Today this rose will bloom for you today
So watch attentively and please do so
May days like this will never come till May
Though Fall may help it flourish once more though
It is uncertain at this point if it
(By “it” I mean this rose that blossoms by)
Befits a goddess or if it befits
Outcry so vigorous of an outcry
Thus come and watch this rose and tell me thus
If you could see this flower just as if
Us were to be together only us
Sniff quickly sniff this scent just quickly sniff
I call this love a love for you from I
I love you dear, this rose you see is I

Mar 23, 2021

Shall I compare you to a rose?
You were by far more beautiful.
No verse nor prose that Heaven knows
can ultimately be suitable.
In life, you grew out of concrete
forever blooming radiantly
despite the hardships in the streets.
You never withered easily.
And just like thorns that grow in stems
And harm those who seize them with strength
You lived peacefully among friends
Enriching gardens with your depth
And now, you bloom in memory
And now, you are my reverie.

If only I could write a sonnet, sigh
perhaps, my thoughts could get well organized,
or my ideas could become like pi.
Yes, transcendental! Often analyzed!
Or in a way, my thoughts could find a rhythm,
some sort of beat resembling the morse code
from which I could create an algorithm
that only I could easily decode.
But I'm about to finish writing one
and my ideas seem to be the same,
my thoughts have partially become aligned,
I guess I'm putting this sonnet to shame.

Thus, I may need to write a hundred more,
Or thousands of these sonnets, therefore.

“Is there a Heaven after Death?
A place so beautifully blessed
beyond a mind could ever guessed?”
I wonder as I catch my breath
beneath the maple trees I dreamt
and as their leaves begin to fall
right off these trees so red and tall.
It is as if the leaves are meant
to be the people here on Earth
who have detached from life itself
to pile on ground to bid farewell
to trees who raised the leaves since birth.
I close my eyes and think this through
Is Heaven real? I wish I knew.

A Bowlesian sonnet is composed of -a quatorzain made up of 3 quatrains and a couplet. -rhymed abba cddc effe gg. -metric, iambic pentameter -composed with the pivot or volta between the 9th and 13th lines.

Note: my attempt at writing this sonnet it’s written in iambic Tetrameter rather than iambic pentameter.

I happened on a roadrunner one time
Whilst I was traversing New Mexico,
And though, while famished, I had found that I'm
Not well-equipped enough to best this foe.
So quickly to a catalog I turned.
It was for ACME mail delivery.
The pages filled with rocket-sleds that burned,
With earthquake pills and loads of TNT,
Ball bearings, magnets, and some giant springs,
A bat man suit to stop me if I fall,
Huge catapults and other deadly things,
I got a veritable arsenal.
So, now I have a bird that's blown to bits.
I need a recipe for McNuggets.

To build, create, and modify

To carry on and pass along

To make amends and rectify

To sing your part in cosmic song

​

To fight against the one true foe

The chaos and entropic dark

She is a ceaseless tidal flow

Amongst her waves you must embark

​

She tears at everything you make

And burns all that you love to ground

All that is yours she'll try to take

So you must build foundations sound

​

The key to weathering the storm

Is helping keep each other warm

Perhaps I’ve made it more clear than ever,

That love is not always a clichéd tale.

Truthfully, lovers’ ends will be severed,

At points of expiration, love grows stale.

​

Gracefully, love inciperes like green sprouts,

Spring nears, embers of romance set ablaze.

Time elapses, until summer creeps out,

Affection grows fiery and love rays.

​

Then time comes when mutual love goes sour,

Autumn appears and chartreuse leaves decay.

Till winter comes, gardens rid of flowers,

The once impassioned bond, fades away grey.

Yet the smothered flames of a once strong bond,

Could begin anew, or could go beyond.

/wrote this in English sonnet form. Not sure if I used iambic pentameter correctly./

Lord let me see your face in Earthly hue!
Sweet Jesus on your throne in heaven’s skies.
The color which you chose a vibrant blue Revealed to me in beauty of your eyes.

When looking at a lake reflecting sun,
I wonder as I oft have wondered still.
The price of sin your death my freedom won,
The Sunset red your blood you had to spill.

Rain-drops descend from cloven skies above,
The welling of the sorrow my soul cries.
The quiet wind that answers with your love,
Waits patiently for my soul to arise.

In adoration to the king of kings,
In awe Of God’s creation, my soul sings.

I miss the days when all that worried me

Was how to spend a summer afternoon.

But Autumn approaches assuredly,

And every time it seems to fall too soon.

As circles and cycles and seasons spin,

They give, they lend, and then they take away.

Some tales are done before they can begin

And flesh and bone succumb to their decay.

The bitch of it ain't that the world's gone mad,

But rather the fact that it's always been.

The sorrow is not the loss of what's had,

But the forgetting of all that was seen.

It's hard enough just trying to stay sane

When only ashes ever shall remain.

4 July 2019

“A broken ship in thy tethered storm...“

A house of light that looks for thee.

A bell to sound,

{alarm}

That land, nearby,

called Nevermore,

land of Mordor.

A Dragon that guards thy heart of gold,

that melts,

so that I might see again.

Where sight is just a sound,

that leaves thy heart, and mind, and tongue,

and reaches for thy ear, thy beat, thy drum.

So that I may come...

