The Sonnet
Series
Prelude
Every decision, it seems, is a trade-off,
and each choice,
a rejection of all other options.
We oversimplify
to mask our true feelings.
We generalize
to avert the difficult question.
Our friendship, our love is a complex being,
a life all its own
with wants and needs
that test our resolve.
Is it a mistake, a crime to feed it, to allow
it to blossom and grow?
Addendum
The things that I've always wanted, I'll always want:
tea for two at bookstore cafes;
chess games and poetry in city parks;
tender kisses at midnight
under summer moonlight;
white wine with honey-roasted almonds...
The things that I've laboriously earned, I'll laboriously keep:
enduring friendships and trusts;
memories of special moments
when love was sweet;
the deep-seated satisfaction of success;
lessons learned from failure.
November 1987
Sonnet #1
Dear friend, the sonnet seemed to be the best
of forms
To test and gage the status of our friendship
born
Those years ago, amid the various interludes
of summer’s nights;
Failure to give life to such a sweet creation
would be quite
Disarming, and alarming, and a waste of all
those precious
Talents, borrowed from the Muse of song and
word and deed;
And if by chance our meeting and our wanting were
unfounded,
We owe it to ourselves to search and find the
function of that need,
Dear friend, though each has walked his
separate path
To glory and to honor, let not the fleeting
summer’s wrath
Blot out the blessings of the Sun to feed and
nourish all we gained
And earned through work and play and love and
joy and pain.
If reading sonnets opens up your vision,
Send me one to reveal your heart’s position
Jacksonville, March 1989
Sonnet #2
You try to steer me, gently, on a course
avoiding you, then call my love a butterfly’s,
point it to flowers new. “Take my deep desires
elsewhere” is the song you sing to me.
“Let’s always hold fond memories of the
love that used to be.” Well I’ve been around,
I know this town, I hear all that you say,
you’d rather not get serious, just be
best friends at play. But my soul’s a mighty hunter
that has locked in on its prey. I will stalk
it, like the lion, in a very patient way.
And just when you least expect it, I will
be there for your needs, and we'll smile when
we
remember other flowers...
Jacksonville, November, 1989
Sonnet #3
A wounded beast, I stalk the corridors,
the passageways of my hidden, broken soul;
hungering for freedom from the wretched pain
that hems in, that locks up, and that ties in knots
my twisted thoughts, and renders everything
I touch an ill-begotten, uninspired blotch.
The memories of our June embrace
I struggle to preserve. The touch, the taste
of love was sweet and tender, not the salt
and rust my present occupation yields to me.
Yet as we speak, I pace the halls, the
closets of our mind, and searching, I uncover
the one I came to know and grew to love
Yet lives, and writes, inspired from above.
Mayport,
February, 1990
Sonnet #4
Your sonnets
reached my mailbox today.
I plunged
into them like a dog in heat.
Absorbing
them, my hardened soul was moved
to tears of
passion, blinding, bittersweet.
The symphony
of words you now compose,
Resulting
from deep inspirations, pure,
You weave,
majestically, as from an ancient source,
And share
with me and cause me to conjure
New images.
Lines that bear the current and
The voltage
of the engine of my soul,
Your
whispers loosen knots that bind me,
Your words
unwind me, make me whole.
And work I
must to now retain
These
prayers I send up in your name.
Jacksonville,
March 1990
Sonnet #5
Dear friend
my evening well was spent
Engaged in
thoughts’ exchange, review,
Revealing my
ill soul’s intent
To heal
itself, be born anew.
I love your
rhythms, rhymes and notes,
They lift my
spirits, higher, ever.
You are the
perfect antidote
For poisoned
darts and hearts that sever.
Tonight I
need a stronger brew,
Poured in a
mug, steeped with emotion,
Some blend
of herbs my fathers knew,
a wine of
sleep, a witches’ potion.
My thirst is
far from being quenched.
My heart and
soul in pain are drenched.
Mayport, March
1990
Sonnet #6
I’m torn
between two sinking ships,
Two jealous
mistresses who hate.
