
As the sun touching you with balmy hands,
Just as tepid as mineral waters
That fervently caresses parched lands.
Mostly, think of me as springtime jasmine
With sweet perfume that imbues the cool air
Or as playful, smiling daisies, wherein -
Dwell a spirit free of sorrow and care.
No, do not think of me as I am now
With a hostile winter upon my brow.
Seventh and Final Sonnet - Mere Words
(10 December 2003)
We dream to flee a common existence
For in the deepest shadows of our thoughts
We become the heroes and the heroines
And, there, prevail with less regard for oughts.
Within other-world tales of our making -
Which, as mere words, expel the mundane -
There obtain adventures for the taking
And odes to love that, at first, seem inane.
But dreams become unruly and behold
What begins as amorous verse and song
Becomes a chronicle of death foretold
That never has adequate denouement!
And it must be time to wake when mere words,
Which make our dreams, do pierce our hearts as swords.
Date Posted: Dec 16, 03 - 9:11 PM