Dollar an Hour ©Zevrynn
“It’s time for bed. You shouldn’t be awake”
‘can’t i please stay up? i don’t want to go’
“It’s way past bedtime… sorry son, but no”
The son’s next questions made Daddy’s heart ache
‘daddy, please tell me, how much do you make?’
“Why do you ask? Why do you want to know?”
‘i’ve saved a dollar,’ holds it up to show
‘is this enough, dad? how much will it take?’

‘i know that you are always hard at work
and you get paid a lot for all you do
until now i’ve sat back and been silent.
even though you’re not one to duties shirk
can i please buy an hour to spend with you?
dad, i want to be one of your clients’

Too Little … Too Late ©Zevrynn
For Daddy, Death already set a date
His chance for seeing his daughter was slim
Would she ever get to snuggle with him?
Then Mom stepped in and tried her hand at fate
Decisions were made with emotions great
She planned to take her baby from within
Because her husband’s future looked so grim
Her baby girl’s birth wouldn’t come too late

The love he had for her was plain to see
Three-way hug between baby, Mom, and Dad
The baby’s cries filled Daddy’s heart with glee
He held her once before he ceased to be
“You’re my beautiful baby…I’m your dad”
His last spoken words were “Remember me.”

Tossed to the Tides ©Jenn
Written notes neatly tucked into bottles.
Carefully corked messages set a sail.
Carried on the tides of life without fail.
Spirit caught, found in the words, the vowels
Hopes, dreams, nightmares, pains, joys all symbols.
When read together, creating the tale;
Of one small life lived, in every detail.
Pieces of me, trapped with in these vessels.
Left wondering what replies there will be
Or is it their journey says something more?
Brightly coloured bottles bob in the sea.
If only all these messages set free
Would reach another life, another shore . . .
‘Stead of returning unanswered to me.

Solitary Figures ©Jenn
There are those who walk the world all alone.
Silent specters hidden in life’s shadows.
Small chameleons lost among the geckos.
Anchorless, landing where ever their thrown.
Just living simple lives, all on their own.
Shading and sheltering, like the willows
When helping others out of their limbos.
Alas, forever they remain unknown.
Never to be touched, held, loved or consoled.
Not asking, expecting any return,
Watching the play all around them unfold.
Knowing their stories will be left untold.
Gentle souls dream, while shy spirits still yearn.
For such warm hearts, this world’s too often cold.

We too can be reborn! ©Jenn
Now, the world awakens from it’s slumber,
Left behind sweet dreamings it did derive.
Shaking off lethargy, coming alive.
Arising from the long nap of winter,
Refreshed, ready to again go hither.
Once again sprouting, growing … LIFE does thrive!
Flourishing, Spring finally does arrive.
Sweeping away winter’s dust; world becomes brighter.
Look! everywhere all things begin to bloom.
A season of rebirth! Of green, of growth!
Blossoms filling the air with their perfume,
What secrets are revealed in this class room?
Found here, the secret to our greater wealth;
Simply, we are also of nature’s womb.

It is OUR belief which gives them wings ©Jenn
What? I do ask, in truth, are the angels?
It’s said they are simply myth or legend
Nothing to be seriously questioned.
Simply something that lives in the hymnals?
Best left the domain of nuns in wimples?
Arriving, when by my prayers they’re summoned?
Perhaps modernity should be cautioned?
Else it will be left with only devils.
Ahh such strength we give and feed the demon.
Modern life rushing past the miracles,
Seems from heaven or grace WE are fallen.
Looking for the truths so deeply hidden.
Maybe, angels, are nothing but fables . . .
Wizened spirits we’ve yet to awaken.

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Sonnets are sixteen line poems adhering to a specific meter and rhyme scheme. There are two main styles of sonnets the English and the Italian which differ in rhyme scheme and groupings to form stanzas.

All sonnets are written in iambic pentameter. Iambic meaning each foot of meter will hold two syllables with the second one being accented such as [one TWO]. Pentameter refers to the number of feet in the line., in this case 5 feet of iambic meter. Or said another way each line must contain ten syllables with the stress on every other syllable.Thus the meter of each line in a sonnet looks like this [one TWO][one TWO][one TWO][one TWO][one TWO].

The Petrarchan or Italian sonnet is written as an octave (eight lines) followed by a sestet (six lines). The rhyme scheme will never have more than 5 rhymes within it, but there are a variety of schemes used within the final sestet.

The Octave’s rhyme scheme is constant as follows: abbaabba
The Sestet’s rhyme scheme can go a number ways but cannot contain more than 3 additional rhymes than the two used in the octave. Some examples of patterns used for the sestet follow: cdecde, cddddc, cdccdc, ccddee

Sonnet CCLXIX by Petrarch
Broken the column and the green bay tree
That lent a shade to my exhausted thought;
And I have lost what can nowhere be sought
In any distant wind or distant sea.
You took away from me my double treasure,
Death, which had made my life proud and secure;
What neither earth nor kingdom can allure,
Nor oriental gem, nor golden measure.
But if to accept this is destiny,
What can I do but wear eyes wet with
A sad soul and a face shut to all views?
O life that are so beautiful to see,
How quickly in one morning do we lose
What we gained with great pain in many years!