To choose
one is to choose them both:
The choice
is clear; I hesitate
Deciding and
the moment slips away.
New ships
are landing at my pier
From places
strange, from shores untold.
They beckon
me to come aboard,
I hesitate.
Once more events unfold
Revealing
feelings that are blue.
My pilot
bids me change my course,
Steer clear
of danger, shallow shoals.
I navigate
the ship through storms
To reach the
resting place of souls.
Mayport, March
1990
Sonnet #7
Dear
faithful friend, the spirit
Of the
verses that we write,
Excites us and
invites us
To relive
that summer’s night.
There are
those who do not put stock
In resurrection’s
power;
They hem and
haw at warnings
Of the
coming of the hour.
I too had
doubts about beliefs
That dead
could come to life,
Then my
forgotten love for you
Was
resurrected, born anew . . .
A stronger
and far deeper love
Is one twice
born, sent from above.
Mayport, March
1990
Sonnet #8
Unclothed we
come into this world, possession-less, alone,
The odyssey
to reach each goal acquaints us with new pain,
Each
stumbling block, despite the odds, becomes a stepping stone,
And every
loss, a predecessor to a greater gain.
Our meeting
was revealed to me when I was but a child:
A revelation
of a form, a loveliness, pristine,
Yet planted
in my heart was that pure vision, undefiled,
Someday to
manifest itself just as it was foreseen.
I found you
when I lacked the wherewithal to make you mine,
Distressed,
perplexed, I felt compelled to spell my love that June.
That
summer’s love was but a glimpse into a world divine,
A harbinger
of better days, of times more opportune.
We’ll meet
again and then we must decide upon the hour
When we’ll
allow our destinies to intertwine and flower.
Mayport, March
1990
Sonnet #9
We’ve been
delayed from getting underway.
This pause
affords me time to write to you
Some
thoughtful verse, to contemplate, to pray,
To call my father’s
gods, subdue
The passion,
pain, excitement of the day.
I read your
sonnets, gifts of Spring,
About our
love one June.
I miss our
chats when I’m away at sea.
Communion
with you makes me know I’m blessed.
The poet in
me prays you’ll always be
My friend,
my lover, object of my quest,
And
sonneteer of magic poetry.
March love
outlives the summer’s fling,
‘Cause
summer ends too soon.
Mayport, March
1990
Sonnet #10
When
overburdened with the cares and woes
Of everyday
travail, I take a pause
To recollect,
arrange my thoughts, compose
Some verse
for you, attempting to disclose
A word, a
clause, the laws that bind our hearts
Together in
a single work of art.
Our love
cannot be bound by words and notes,
Though
flawed, confined to secrecy, and mute,
We can’t
stand on a mountaintop, promote
Abroad this
feeling, though it keeps our boat
Afloat amid
the sunken wrecks, unmarked,
Unseen by
those who fail to read the charts . . .
I love you,
yes, I can’t ignore the force
That steers
me steady on life’s stormy course.
Mayport, March
1990
Sonnet #11
Before I
fall asleep each night I read
The poems
you’ve sent: they are my prayers, my hope,
My joy,
prescription for my timeless need.
I read them
twice, I measure every slope
And curve,
defining and deriving their
Delights,
despite the doom you recommend
Our end
would be if we should ever touch
Our lips to
lips, our flesh to flesh again.
My compass
true, my anchor sound, I’ll find
The key to
treasures long forgotten, long
Unrecognized,
preserved within the mind
Of poets who
still sing the sonnet’s song.
And you, my
friend, write on your sullen dirge.
I wager
we’ll survive its sterile purge.
Mayport, March
1990
Sonnet #12
One April
day the crew got underway,
With
Captain's-gig and hopes and spirits high,
Embarking on
a lark to old St. Aug,
To seek for
LUCE the blessing of the fleet.
We passed
shacks, mansions, rich and poor that lined
The shore.
Along the beach the sand was brown
Like mud;
ebb tide exposed the rotted posts
Where
fishing boats and captain's gigs could land.
