Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Sunday, October 11, 2020

Sonnet #325

 I found the lamp; the genie came and granted

The three wishes, and I thought about my son

Who is not yet three, and what could be won

By one so young: to have his moment supplanted

With whatever whim he has, a tv show perhaps,

A giant garbage truck that changes colors on command

He pretends to cook ravioli so he’ll have that on demand

And in thirty years, he would tumble through his mishaps

And ache at all the pain he brought upon himself

By spending all his power on the whims of youth -

I have the lamp; The universe is mine, what else?

Control of others? A power to change the truth?

Just toys and fancy. Hold mine unspent, three prayers

I am too young, we are all too young, to wish into the air.

Friday, October 9, 2020

Sonnet #324

We call the hard ones strong but they 
Are not. The jagged cliffs are shaped by sea
The wind blows down all the mighty trees 
And we sit upon the beach and sea spray
Tickles our noses where the wind catches
The drops, and we bask in that cool water
And swim among the reefs, fish scatter
And they are so small, so delicate, patches
Of light glistening and alive and so small
And all our strength all our hardness breaks
Upon the beach, where tiny sand’s pull
Gently holds us up and swallows us, takes
As much as it carries of our skin cells,
The tiniest worms devour the mightiest who make