Spanish Moss

Live Oak draped
in Spanish Moss,
wilting with it
as if weeping
in the sweltering sun.

Autumn never comes here,
only peripatetic monsoons
which bring heavy, soggy freshness.
While through the rain, shivering still,
remains this mossy tree in a breeze
(like sultry girls shimmying
on bars late at night).

After the storm’s passing
the sun dies
an inexorable death, leaving a
saturnine penumbra of tropical magic.
Yet, there remains the dance of
this figure swaying to
quiet, secret music-
jape of the lives we live.

Sonnet for M

Some impressions you have formed of me
tell you I wear the mantle of a snob,
(since I seem proud, opinionated and free)
and given the public successes in my job.
Yet I’m more fragile than it seems.
Lacking wit, I’m vulnerable to pain
especially when my heart with love does beam.
Dwelling in paradox, I am target for disdain.
You are a puzzle waiting to be solved,
though fear keeps you from letting love evolve.
But I’ve no key and your heart remains locked
So I feel I intrude where I ought not.
Your face is blank emotion. Do I belong?
I only wish to please you with my song.

Technorati tags- sonnet, love sonnet

Candle in my Lantern

The candle in my lantern
burns days, years and nights.
Thoughts of being lost
flickers the flame to fright.
Memories of my lover’s
pale, musky loins sways
its pointy tip to dizziness with
swoons of rapturous flights.
The idea of his demise nearly
strips the spirit off its wick.

So I soften to pictures of
pleasant, sunny trips;
lolling hammocks
between two strong trees
near a gurgling, mossy creek.
Yet the flame still falters,
feeling turmoil from some distant shoal.
Only when I cease yearning
does its white spear hold center,
filling the breath within me
with his hot, clear glow.

Jingle Ironies

A day can seem like forever born,
a year but a passing shadow.
Ten hours in a car to nowhere, forlorn,
stellar travel just out on the patio!

There’s a feast before us, ready to consume,
yet the largest, glitziest package may be hollow
while the tiny, cardboard box may perfume
long winter nights with dreams one can follow.

A world in a word, sealed with a kiss,
yet years mayn’t ever heal a kiss wounded.
Who’s to say what the meaning is, ’til
you see that “you’ve got to choose it!”

Jingle ironies or love’s frivolity, it’s
not with whom, but how we share life, clearly.
Be gentle by your spirit and kindle its fortitude.
Share with those who might need it so, dearly.

technorati tags- Christmas poems, friendship poems

The Arch

Held as if by air
The arch falls toward
Itself in a perpetual dare
Against gravity’s weight,
Transforming that burden
Into its own stout might.

Would that democracy learned
From such converse strength.
So, backbone to backbone, barred
Over emptiness, iron will
Of truth might defy the
Abyss of political ills.