LUCE led the
slow procession past the stands
Where stood
the Bishop, color guard, and friends,
He sprinkled
us with water from his hands,
And smiled
and spoke his blessing for the fleet:
God bless
the fleet that shields our shores from harm,
Protect the
ships that silence war's alarm.
Mayport, April
1990
Sonnet #13
A young
man's life expired on my ship
Today. He walked aboard at dawn, intent
(One must
assume) to start his day, his life
Anew. Then suddenly, without consent,
Without the
chance to bargain, beg, or plead,
The
messenger of death unsheathed his sword,
Cut off the
breath, suppressed the beating heart
Of life once
vibrant, cocksure, confident.
A young man
died, was his the first, the last
To reach the
end of dreams, the final breath
To take?
When all the storms of life have passed,
And evil's
jurisdiction over souls
Is brought
to naught, the truth, once crucified,
Will rise to
save the souls of hopes that died.
Mayport, April
1990
Sonnet #14
Dear friend,
I listen to your poems of late,
And
contemplate the dreaded thought of life
Without the
prospect of your fond embrace;
I reminisce
about that kiss one June:
Too soon,
too late to consummate; too true
To be
denied, too pure to not be sure
That God
intended for our souls to dwell
As one,
exclusive, all-embracing love---
No matter
what the future holds in store,
I did, I do
I’ll always love you more
And more;
though distance separate us far,
I’ll search
the constellations for that star
That shines
in you. And should I die, too soon,
Apart from
you, we’ll meet again one June.
Jacksonville,
April 1990
Sonnet #15
Dear friend,
with pen in hand and feelings true
I sing for
you this song. Despite my voice,
Too base in
places to be understood,
You’ll sense
the message: soothing, moving, light,
Disarming,
satisfying. Rendezvous
Tonight with
me, take flight, delight, rejoice
In that we
share this love, exchange this word
That lives
past sunsets, through the darkest night.
I can’t
contain the energy this thought
Now
generates: it makes me want to dance,
Sing, shout,
tell all the worlds, turn somersaults;
It makes me
grateful, thankful for romance.
When passing
passions blue bid me adieu,
I seek safe
harbors, true, kind friend, near you.
Mayport, April
1990
Sonnet #16
Today I
watched the shuttle launched towards space.
A tail of
fire plowed the southern morning sky
Until it
disappeared. I thought about
The people
there, behind the scenes, who made,
It all
occur. There's someone there whose life
Is less than
free from care, a lonely heart,
Dis-eased,
distressed, beset by worries, woes,
Who,
overcoming all, finds sweet the reaching
Of the goal.
There're happy ones who feel the tinge
Of sadness
at the thought of those who've missed
By fate the
thrill of launch complete, the charm,
The pure
romance of making dreams come true.
The shuttle
jets toward heaven, far away
From
troubles, closer still to hopes ideal.
Mayport, April
1990
Sonnet #17
Dear friend
I left our poems ashore to gain
A clear and
fresh perspective on romance
So new,
unfolding through these notes exchanged
By mail. In
some respects I'm at a loss
For words
that rhyme: these thoughts, sublime, contain
The elements
of hope divine, the chance
That you
might share, with me, again, unchanged
Thrills
sought and found that star-crossed night in June.
It can't be
as it was. It must be less
Or more. Our
lust for life has aged, matured,
We've wined
and dined on bittersweets, endured
The loss and
gain of joy's and pain's excess.
And yet I
can't forget that night in June,
When we read
Shelley, kissed, and touched the moon.
Mayport, May
1990
Sonnet #18
The spirit's
come and gone. And yet remains
The hull,
the shell wherein no true love thrives
Today. The
salvaged traces laugh at me,
At us for
make-believing fairy-tales
And happy
endings where romance is sweet,
Where love
runs deep, where passions overflow,
Eclipsing
sun and moon and night and day.
The spirit
waves good-bye and with a sigh
I lift my
eyes, my chin, my sinking heart
To God, to
plead for strength to understand
This plan,
this life so fraught with strife, so full
Of chance
and happenstance and foiled romance.
