Sonnet №82 — the hole — pet poem 6
What is this gnawing hole within my chest?
Where once I felt deep love, I ache with pain.
Why was I so lucky? I was much blest.
When will this hurt begin to truly wane?
A dog digs deep within your human core.
It touches gently, and soon you are as one.
You’d think the love runs dry, yet there is more,
A pet’s love is e’er there, fain never done.
A wriggle of the nose, a tilted head;
an arched back bow, a paw upon your thigh.
A digging in the covers on your bed;
a melding of the minds when you must cry.
What is this empty hole within my chest?
’Tis my pet’s heart come home, at last, to rest.
— — August 2020.
Sonnet №80 — within a book
The printed page, a mainstay in my life,
is where I go when questions run too deep.
When papers fill with violence and strife,
within a book, my soul is free to weep.
Smells of paper wafting upwards; warming.
Flecked speckles on the paper; buds in bloom.
Your new book’s spine crackles; thunder storming.
The imprint on the cover; peaceful plume.
A book will take you places you are yearning,
to visit, yet you’ll never find the time
A way to satisfy your life’s burning
A need to leave a swath of life behind.
The printed page; heft that gives true essence
to heart and mind, the gift of quintessence.
— — August 2020
Thank-you for reading & thinking.
Sonnet 78 — abiding Calm within
On what grounds doth thou proceed with such strength,
that tribulations of the mind recess,
and bow to all before you at arm’s length?
Abiding calm dwells within, thou art blest.
Fain to see one’s life from within and out
and bring a smile yet to those in sphere,
’tis truly gifted, there must be no doubt,
that thou art a messenger of good cheer.
Yet is it not a gift bestowed upon?
Nay, it is a bounty one gives one’s own.
Tranquility, we learn, e’er bests all brawn
ne’er defeated by sinew and mere bone.
Cruel game, we learn this late, is oft the case
Prithee learn early; reap a life of grace.
— — December 2019.
Protest sonnet number 9
I have been on a veritable writing binge; prose — essays and blog posts and the odd magazine website piece, and poetry — perhaps a dozen new sonnets in the last two weeks. Wherever this energy comes from, you have to write while the pen is hot, eh? That said, I wrote this last August, after the police shooting of Jacob Blake in Kenosha, WI — On being an ally, and the burden of color.
Sonnet №77 — for my Black Brothers -protest poem #9
I pick up heavy things and put them down.
Sonnet 75 — to awaken fully healed
Didst thou awaken on this morning fine?
Didst thou sense the light through window yon?
Was thou bewarmed by earliest sunshine?
Then, thou stand tall and greet the early dawn.
To sleep each night is an act of faith
That thou shall waken in the morn.
Renewed by sleep, we rouse, suffering no scaith.
No corpse are we, no soul needs to mourn.
It is a simple act, to gently close one’s eyes
And give the mind and soul a time to heal
Whilst in the sleep, one’s body’s free to fly,
And who’s to say, it’s not the dream that’s real?
To sleep, perchance to dream, sayeth the Bard
To awaken fully healed, and never scarred.
We lost Otzi in January, 2019; one week after my Father died at 86. We lost Lucy in August, 2020. This past month, Millie, too, passed on. Brave, loyal, loving, funny — our dogs were all those, and more.
They all possessed the true hearts of dogs.
Sonnet 143 — The Heart of dogs
’Tis rare the heart that’s worth the love of dogs;
few are so clean of heart and pure of soul.
I say this with much certainty because
’tis in the hearts of dogs sit troves of gold.
No dog has ever robbed another blind,
DStan58 is a teacher, a writer, a dad, a voice-over actor and poet. He's a melanoma survivor and a pulmonary embolism survivor. He's bringing sonnets back,