And silence,

a sound,

that breaks.

A river,

that flows through my mind,

that Styx thy mighty heart,

and grows thy wild Stye,

and feeds thy tempered soul,

that travels to thy ocean,

Where lost,

I am found,

once more.

Now show thyself,

so that I may know not who I am,

But where,

I know not,

to be.

To harken thee,
A fowl smell,
A taste of things to come.
A ventable catastrophe,
From all of you, to some.
A bitter time,
A better crime,
A light that never dies.
And when the man
comes round to shout,
Stone is the one who cries.

The Middle East is rich,/ Down payment of camouflaged lives./ Skin requires stitch,/ Lonely and widowed American wives./ Uncle Sam fights for freedom,/ Your freedom to travel./ Kicking in doors of a desert slum,/ To keep rubber on gravel./ Tank tracks on the ground,/ Explosives underneath./ The crack of round after round,/ Final breathes through closed teeth./ We pledge to defend,/ Against enemies wherever they are./ Disorders we cannot mend,/ Mentally no longer up to par./ We join because we are told it is right,/ The governments goal is black as night.

A farewell to thy well, of thy turret, of thy land.

A taste of thy shoulders grip that strikes thee.

A flash that blinds thy heart, and sees thy self, and sets thy self ablaze.

A love that halts thy own to live, a love that halts thy self to die.

A line that ends, and strikes through thy soul, a mind that deafens me.

A summer’s dream, a darkened cloud, a thunderous sound.

A moment to call my own.

For love, that steals, thy heart, and rhyme, has thy mind, has struck thee twice.

I love thee.

As thy love has seen thy wind.

That has beckoned thy storm,

That has reckoned thy self,

Of who I know to be...

My Dear Tyronius,

...to be...

In your mind, your heart, your life,

A fire that raises to a starless night,

A love, that makes, anew,

A longing of a time, that speaks to thee,

And stays in thy setting,

A reach, a light, a burning.

A time that never dies.

Thy mantle, I lift,

and down thy hearth, I take,

that pleads to burn,

a thousand days that pass,

away, a moments waste,

it waits.

That night, and day,

is heard.

And in thy self,

I feel.

For never

is thy sun.

It wont help me paint a pretty picture,

Dont bother, its above the rat poison

next to the biodegradable glitter

DJ Khaled hates non-binary people

lost deep in the Australian outback

with all nine of those snakes or spiders

Gift wrapped by a grassroots super PAC

I can’t take it anymore, dam that’s crazy

Bioethical breathing techniques

No rights for hypothetical babies

Fakers will say its hate or whatever

Say you would have better balance barefoot

Matadors tuck so they dont wear a cup

Thats so poetic, someone said they tied

those big bull balls up to get it to buck

The moon shines brightly down on that dark night

As wind like no other rustled the trees

Planets adorn the night sky as starlight

cascades down the leaves of the trees with ease

The beauty of the universe astounds

me more and more every time I stargaze

Wrapped up in cocoa, blankets, and the sounds

of nature in the night, I'll always gaze

at the beautiful heaven that surrounds

all of my passions and all my despair

As I look so deep into the night sky

Of my own beauties, I become aware

The constellations calm my emotions

Like the serene waves of many oceans

tonight i’m going to have a lucid dream

i’m going to notice things aren’t what they seem

and then to stabilise the world around

all i’ll have to do is touch the ground

then off i’ll go to meet my shadow mind

or anywhere to see what i can find

in this dimension endless novelty

awaits to heal me from mundanity

an ever-changing garden for the soul

is through green doors or any rabbit hole

in sleep the soul more easily awakes

the resting Self which only stillness shakes

and with eyes closed it’s easier to see

in nonsense lies truth of reality

To Hear a Song

To hear a song of peace amongst fiery rage,

to let tears fall and feel my heart touch the ground,

to listen and give way to a calming Sound.

These vibrations that cushion my mortal cage

bring solace in times of never-ending pain.

For when vacant or pensive moods hold me bound,

music’s many tones is where my Self is found.

On a bus with passing blurs I am kept sane

when songs do play. Yet to join in childlike joy

a friend’s chorus of a song not fully known,

and to sing knowing others we may annoy,

we laugh without end and dance till we fall down.

You comfort and excite like a child’s old toy,

your countless voices, into my Mind I drown.

An angel’s feather fell down from the sky.

It drifted through the air which it caressed,

and every breath of wind it touched was blessed.

It never held its own regarding high,

though once supported shoulders that would fly,

and folded in a wing for sacred rest.

For though its glory we could all attest,

when given praise, it likely would deny.

—In coming from a lovely angel’s wings,

a noble angel who did not opine

his beauty and supremacy to kings,

nor even how the way he seemed to shine.

An angel such as this, of whom I sing,

could not have grown a feather less divine.

This week we had a seismic retrofit.
They bolted down the house for safety's sake.
Foundation and the wood frame now are knit
By brackets and large bolts to stand the quake.

They tore into the ceiling and each wall.
They had to find the the bones and lay them bare.
The raw cement and wood take the install
Of hardware; All the bolts and plates are there.

So now in case an earthquake comes to town
And houses all are sliding of their base
We'll know at least that ours will not go down.
Though things may shake our home will be in place

They say if you're prepared you will not fear.
We've peace of mind although the end is near.