The deed is
done, its end is near. Revere
The strength
that overcomes a darkened year.
Jacksonville,
May 1990
Sonnet #19
Two months
have passed since last I read from you
A poem,
wherein you bid your heart awake,
Return
again, transcend that hellish gore
Where life
and love are but the vapid glow
Which
covers, hides and smothers innocence.
I beg to
understand, to know the truth
About that
grave whereof you speak, where fools
Like me are
brought, at last, to dismal ends.
My love of
life is greater than my hope
That we
might share again the joy we knew
That June.
Another spring is come, and June
Will visit
soon enough to cast its spell.
My love for
poems and poets knows no end—
I can’t be
just the object of your pen.
Jacksonville,
June 1990
Sonnet #20
Dear friend,
take up your pen again, compose
Those works
of art that live and breathe and sing
The rhapsody
of love and hope. Revive
Anew in you
the spirit of the Muse
To guide, to
entertain, and to enthuse.
Restore the
democratic art, the urge
To write,
embraceable, attainable
By all. Take
up your pen, today, obey
God’s
highest call: express the good, the true,
The
beautiful. Articulate in verse
Life’s
purest, deepest, noblest sentiments;
Preserve in
rhyme and rhythm secrets sent.
Take up your
pen again, the times demand
Your words
be heard, your dreams rise up and stand.
Jacksonville,
July 1990
Sonnet #21
Remember
years ago when we first met?
You selling
books, me browsing, reading books
At Brandon’s
store? We were so young, and life
So
unrevealed, so full of promises
And
boundless hopes and dreams, and guarantees
And
opportunities. You went away.
I stayed and
made mistakes. We met again,
You east, me
west, you school, me ships and seas.
Confused, we
erred and severed friendship’s bond,
And all
seemed lost between us save a thread,
A laser beam
of hope that, over time,
Compressed,
distilled and purified, survived
Until today.
We meet again. What fate
Awaits is
ours to plan, to recommend.
Jacksonville,
July 1990
Sonnet #22
I look back
to the time we shared and smile,
And smile
and grin and laugh with joy untapped
Before that
smile. Our spirits span the miles
That
separate our hearts, that keep us trapped
Apart,
detached, disjointed from that source
of strength,
of love the gods bequeathed to gods
At birth. We
rendezvous beyond, outside
The force of
chance and fate. Our senses fuse,
United endlessly
in time and space;
The spark of
life ignites and multiplies,
Acknowledging
a power all its own.
Dear friend
I can't ignore the call of June:
In just a
few short weeks we'll meet, we'll taste
The chilled
sweet wine, fermented, aged and pure.
Greensboro, May
1991
Sonnet #23
Dear faithful friend I count each
passing day,
I pray for time to instantly elapse,
Events to fill the gaps that separate
And isolate my life from thine. Oh
fate,
Do draw me nearer, nearer to the heart
That beats in sync, in step with
mine-- to thee,
To thee, sweet angel of my childhood
dreams!
I'll smile to see you, touch you,
taste your smile,
And all the while my soul has longed
to lodge
Near yours will seem like but a brief
delay,
A short, short stay away from heaven's
bliss.
I fantasize that when we meet we'll
kiss,
And cry, and tears will rinse away,
dissolve
The walls we've built to hold in check
our love.
E. Palo Alto, July 1991
Sonnet #24
Dear friend, perhaps our paths may
cross again:
Perchance, we’ll meet together at the
top,
Or down below, beneath the crowds,
inside
The underground. Perhaps we’ll be
united
By a cause, a hope, a dream, a fantasy
. . .
Perhaps we’ll join together out of
fear
Or love for something we perceive to
be.
It matters not my love, the force, the
source
That consecrates the ground on which
we'll meet:
It matters not the season of the year
(Though June is sweet!), nor the place
that destiny
Prescribes, we’ll meet! The Muses tell
us so!
Though circumstance as yet precludes
the fate
The gods have planned, I wait, I wait,
I wait...
E. Palo Alto, August 1991
Sonnet #25
Sweet peace, spring love was never
meant to last.
