Entity (Michael Antman), Sonnet #567

 

It’s too soon to write about it.

I prefer Spinoza’s spirit,

Its embodiment of rainbows,

No holier than house sparrows.

It’s all perhaps a point of view,

Nothing is preternatural,

Just perpetually new,

A pride before there is no fall.

I stand inside an open door.

Indirect sunlight suffuses

The hallway with its sweet odor —

Even motes of dust have uses.

Outside a statue of mother

Asks, “Are you you, or some other?”

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

My Human Disguise.

Borrowdale Framed by Stone Circle (artist unknown), Sonnet #568

 

for Jeffrey Strayer

Extreme effort to frame:

What’s seen with or without

Enclosure takes the same

Circumambient route

Into the dark pupil.

Mountains and valleys spill

Beyond the circle’s span,

From rainclouds to brainpan.

They say it’s a hard climb

To reach the stone circle,

Yet, everywhere I’m

Found, the same miracle

Completes figure and ground:

A nearly perfect round.

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

My Human Disguise.

NASA Eagles Nest (Susan Hansen), Sonnet #566

 

Near Canaveral the eagles’ nest 

Was built years before the sycamore died.

They still return to it each year to rest,

To rebuild, to mate, to give birth, to guide

Their fledglings in the raptor’s arts of flight

And fishing on the wing — claws clutched tight

On a meal devoured in a single bite.

When the rockets go up and out of sight

Is their world momentarily destroyed

By shuddering air and splintering light,

Or are they only mildly annoyed?

It takes five years for eagles to mature.

Each abandons its parents first, unsure,

Alone, wary of rockets and the future.

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

My Human Disguise.

Sunfire in San Francisco (Michael Antman), Sonnet #565

 

The slant light at sunset

Parses brick and shadow

As if they’d never met,

As if they didn’t know

They are one and the same,

Congeries with one name.

That name is fire, and fire.

The bridge rises higher

To suspend fire and wire,

Reaching from sand to mire.

So old the paint and brick,

Cooling the shadow’s wick.

All these make sun insane,

Absent mist, fog, or rain.

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

My Human Disguise.

What An Aquarium Should Be (artist unknown), Sonnet #564

 

One should never write about dreams.

They are boring beyond nothing.

They replace what seems with the seams

Stitched between thought and everything,

Pulling loose when one would believe,

Sprinkling detritus like a sieve,

Leaving inchoate images

In minds of the greatest sages.

Huxley with his aquarium

Saw in sea life continuum

But only behind walls of glass.

Asleep, mermaids, all laugh and sass,

And marine grotesques, befuddle

His science. Seas dry to puddles.

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

My Human Disguise.

Large Enclosure Near Dresden (Caspar David Friedrich), Sonnet #563

 

Today, the clouds, like a drawn bow,

Turn the curve of the horizon

Upside down and high becomes low

Until the setting of the sun.

Just-ending rains flooded the fields

And small rudderless sailcraft spin,

Empty of their laden yields.

Can sweet water cause such ruin?

We walk the high ground hand in hand,

Stranded on the bridge-less bank.

How will we return to our land

Before all has turned rot and rank?

A lone boatman polls upriver —

He’s seen death, this old life-giver?

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

My Human Disguise.

The Nymph of the Spring (Lucas Cranach the Elder), Sonnet #562

 

There still sleep secret sacred springs

Fed by streams from porous rock,

By dreams of dozing huntress nymphs.

Their arrows aren’t aimed at wings,

But men who would touch key to lock

Of their delicately draped limbs.

While a short walk from the old town

The spring is seldom discovered

By hunter or would-be lover,

Or princess in her silken gown.

Unnatural havoc attends

Disturbing of the nymph at rest.

The springs boil and mists ascend

To poison the unwanted guest.

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

My Human Disguise.