With life’s grand plot, beginnings, endings meet;
False starts, like coats, lie scattered on the floor.
Each misstep sown in fertile soil, discreet,
A seed of self, of what might lie in store.
The autumn leaf, in fiery hues arrayed,
Foretells of winter’s chill, yet whispers spring.
In endings, summer’s worth is oft displayed,
Rebirth from fall, a promise to cling.
Time nips us with each step and stumble made,
Each path winding, a course aplan our art.
The mosaic of days in plots we made,
Each misstep a tile, wandering chart.
Yet, remember, for life’s final hours take night:
A yard abud with garden is no slight.
Category: Sonnets
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A Garden
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A Crease
Upon this plain of paper, dreams take flight,
Each crease a chapter in a pilot's tale.
Endings and beginnings hold me tight,
As I seek perfection - often to no avail.
A thousand folds, a thousand planes take wing,
Yet, failure each in solo quest for grace.
In every failed attempt, I learned a thing;
Lessons grooved deep within each race.
The world's winds whip and wile, make mock,
Of what I lined perfect, now undone.
Yet, in each finish, a new throw is cocked;
A blast with paper, under the hazy sun.
Though perfect planes in imperfect winds may fail,
Each flight takes wind in a world of endless gale.
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An Ode to Algernon
From rooms of ignorance, I once did dwell,
Where shallow thoughts were mine and mine alone.
Each evening seemed a lonely, silent knell,
And mornings were as cold as gnawing bone.
But knowledge came, a gentle, patient guide,
Transforming stupors into sprouts of mirth.
Each lesson learned, my days did more provide,
And dumbness fled before this newfound worth.
So, I drank from wisdom's well, deep and clear,
Found intellect, where once was vacant space.
Each night is now a slumber to revere;
To reflect on what I’ve learned to embrace.
So days are but yester-nights in disguise,
And with each new truth, I’m less dusk to wise.
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The Long Nap
At twilight's soft embrace, an old man stands,
Eyeing the horizon, the close of day.
He ponders life's last grains of shifting sands,
And wonders if there's more beyond the fray.
Do shadows veil a realm, unknown, unseen?
Do endings birth beginnings, shining bright?
Or is the final sleep a curtain, screen,
That parts to reveal everlasting night?
But, his body weary, his spirit worn and thin,
Each sunset could be the last he'll ever know.
He chuckles softly, a raspy sound within,
“An afterlife?” - he'd rather rest below.
If death's the end, he's ready for the jest.
If not, he laughs, “More rest would be the best”.
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The Cartographer
At quiet hours, by faint and waning light,
I pore over the days’ as yet naught done.
Upon the drifting darkness of the night,
Lest not the light of day may end my run.
And noisy is my cabin; rather loud
With rigging’s clatterbangs against the hull.
I have charted plenty, and compass bowed;
The map, like windbound sails, is plenty full.
But, no sloop am I aboard in course a’set,
As this vessel roars for journey anew,
And so on this ship, one must not forget,
‘Tis a journey best a’lit by the crew.
Though self may seem a droplet in the sea,
Know the downpour ripples beyond the quay.
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An Ode to Belgrade
By the Belgrade streets, where two rivers meet,
The Danube and Sava bite ancient stones.
Where nights cast longer days, escaping heat,
The city beats of sultans, kings, and thrones.
Where Unity's firesteel forged Balkan lands,
Its fortress stands; a sentinel of time.
Sovereigns guarded many tales so grand,
Hard fought among many an empire's climb.
But, cobbled streets fill paths that we can roam
While mysteries still pass beneath my view.
I wish I could have known the Roman tome
That marked “White City” before Red and Blue.
I learned in Belgrade: history is made.
And I, a student, in its shadow’s shade.
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Without Context
I’ll do my best to recall, and explain
What I remember, despite it all ablurred...
Though such an effort may well be in vain,
As the whole night was nothing but absurd.
There were dancers swinging from the ceiling,
And the crowd was aloud with laughs. Awe. Sweat.
Joker, Harley, Blinders, and a feeling
That we all know as the "Bar Lafayette".
But, words are a futile tool in relaying
What thrills we will, and still, recount since then.
These do not compare to songs replaying
In our heads; that transport us there again.
If I could describe the fun, I’d attest
That only memory describes it best.
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Fun Fact
It was not so easy to count 8 hours
By any other measure than tonic’d gin.
For best as we could, with Cabaret’s powers,
We could only tell when dancing should begin.
Addled by the shows’ spright, beguiling sight,
Bodies bound in flesh, and collar, pole, and reel;
Eyes truly outdo what words can scarcely write,
For to see such marvels: alike to feel.
But that’s not even the joy on which to dwell,
No mention of the one who ripped his pants,
The greatest joy: the chorus of the spell
Under which we fell, all night; we all danced.
In fleeting pain and joy, in music’s haze:
In dance, we spent our night. In rest, our days.
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A Friend of Time
Were I to know a friend of often flee, Or fleeting when I often need him most, I, the friend (in need) of Time: passes me At times of goodly company I host. I ask of Time, for hosting I a dream, To stop and bide the flurry of the night, So I may count the seconds, joy agleam, And not face the curse of joy: time aflight. But, ‘twas not Time who took the moment seize, And beckoned all the blissful time to kneel. It was the form of bliss my eyes could please; And saw this dream, a person, become real. A fool who counts the moments of his bliss Need undo time of dreams with a kiss.
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‘Tis Not
’Tis not the stone that whets the blades of men, Nor ignites the fire in their hearts ablaze. ’Tis not for honey’d words our wills will bend, For sharper tongues have left us better haze. “Twas not for glory that we, mountains scaled, Nor wage upon the stars our next frontier. “Twas not for naught we’ve sought ourselves, and failed, Nor why we hold our times of loss so dear. “Twas that moment, blinding, like a ray of light That dawned upon our minds from high above. That transcendent knowledge of pure delight: That infinite feeling of being in love. Worlds will pass, times change, and empires fall. ’Tis your love that will outlive them all.