Sonnets Here, In-House

Regarding the festival called "When Worlds Collide," in which I participated, and about which I have posted on the RenFest thread:



The second night (not counting setup night),
Performers mingled in the open air.
Some fairy-actor friends thought that it might
Please Copperfox to meet their friend called Claire.

Age forty, and attractive to my taste,
She tried the pottage I had fed my crew.
Appealing though she was, it was a waste
If she had more than chattering in view.

To justify her wish for the divorce,
My Carol claims that all the love I felt
For her had only impulse as its force;
Our marriage was a hand that blind chance dealt.

If she were right about my cause to care,
I could have tried to get someplace with Claire.
 
Thanks for priming this thread again Copperfox!

Do you still do sonnet requests?
I would love to see how you would translate the letters to the seven churches into sonnets (Rev 2-3). (It is not necessary to do one whole sonnet per church.)
 
Benisse: I decided to devote one sonnet just to the church in Ephesus, because that one has long been of special interest to me. The other six churches, then, will possibly be shoehorned into one more sonnet. It's a matter of how much inspiration hits me. So, first addressed is Ephesus. (Typing that placename causes me to think of our absent Ephinie.)

We see the city Ephesus in Acts.
When Paul brought Christian miracles to town,
The stubborn pagans only doubled down,
And tried, with brainless noise, to silence facts.

In his Epistle to the same locale,
Remembering the riot seen before,
Paul rightly wrote of spiritual war.
But though each Christian guy and Christian gal

Must be prepared in faith to face the worst,
One pitfall we must also keep in sight:
If we just fight because we love to fight,
We may forget the love we had at first.

Christ warned of this in Revelation Two,
And in our age, His warning still rings true.
 
After almost a full 24-hour day of not being able to get back onto T.D.L., here is another "seven churches" sonnet, per the wishes of dear Benisse.


In Thyatira, ninety-ish A.D.,
One woman tried real hard to land in Hell.
I think that it was metaphorically
That Jesus called this woman Jezebel.

Yet since Our Lord did not elaborate,
Perhaps the sly false prophetess made claim
That she had power to reincarnate,
And _was_ the ancient pagan by that name.

Misusing sex did not make her unique,
And Jesus knows that all of us may slip.
This Jezebel, however, was a sneak,
Who made folks think that carnal sin was hip.

The warning stands: a so-called oracle
Who lives for lust is really horrible.
 
To New Life, and Cyber-Life



I hope for all good news about the birth
Of Spectre's child. Meanwhile, his child by brain,
The Dancing Lawn, had vanished from the Earth;
But what this teaches us is that the chain

Of cause which brings effect can't be ignored.
When procreating life, you're sure to see
That real events leave no time to be bored,
And you must choose the true priority.

All stories, verse, debates and Duffer games
Cannot, although combined in one great heap,
Compare with newborn babes receiving names.
The Dancing Lawn just had to lie asleep;

Yet if it's back now, help I shall request
In fetching back my threads that all went west.
 
Over the months of inaccessibility, I lost the momentum for those churches-in-Revelation poems. But here's one of immediate relevance for myself. It is not referring to any TDL member, but to someone I can see in flesh-and-blood life.

TO A FRIEND WITH A CONSUMING OBSESSION ​

No matter what is mentioned, or beheld,
You try to make it only be about
Your grievance. Your emotions all have gelled
Around one grudge, whose truth you never doubt.

Things personal, political, or trite,
Must all be shoehorned into your hot hate.
Your chosen color is the only light;
Self-pity is the one dish on your plate.

Some evil done three centuries ago,
And well repented of by later times,
For you is like the latest TV show,
And makes you overlook the latest crimes.

Your endless repetition of one theme
Is robbing you of every happy dream.
 
To the Women of Germany (and several other nations)

Too many of you ladies have endured
What no one should endure; and sad to say,
Your own society, with weasel-word,
Expects your just complaint to go away.

Your politicians view the predators
As victims! You are told you must adjust!
Put on the scarf of slaves, and hide indoors,
While thugs invent excuses for their lust.

Where now is Charles Martel? These modern Huns
Evade the punishment which they deserve.
God only gave me words; you need some guns,
As well as better leaders, with some nerve.

I wish thugs to find Christ, but this won't be
While they're enjoying such impunity.


 
The movie-title theme, "The Patriot,"
Was on my stereo just now-- the part
Before the bayonet and rifle-butt:
The melody that calls a loving heart

To recollect a too-short interval,
When two-way love was given and received.
Now three times wifeless, I defend the wall
From those who just pretend they are aggrieved.

No time, it seems, is left to love again--
That is, no time to love romantically.
The love of God confronts the lies of men,
And pirates try to steal each family.

No time remains for pitying myself,
When predators assail the commonwealth.
 
Verses Upon The Annual Misery


My military pension is my source
Of sustenance, but also of distress.
The folks in charge of it I had to force
To rectify their file of my address.

The pay itself comes in by cyber-means,
But I need proof to show of how much went.
The I.R.S. would stage appalling scenes
If I had not the crucial document.

It came in time, to my profound relief;
Still, nothing can make income taxes fun.
Let's see, this line could end with "grief" or "thief;"
Oh, never mind, at least the job is done.

Next week, I will not speak the harsh word "tax;"
Until insurance time, I can relax.
 
for Copperfox

Your gift of melding thoughts with rhyme
and observations apt as well
bring joys e'en when your topics dwell
on challenges and sadder times.
 
Written with regret on behalf of two young people:


I'm not the only one who's had a split.
Sweet Madeleine, my niece, has moved apart
From boyfriend David, who we thought was "it."
It seems romance is taken a la carte.

Those two are both musicians, which you'd guess
Would unify them -- did so, for a while.
But two careers, both roaming east and west,
Might leave a marriage on the refuse pile.

So, better end it now than face divorce;
The rest of us, however, miss young Dave.
He was good company, was never coarse--
But Facebook now conveys his goodbye wave.

I wish him well; he did my niece no wrong,
But now their love's one more unwritten song.
 
To a Young Lady at the Renaissance Festival

Virginia --alternately "Jennifer"--
Was singing to attract kids to her booth.
She did deserve to have them run to her,
But few did come; I speak unvarnished truth.

So I walked up and introduced myself
As formerly an actor at the faire.
Without deception, treachery or stealth,
We two began a friendship then and there.

To speak of Lewis, and of other things,
With such a smart young woman, wasn't tough.
We sang together!-- and my ramblings
Extended to explaining "azimuth."

Too soon, this introduction time was gone;
But maybe she will join The Dancing Lawn!
 
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