She Who Tasted Seasons

Picture Phyllis - soft and lovely face,
dimple-smiled sweet and luminous.
Fuchsia lips drop syllables in lace.
She carries grace, for God was generous.
In matters of the heart, a lucky one -
Revered she was by two who loved her true.
Each a moon, they yielded to her sun
And cherished her until their days were through.
The first beloved she bade adieu late spring.
His life did cancer wring.  He left his seed.
The second came to take away the sting.
From summer to their fall sheer joy did breed.
Her sons are grown; her late adored -a ghost,
But she has tasted seasons more than most.

Lament On Our Blindfolded Lady

Oh, we the seed of JUSTICE on this earth
Have welcomed every people, every tongue.
"Do come," we say to elderly and young;
Benevolent is our Lady since the birth
Of FREEDOM, which to everyone gives worth!
When then from Hell was brimstone at us slung.
We rose; renewed, to "Red, White, Blue" we've clung.
For others was our sorrow cause for mirth . . .

They say that peace is what their scriptures teach,
Yet see their children spouting words of HATE.
Their souls it saturates - this "holy" breach.
Political correctness seems the bait;
They'll crush us for the TOLERANCE we preach
Whilst we usher Satan's brother through our gate.

Bearer of the Wine (#60)

Enchantress muse into my mind does slip
Capriciously. I know not when ‘twill be.
She brings exotic wine that I might sip,
And I reanimate with poetry.

She glides on tiny noiseless slippered feet
To catch me unaware by night or day,
And swiftly I imbibe her liquid sweet;
This fickle damsel never long does stay!

Too well I know before I've had my fill,
The drink shall be withdrawn.  She leaves my head.
And when she's fled, my brain grows cold and still.
I clutch the verses left me in her stead.

Oh, grey the slate which once by her was graced.
I yearn for her return, sweet grape to taste.

Five Alive (#55)

I've now arrived at sonnet 55.
And so vibration "5" I shall explain.
"Flirtatious 5" has need to feel alive;
Variety and pleasure keep him sane.

Capricious as a cat, he must be free.
Don't smother him; sarcastic he'll become.
Both restless and escapist he can be.
If stimulation lacks, he will be glum.

Resourceful, he finds ways to celebrate;
He's curious to know what's going on.
He entertains and likes to communicate.
To media and travel he is drawn.

If one has two of five instead of one,
He's double trouble, but he's twice the fun.

Capricious Love and Poems Ephemeral

Oh, did you see the poem I wrote for you-
The one I posted only yesterday
In which I swore my passion would stay true;
How no one else could my devotion sway?

I gave it my consideration whole.
Your image with its words I wished to keep-
Of how your smiling eyes lit up my soul
And how your dreamt caresses soothed my sleep.

But if you missed it, please don't give a thought
To pretty verse I penned that has scrolled off.
I met today the one through life I've sought
Who lyrics brings to song.  Though you may scoff,

Like centuries-old or new-age poetry,
My new-found love will everlasting be.

Shadows Cast By Sun (#64)

Oh, friends!  They come and go; some pass on by
As swiftly as the sun that lights my days.
They give a little wave; I give a sigh.
It seems I barely had them in my gaze.
Sweet friends I knew from youth.  Where have you gone?
My bonds with some of you I felt were strong,
But journeys that we each embarked upon
Divided us, and now I write this song.
Its lyrics tell the longing of my heart-
To see and be again with each dear friend
Who knew me when and shared a special part
which cannot be retrieved nor has an end.
For memories are shadows cast by Sun
Which haunt me even when my days are done.

King Sun (#65)

The mighty sun is watching from the sky.
A fickle, toying king, he does see all.
He sees me looking up though I am small
And he is set above me, oh, so high.
Sometimes he might pretend that he is shy
And hide behind a cloud to cast a pall.
You'll know his mischief well if does befall
A black and ghastly storm before your eye.

Yes, Ruler Sun's a temperamental beast.
At times he can be such a jolly fellow
How could he disappoint in the least
His subjects here below when he's made mellow
A hazy summer day?  But we've been fleeced
When he takes leave, commanding Wind to bellow!

Sisters Five (#69)

We're Thea, Dori, Jenny, Mel and Andie.
One sister is a Godsend; I have four!
Before my mom remarried, I had three.
Then was Thea born to bless us more.
The baby, Theadora, speaks her mind
And exercises hard, the same as I.
The second oldest, Jennifer, is kind
With shoulders soft for when we need to cry.
Our Melanie does hair and makes us grin.
Daughter three, she's good at having fun.
Doris, daughter four, could be my twin,
A smart but sweeter and more fretful one.
I'm Andrea, the oldest, and I'm nosey.
I too love to have fun and write a posey.

Now Presenting . . . (#70)

Inside our parents' bedroom by the door,
Our sister Jenny played the old piano.
From all of us a melody would soar
In varying degrees of voice soprano.

Sweet Jennifer did high soprano sing
And pretty Melanie would sing along.
The house with lovely harmony would ring
When I and Dori "seconded" the song.
For church we'd often render "Silent Night."
Our congregation small made such a fuss
As if we were four angels in their sight,
And Mom would fairly swoon with pride for us.

Of whims that took no flight am I lamenting;
Mom's dream, "The Miller Girls . . . now presenting!"

Windows of His Soul (#75)

His light eyes sadly stare; I know him not
Although he has my intellect and wit.
A lifetime now of answers I have sought,
His puzzling pieces in some box to fit.

Square pegs can't be confined; nor can I find
His missing part to let me understand
What I might do to ease his burdened mind;
To know why he could not take hold my hand. . .

The infant boy I cradled at my chest
Desired not my sustenance but grew.
An aimless soul, he needs to feel he's blessed
With oh, so much and eyes grey-green tinged blue.

To heal the soul behind eyes so like mine . . .
Alas!  Their tint I barely can define.

Beauty of a Sonnet (#76)

The eye refracts the light and then is born
An image, and ideas are likewise shown
When Poet tilts each ray of thought to form
Reflections set to sonnets' rhythm own.

A river glistening in the sun does flow,
And so a sonnet moves and shimmers rhyme.
This stream of words with not so far to go
May ripple in the soul with glow sublime.

A diamond that is cut to form exact
By craftsman's hands, a brilliance will impart.
The sonneteer must chisel to extract
From rough a clarity which is his art.

The sonnet's beauty shines through history
In prisms of precision's poetry.

Pillow Talk Abuse (#77)

Again you're droning on and on and on.
Yada, yada, yada, yada, yada.
My time for beauty sleep will soon be gone.
Why can't you close your eyes?  You know you oughta.

Just press those lips together tight and zip!
My lids are getting heavy as you talk.
So now I offer you this little tip.
Why don't you go outside and take a walk?

The clear night air might open up your mind
Before you kill the bush you're beating round.
You're killing ME; I hate to be unkind,
But when I start to doze, I hear that sound . . .

Yakety, yakety, yakety, yakety, yak. . .
Please shut your trap.  We've long since hit the sack!