A Flying Carpet (Victor Tsarevitch), Sonnet #597

 

After 2021–A New Year’s Poem

“Flying carpet” had been more apt,

Fleeing, unreachable, rapt.

Not magical, but uncanny,

Not even real, epiphany

Without a point because it is

Not up to analysis.

We’re given only a number —

How many can’t be counted, known —

(Fraying threads, fabric unsewn).

“I’m certain that I remember,”

I say. The carpet flaps. I fall.

Can I recall one thing at all?

The memories that I most fear

Are those I hope to lose next year.

My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase at Amazon. Click here:

My Human Disguise.

Red Balloon (Paul Klee), Sonnet #596

We used to talk of divine afflatus,

Now no more— dubious inspiration

Led us to the corruption of desire,

Turning each individual to Us —

A collective of alienation

Satisfied with cold ashes and out fire.

I will instead take to my red balloon

And, rising above all that troubles me,

Seeking what only I call destiny

In the apposite hours, late and soon.

The cold wind, hidden sun, and burning gas,

Earth turning to images as I pass,

Undoes the fears and tremors my being

Held too dear, as seeking loves believing.

My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase at Amazon. Click here:

My Human Disguise.