But we've been blessed by chance and fate
to taste
Its bittersweetness, to feel its
incandescence...
Sweet peace, I tremble at the thought
of touching you,
I stumble, hesitatingly,
over-anxiously
As we touch, as our lips meet,
As our heartbeats synchronize.
Our paths may never cross again as in
this random moment, our lips may never
meet,
complete, again, and spring, sweet
peace,
for you and I, may never reappear ...
This word is all that I possess to
give,
and all is all my fragile soul can
bear.
Sweet dreams, sweet peace, I hear your
angels' wings.
St. Louis, March 1992
Sonnet #26
Sweet peace, spring love was never
meant to last:
Its budding branches bear a tempting
fruit,
Whose taste is bittersweet and
innocence
That glows with incandescent subtlety.
Acknowledging spring's temporariness,
I tremble at the thought of touching
you:
I fear your petals may unfold too
soon,
And, falling to the ground,
disintegrate.
I stumble as our lips approach, then
meet,
Our heartstrings and our heartbeats
synchronized.
Spring love intoxicates us: spirits fuse,
Revealing in each other secret worlds.
Sweet dreams, sweet peace, I hear your
angels' wings.
My winter-weary soul awaits next
spring.
St. Louis, March 1992
Sonnet #27
Sweet peace, spring love was never
meant to last:
It's just a stint, a pause, a brief
delay
In what is otherwise a boring, gray
Sojourn we call our lives. Today her
buds
And blossoms tantalize our eyes; in
haste
We contemplate the taste of spring
romance.
Sweet peace, spring's bittersweetness
gives us cause
To recollect and circumspect love's
laws;
And yet, spring love commands her
subtle dues,
And moves our thawing thoughts to feel
her views.
Spring love intoxicates us: drunkenly
We stumble, stagger, tremble, wild and
free.
Sweet dreams, sweet peace, I hear your
angels' wings,
My drifting, weathered soul awaits
next spring.
St. Louis, March 1992
Sonnet #28
A lynch mob forms and dissipates each
day
Conversing and rehearsing how they
plan
To seal the fate of those they've
chose to slay.
The eager group, polite despite, is
dressed
To kill, to maim, to burn some flesh,
to swing
A body from a tree until it's gasped
Its last. Horrendous though it seems,
they cheer
And celebrate this morbid mass of
death.
The bulging eyeballs slime through
charred remains
That were his head, while children
poke with sticks,
Investigate the flesh that's left, the
parts
That didn't burn, that wouldn't yield
to flames . . .
St. Louis, April 1992
Sonnet #29
I fight with all my waning strength
Distrustfulness and self-suspicious
fear
That seeks free rent within my heart
and soul.
The night's uncertainty surrounds me
And whispers in my ear: "Take
arms, retreat;
Resist, cooperate. The will, the faith
To overcome escapes my grasp each
moment
I attempt to make it mine. At times
It seizes me, this fear, engulfing
Like a parasite my source of energy.
I cannot let it win! My soul must hold
Its ground! Though wounded, bloodied,
battered,
I must be … justified.
The sword of victory and peace is
drawn.
The darkest part of night precedes the
dawn.
St. Louis, December 1991
Sonnet #30
"This is the Captain, this is a
strategic launch!
Battlestations!" rings around my
soul,
And rousing me from sleepiness and
slumber,
Demands that I assume my chosen role.
We rise up, like a beast, from ocean’s
bottom,
The hatches open, doomsday is at hand;
We push the buttons, random pick the
numbers,
Then send the missiles after our
command.
And afterward the afterword is zero…
There’s no one left to tell us how we
sinned;
We are survivors, that makes us the
hero,
We build the world anew and make
amends.
But how can we ignore, erase our
wrong?
We pay the price; we are the best, the
strong?
Bangor Submarine Base, February 1983
Sonnet #32
My love for
you is like a fire, raging,
Self-contained
and self-sustaining, flaming
Brightly,
all-consuming, all-embracing,
Separating,
burning all my dross away.
