When nothing mattered more than love and play,
Imagination was then in its prime,
And life began anew with every day.
A flower was then a joy, a mystery,
And not a petal, root and simple stem,
And life was full of wondrous fantasy,
Untainted by the intellect of man.
That time is gone now; it cannot return,
The fruit's been swallowed; its slow poison kills,
And yet my fallen heart will always yearn,
For that most happy time of unknown skills.
Oh false god, knowledge, daily you destroy,
All that was holy in me as a boy!
Requiem for Love
Love does not die of just a single blow,
One drop follows another as love flows,
From thousands of non-fatal cuts and tears.
A thousand little stings from tongue or eye,
A thousand unkind words from me and you,
A thousand "I told you so’s" piled on high,
A thousand battles lost, refought anew.
Each wound a scab that grows harder with time,
Covering festering hurts that won't heal,
An unwise word morphs to betrayal sublime,
Suppurating reminders all too real.
Simple kindness is lost from lack of use,
And what remains just a facade in truth.
Requiem for Mom (Lita - 1929 - 2018)
You were only seven when you went blind,
Two years later you were seeking to find,
Full time work to help your mom ease her fears.
Eight brothers and sisters home, and dad dead,
From fascists' caresses in dark, dank cells,
You rolled up your sleeves without tears or dread,
Worked full time packing fish and working wells.
At sixteen you left for a foreign shore,
Worked hard, learned to read, saved all that you could,
To pay mom’s passage and two brothers more,
Keeping a promise as you knew you would.
Of your son you were as proud as can be,
But one of your cells was worth ten of me.
That calls the soul towards a chasm deep,
Dulling the mind and making the heart long,
For that which it may touch yet never keep.
A Sonnet is too much the friend of truth,
And leaves no room for self-deluding lies,
It conjures up the honesty of youth,
And artifice through artifice soon dies.
Essential truths will spill onto the page,
Transpiring through the pores of consciousness,
Leaving exposed the battles that we wage,
To build facades of hope for hopelessness.
I can deny the painful song I hear,
But it’s too late; its message is too clear.
Sonnet To a Friendly Critic
When did she lose touch with my inner heart?
Was it so long ago she held it near?
It was so easy from the very start,
To share it all with one I love so dear.
How can she thumb the pages of my life,
And find fault with the words at every turn?
So easily she crosses out a line,
Ignoring all that from it she could learn.
I smile, she smiles, but does not understand,
And she goes on, perusing through my soul;
In just a moment I will take her hand,
And we may both yet smile as we grow old.
Our love is strong, its long-fueled flame still burns,
But what is gone will never more return.
Athena
Warrior goddess that is nobly so much more,
Than in what ages past held the known world in awe,
As the patron goddess of all heroic lore.
You sprang from Zeus’s head in armor, fully formed,
Grew to be among the gods his favorite child,
A warrior who as patron the arts transformed,
Fiercest defender of truth, enemy of guile.
You live today in every woman’s heart who knows,
The road to freedom is not paved with words of air,
In the fertile ashes of battles freedom grows,
Those battles fought and won by women everywhere.
You, paragon among all heroes from the start,
Live on triumphantly in every woman’s heart.
[ Author's Note: I may add some additional poems to this chapter, but in the meantime if you would like to hear me some of these sonnets and others you may do so free at the following YouTube link: YouTube Poetry Reading ]
