Some old sonnets

Back in 1976, I decided to drop out of the college seminary I was in. I considered transferring to a different school, but by the time I left the seminary it was too late to do so for the fall semester. I opted to aim for a mid-year transfer.

Then I met a young lady. She was also an English major, was a gifted artist, and had at that point no boyfriend. So much for transferring.

Through a few casual conversations with her I discovered she was not interested in having a boyfriend at that time. That made her a challenge.

Given her love of older English literature - I was more of an American Literature person - I decided one approach was poetry. I was already a "poet" with a number of modern pieces under my belt, and even a few getting into print. I decided therefore to try to appeal to her through writing some classical, formal poetry. I settled on sonnets, and over a couple of months wrote eight of them which, of course, I shared with her.


Sonnet I
 
My love, she sets a poem before my eyes
to tell me what she closely holds inside

to say what lies behind her pain-filled sighs -

the shadows dark she tries so hard to hide.

Emotions flash like beacons from her face.

Her eyes, bright green, dart from my searching sight,

She parts, as if in a desperate race

to find a place to cry alone at night.

But then, a bird flies downward from the skies

and `lites upon the trees outside her room,

singing simple songs, sweet lullabies

with voice that intertwines like weaver's loom

The bird, a lark, a foolish bird I hear,

but by his song he tells us someone's near.

 

Sonnet II

I smell the color of the wild red rose.
I taste the motion of each vibrant tone.
I feel the drifting fragrance that arose
but with the night, I am once more alone.
Each sense is now alive and longs to touch
The mind is turned aside only to view
The mirror knows the truth, it tells me much:
You see? My image hangs alone there too.
So in the silence of my room I lie
as in deep thoughts my mind is plunged tonight
This fire within calls out for me to try
to share again love's ever pure delight.
Thus with God's grace, I pray this comes to be,
that two again may be together free.
 Sonnet III

Why do you look at me with worried eyes
and trouble so your heart on my behalf?
Ask me no more questions if you are wise;
I'll never tell what makes me so distaff.
You see, I have this pain in me that's deep,
so deep that even love's sweet ways must fail.
I do not want your lovely eyes to weep
for me, thus to myself I'll keep my tale.
And so dear one for now you serve me well,
through smile and cheer and tender, loving touch
that fill me with joy, like a ringing bell,
praising God's great love in giving so much.
Therefore, my love, take now what I can give.
Hold it close that together we might live.

Sonnet IV

At Hermitage, the snow begins to fall

and blanket all like silence come behind
a storm. Night falls unseen, no sign at all

is given then by nature to my kind.

Instead, there comes to me a sense of calm

I feel the soft kiss of welcome sleep

so needed by my soul - a precious balm

to heal me of the ills I feel so deep.

Sweet dreams begin their dancing through my brain

and slowly draw me inward to their realm

where life is lived with no threat of pain

and ecstasies in waiting overwhelm.

There given me as light from one above

lies the healing gift that we call love.

Sonnet V

The dark clouds have moved to other skies
And so, tonight, I spy the moon above.

Her light, it shines so palely on my eyes

and from the face, there comes a hint of love.

But then, the clouds return this way again

to cut the light that brightened so my heart

which fills once again with lonely pain

to kill the hope that there had found a start.

Oh, cruel, cruel night, why is your realm like hell?

Why do you rule us with such a harsh hand?

Dear God, why now should I who loves so well

be driven from this haven where I stand?

And then, praise God, the clouds are forced away

and by His will, the moon comes back to stay.

Sonnet VI

With ``No,'' all the dreams are driven away.

With ``No,'' ends that hope which started to grow.

With ``No,'' there dawns another lifeless day.

And inside me, hollowness comes with, ``No.''

A curse, a swear, a foul malicious word.

An ugly dark sentry blocking the road.

A wolf, ready to pounce upon the herd.

Filled with venom, a cruel misshapen toad.

I have heard the word many times before,

I have spoken it, tasted it, felt it.

And I've come to know it means so much more

than it says - yet still feel as if just hit.

It's never been said quite this way, you see,

as when said by you who means so much to me.

Sonnet VII

The stage is set, let the actors begin

performing the roles they were meant to play.

The king of hearts, the heartless man of tin,

the fool who laughs when there's nothing to say.

A drum sounds offstage, and lo, here's the queen

making her entrance and drawing all eyes;

the king, the tin man, by all she is seen,

even by the fool who laughs now in sighs.

The last scene soon comes, the play is now through.

The actors all bow and exit the stage -

except for the queen, and silent now, too,

the fool, who died on this, the last page.

But laughing he died, for he saw the jest:

the play was for fools, and he was the best.

Sonnet VIII

If I were but a sailor to this shore

If I were but a questor in this land
then you would be my port of call, and more,
the golden fleece, so near now to my hand.
If this world were any smaller, and I
had a shorter road to tread, you would still
be the distant isle, the unconquered hill
the lone cloud drifting in the golden sky.
If I were a poet, I'd immortalize
the sweet sound of your name, and the secret
you can't contain, revealed now in your eyes
as at that time when they and mine first met.
But these fancies are mere frivolity;
let us desist, for you are here with me.

I can't attribute the relationship that developed to the sonnets, but they probably didn't hurt. We dated throughout college, but after graduation broke up. She later married a college friend of mine. I was happy for them both.

 

About seven years after I wrote those eight sonnets, I was teaching high school English, and one of the works we read in English 9 was Romeo and Juliet. I reacted to the play with two sonnets with a decidedly cynical edge.

 

Juliet at 39 (if the plan had worked)

When I spoke of sweet smelling roses, I

wasn't thinking of the thorns. Nor did

I think that roses could so swiftly die,

or that that sweetness could turn so rancid.

When I held you close that first time, hearing

dawn's herald, the lark, I wished it gone: in

my mind it was. Now I lie in bed fearing

it will not come, and you'll wake up again.

And when I lay within that tomb, for love

of you seemingly dead, I dreamt of our life

together. Now all my dreams are full of

tombs, and my hands reach again for a knife.

Oh churl! Your lips once so warm now seem so cold,

and the life in them, like me, has grown old.

Romeo's lament (if the plan had worked)

A feasting presence full of light? Ha! Now

all you do is feast. Your dancing shoes have

soles of lead; that lead, alas, I must allow

is you. I remember well how you gave

me your hand that first night in prayer:

that was a game. Now your hand is penance.

It holds me back. It crushes all the gayer

aspects of my soul and kills all romance.

And my good name, Oh, what you did to that!

For love of you - if I ever did - I

new named now must live for killing a cat

and a noble youth. I wish I could die.

The sweeter rest, I've learned, would now be mine

had I married not you, but Rosaline.
 

I haven't tried a sonnet since. Hmm. After 35 plus years maybe it's time to try again!
Pax et bonum