Personal Poetry


Sonnet #1

The first of many sonnets yet to come,
But where to start it still remains unknown.
Look here! It would appear I have begun,
One line to start, behind three more have grown.
My dilemma though lies in gist not girth,
These words are words not sewn with common thread,
This hollow poem to which I give birth,
The birth of poetry now cold and dead.
Yet iambs do not walk out with cold feet,
On meaning bestowed to little words, plain,
By reading between where the lines do meet,
One sees the merit, among beauty slain.
So, good miss, put away thy microscope,
And pray to God we have not lost all hope.






Love, Love. Love, Love, Love, Love. And More Love.

Oh, my dear, how I love you, honest, I do,
From the moment I saw, I knew I lov’d thee,
So, can I implore you to stay by my side and forever be true?

I’ll ignore all the words I’ve heard describe you,
Even the ones that end with itch but begin with a “B,”
Oh, my dear, how I love you, honest, I do,

I’ll shower you with roses so black and so blue,
All of which come from a single peach tree.
So, can I implore you to stay by my side and forever be true?

For your love boys have fought and men will sue,
For you in their lives they’ve all fallen to one knee.
Oh, my dear, how I love you, honest, I do,

They tell me I’m crazy, bumped on the head by a steel toed shoe,
To be fond of the sting from the back of a bee,
So, can I implore you to stay by my side and forever be true?

Yet what makes me love you most, the seed that grew and grew,
Is that my love reflects off of you in all directions except back to me,
Oh, my dear, how I love you, honest, I do…
So, can I implore you to stay by my side and forever be true?





Fire and Ice

They say it tastes like fire:
Engulfing you in flame and burning you alive
Until you are no longer living.
We say it tastes like glacial water:
Bland and cold,
Like a parking lot in the middle of nature.

Nothing but more nature belongs in nature.
There should only be wood for a fire;
And not a fire that burns cold,
But one that acts alive.
That is, until fire is rained upon by showers of water.
At that moment the fire ceases its living.

It is not the animals that cease their living,
Animals are a part of nature,
To live they thirst for water.
What dies instead is more important, the wood and the fire.
Animals live with the water but are not alive,
How can anything be when it is that cold?

Life begins to slow down in this cold,
Life stops living
And nothing is alive.
We turn to nature
To rekindle the flames from what remains of the fire
But fail, there is simply too much water,

The bad kind of water,
Water that is ice cold.
At this point, not even a fire
Can remind us of the living.
A torrential downpour has occurred in nature,
Worse than the forest fire, nothing is alive.

When we are damp we are not alive,
When we are dripping water
Onto ourselves and onto nature,
We are cold.
We would rather be living.
When nothing is alive, we would rather be on fire.

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