How is it
that the flame which burns my flesh
And sears my
senses purifies my soul?
Why must it
be that pain and pleasure, love
And hate
co-habitate in hopes and dreams?
It seems,
and it must be that fear hates love
As much as
hate fears truth, as truth loves light.
It seems,
and it must be my plight, to seek
Your soul,
to fan the flame I fear the most.
My love for
you is like a fire, raging,
Self-contained
and self-sustaining, flaming.
Washington, August
1992
Sonnet #33
I tossed the
ball to fall within her range
of view. She thanked me with a friendly smile.
I looked
into her somewhat saddened eyes
and found a
friendly home, to my surprise.
Inside she
showed me to an empty place,
and bid me
have a seat and rest my soul.
I fell
asleep, I went into a trance,
She smiled
again, I touched her eyes, the doors
That opened
wide for me (for me alone,
I'd be so
vain to dream ... ).
I watched
her pupils dilate from within,
Behind the
lids that always blink too soon.
I tossed the
ball again to fall within her range
of view. She thanked me with a smile.
Harper's
Ferry, October 1992
Sonnet #34
We sought
asylum after we were freed.
Resettlement
and refuge was our hope
And dream.
We recognized that we had been
Excluded
from the human race, and yet,
We chose to
cast our buckets where we were.
Our
nobleness convinced us that some day
We’d reap in
joy what we had sown before
In blood and
tears: and all the while our fears
Suggested
otherwise; to wit, we had no right
To earn by
birth what we had been endowed.
In
retrospect, we should have sought asylum
Off these
shores. One hundred thirty years
Have passed,
too many years to resurrect those
Pristine
hopes and dreams. And now, today,
The time has
come to seize what we are due.
Washington, February
1993
Sonnet #35
I got your
message and I called you twice…
each thirty
seconds ‘til your line was free.
Until I
spoke with you I couldn't rest
In peace, my
wandering soul a refugee.
The magic
spell you cast on me last spring
Has been
revived, has come alive again.
Since spring
it seems my poems have all been blues ...
My passion
source has wandered far from joy;
The love we
almost had lives on, and waits
and hopes to
someday see the light of day…
Washington, February
1993
Sonnet #37 Return of the Muse - Cairo, Egypt
your spirit
left me long, long years ago
your
presence left me longer. I forgot
the forms,
the rhythms of your loveliness,
the peace
and calm you brought me, the silence
and the
loneliness we shared. I lost track,
misplaced
the way back, through the years, of all
you taught
me about words, and songs, and notes,
and rhymes,
and meter, and measure…and love.
Oh daughter,
oh sister, oh spirit, deep,
who sent you
back to me? What force or power
conjured you
up and breathed into you life?
And why? Why
here and now? And to what end?
It matters
not. I worship at your feet.
I hear and I
obey; I write, I write…
Cairo, August
2006
Sonnet #38 -
Damascene Sonnet
You lose
some things you cherish as you pass
Through
life's transitions. Letters you received
May not
survive a flood -- first drafts of poems
You wrote
get lost in shipments -- coffee mugs
Disappear,
book collections may not stay
Intact when
divorce or death parts the waves
Of
time. Friendships and associations
You though
would be there in your grayer years
May only
survive a season, or not --
And reasons
for a friendship come and go
Like tides
that flood and ebb and flood again.
The things
that last a lifetime, then, are rare
And few, and
even random....so enjoy
The fleeting
now, breathe deeply, smile freely.
Damascus, July
2009
Sonnet #39 (without
punctuation)
We mourn the
setting of a brilliant star
Who blazed a
path for many, then burned out
At first he
sang sweet songs of puppy love
He later
sought through song to heal a world
His passions
lifted us before his fall
As children
we adored his boyish ways
We grew,
became adults with his success
As men and
women we thought we knew his pain
His stardom
overswept us like the dust
That sweet
melodic voice became a rasp
On our
subconsciousness, his call to heal
Was crowded
out by bills and laws and hate
And so we
mourn a man who paid the price
And hope
that lesser lights will now suffice
Damascus, July
2009