Sonnet CCXX by Petrarch
Whence did Love get the gold, and from what ore,
To make two yellow braids? And in what bower
Of thorns did he pluck roses, in what shore
The fresh and fragile hoar, and give it power?
Whence come the pearls in which he breaks and ties
Sweet honest words, incomparably fine?
Whence all the beauties that are so divine
Of that forehead serener than the skies?
From what angels derives and from what sphere,
The holy singing by which I am slain,
So that little is left to give me pain?
From what sun qame the lofty light and clear
That declares peace and war to my desire,
And scalds my heart with ice as well as fire.

Sonnet CCXXIV by Petrarch
If a loving belief, an artless heart,
A soft abandon, a courteous desire,
If honest wishes which a pure fire start,
An endless erring through a blind empire,
If on my forehead every thought revealed,
Or in some words broken as soon as heard,
And now by fear and now by shame repealed,
If in violet and love my face interred,
If holding someone else more than self dear,
Ever weeping and sighing without rest,
Feeding on grief, on anger and torment,
If burning when away and freezing near,
Are the causes why loving I am distressed,
Yours the sin, Lady, mine the punishment.

Petrarchan sonnets differ from the shakespearean in the layout of the verse quatrains and couplets versus octaves and sestets yet all sonnets are united in their use of iambic pentameter.

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A World to Love ©Nimbusman
I came to find my life yet may be told,
in days of new living my dreams so true.
And yet I know how I can be as old;
but in no sense will I be took as blue.

Life thy love, an interesting passion…
I seek to take and hide away from you;
this may as yet come down out of fashion,
but will be dear as such as I to you.

I vent to not take claim on things outdone;
from those who have taken my soul to find.
Lovely O you, you are my dear loved one,
pity on those who chance to see so blind.

This world I know tread not to grieve sadly…
be thy freedom and love will stay gladly.

The Torture Of Time Passing ©TheFantasy
As the hands of the clock marks it’s own time
every moment ticking past holding me
the tintinnabulating bells all chime
a prisoner marking the time till freed.

Tortured still by the beats of time passing
every pounding strikes upon my head
I pray it stops…cacophony massing
peace comes only at the hour of the dead

the agony of sound, the hour passes.
light rays with shadow fall upon me now
watching sand drips…within the ‘our glasses
Is it true love passing beyond me….how?

Till my lover comes and restores my mind
There will be no more .. of this ticking time!

mewling melodramatics for the muse ©Jenn
railing against the silence that surrounds
my muse, it’s you i invoke and implore!
oh please! fill this emptiness which dumbfounds.
those flowing visions once again restore!
why ever this need to flee? it confounds.
is it this poor writer, whom you do abhor?
your loss within me achingly resounds,
what is it i did wrong? was i a boor?
you will return, my faith in you abounds.
amends are made, with me you stand once more!
the slightest touch you bring always astounds.
my life, my allegiance again is swore!
never would i err, or wish to offend,
for only by your gift do words transcend!

muse on the other side ‘o the tracks ©Jenn
my mind misfiring like an empty gun.
nuthin’ cummin’ you think i don’t know the score?
sprawled in the corner smelling of bourbon,
my muse, just some broken down third rate whore
useless old drunk! OHHH this i ain’t playin!
DAMN THIS! shooting blanks, YOU know it ain’t right!
get off your ass … yo bitch! start preformin!
you laugh, bare your teeth. pretend that you’ll bite.
diss me, i’ll slap you bitch. UNDERSTANDIN?
she flips me off. still no words she’s spoken.
since she wouldn’t work, took matters to hand.
she ran out screaming, her fingers all broken.
you never beheld a sorrier sight
than a beat up drunk muse, who could not write!

mind drifts east ©Jenn
seems my eyes continually stray.
i find myself looking out the window,
seeking the meaning of another day.
wondering what treasures it will bestow.
what secrets shall be unlocked? will i find
that these visions are my own creation?
as all synapses blaze within my mind,
you have captured my imagination.
will nothing this enchantment’s hold dispel?
once again staring out at pale blue skies,
wrapped up within these daydreams i do dwell.
why this longing? i can but theorize.
wishing to ride those clouds so softly fleeced,
seems they are always heading to the east.
soul’s lament ©Jenn
as fiercely whipping winds go screaming by
shattering all the dreams held in my mind.
shuddering, slowly i begin to cry.
mourning all those who have been left behind.
storm clouds darkly gather, surrounding me
while slippery shadows whisper more lies.
portents of a future never to be
speed fantasy and illusion’s demise.
even now, visions no longer appear.
moments stolen, trapped make memory
lightning strikes burning images held dear
others may look but fail to truly see . . .
witness the emptiness, a life undone;
wandering the wasteland my heart’s become.

everybody’s a critic ?!? ©Jenn
have they ever heard shakespeare before?……what would their comment be, I wonder……wouldst they run into the wood? thus from that thought came this …..

away! away! again away they BOUND!
nimbly jumping over the brush and scrub
then racing faster when they hit the ground
birds wondering what is causing the hubbub
early morning scene so very serene
a small group of deer simply out feeding
hoped my silent approach remained unseen
never knowing just where this was leading
startling one with a snap of a twig
another stared back simply uncaring
still they flee, though i’m not so very big
perhaps it was the Shakespeare i was sharing?
away they flee, through woods they are crashing.
the last image seen, is white tails flashing.

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