Suns - A Sonnet

 The sun is bright this summer in Seattle.  Brighter than we expect it to be.  An unaccustomed companion before July 4th, when our local summer usually begins.  

Our sun is metaphorically powerful, and it is among the multitude of suns that populate the universe, and the envelope of metaphors available to people so inclined.  I had some fun with that for the July poem.  

The sonnet form here is actually faithful and tight, although I deconstructed it a bit in this lineation, as I have done before.

Suns – A Sonnet

 

As though it were a thousand suns—

Reality aflame—come from wherever

It is such things are done (eternal truths

And rules of thumb made so for us)—

I saw you there.  You were ashine

In gossamer light—a hundred suns

Could not compare to you and how

You brought me sight of what can be

And what is so—what burns now

In my breast as though a dozen suns—

As though they shone as one—

And so the rest are chorus only—

Truth—and one is all I need—

You are the sun.

On A Lighter Note...

 This poem, placed in the box this morning, celebrates the small glories to be found in holding a grandson.

For Now

You've tied my murmurs,

Smiling face, my scent,

My arm beneath your back--

A firm support, a light embrace--

Together into what is was

That made you grin just then

Into my widening eyes as though

We'd shared some joke

Or treasured memory,

Just ours, 

From some earlier time,

As though there was one.

Now there is and it is mine

To hold for you for now.

A Gift

 From time to time someone will leave something for me in the poem box.  This beautiful hand-painted cork appeared there recently, with a nice note from the artist.

Another Late Posting

 This poem was entered into the streetcorner box for the month of March, 2021.  It was inspired by my niece, who is a student at the University of St. Andrews, and by my introduction to a form of poetry called the duplex.

St. Andrews Duplex

 

Her nose is rimed cool salt the air of place

A football arcs toward Salvators and grace

          Lay near the goal if that were grace

          I held her like a kitten then amazed

She had no fear was not amazed.

I was monstrous fearful of my strength

          Fearful that my balance was my strength.

          You found a place to gauge the speed of light

The lowering clouds mute time and place and light

A woman came this way before this time

          A young woman had no use for time

          The oysters arced from her hand to the land

Another day ended silent or began

Her nose was rimed cool salt the air of place

Catching Up

I've fallen behind in posting the monthly poems, which are still going out to the box for the passers by.  The last two months have been poems about my father, now gone, who was a Sailor in WWII.  This is the poem for May:

You Rest

 

You fell among the fishes for a while

Perhaps a sunfish saw you pass

One dinner plate of sight

Just catching the glint of brass

 

Too deep already for the mourning words

The tinny music there above to reach you

And the gentle rasp of the flashing shoes

Upon the coated deck

 

It’s left to me the imagining

The tumble through the cold

And darkening

The way you might have done

 

And the settling there a bit atilt

The dust of the universe drifting down

Around your place upon the silt

Where still you rest

Turning Point

 I work at this but my command of Middle English is poor.  I like the sound of it, though, for certain subjects and moods.  

New Year New Life

 We are hopeful.

Arrival

 

Had you sneaked yourself here

From among the stars

A bit of mischief

Arcing across the quiet dark

To take your place before me

I’d have come up short in wonder

Listened for a boom or a whoosh

Cocked my head for a better look

To see you turning yours up to me

Ready to jump

Ready, ready, ready

Go