Bird Garden (Paul Klee), Sonnet #415

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My Human Disguise.







Why does the bird sing before the sunrise?

What is he saying when no bird responds?

Minutes later another species cries

As if to himself, then a third voice sounds.

Does the cardinal talk to the catbird?

That hardly seems likely. Though a starling

Will nag a red-tailed hawk, that’s not singing. 

Just the nuthatch answers a nuthatched word.

But it’s that first bird’s first note and why then,

Which breaks the dark silence like a siren,

I question. Does the robin hope to steal

The pre-dawn’s power and make himself real,

Or does he fear the sun will never rise

Unless his tunes ruin the light’s surprise?

Two Women Chatting by the Sea (Camille Pissarro), Sonnet #414

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My Human Disguise.







Even today, humid, with a warm breeze,

The sea, calm as ice right up to the shore,

Is a place they can’t love and can’t ignore.

It’s a canard that the horizon frees

One’s wishes until they are all one sees.

The water is only the place where breath

Stops, where a man can’t walk or even swim

The distance between disaster and death.

The beach is a sand glass filled to the brim

With liquid you can’t drink without dying.

How much of sand is crushed bone still drying?

The women chat of things both gay and grim.

They’d scoff at the idea of the sea’s gift

And fear most the daily threat in sea drift.

Saguaro (Alice Guerin), Sonnet #413

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My Human Disguise.


















He confronted his brother the cactus

After the decades since he’d seen him last.

Both had changed a little, both had amassed

Enough of themselves to say, “You’re still us.”

He pointed at the sand, the distant sun,

The spider, quail, snake, and the pygmy owl,

Almost extinct, and promised all to none.

He heard in the needles the faintest growl.

The saguaro pointed at the empty sky,

Its six hands fixed each on a different star,

As if to say the universe is dry

And begins and ends not here, but not far

Away, where the fires thrive, where cold hurls back

The flames. He left as the desert turned black.

The Virtue Wagon (Paul Klee), Sonnet #412

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My Human Disguise.









The wagon was a hit in the Virtue Parade.

Men and women (we couldn’t tell apart) costumed

In various stages of address and undress,

Depicted what we all lust for and none evade —

The self-righteousness that cannot be self-consumed.

The wagon dragged an anchor; why?, we couldn’t guess.

We marveled how the actors laughed but couldn’t smile,

Flinging candied hearts to the crowd mile after mile.

They tasted sweet and dour like sugary chalk

And gave no joy to boy or girl of true virtue

(Each of us knew ourselves to be one of those few).

The wagon was now full of nudes — look at us gawk!

Underthings, pants, and dresses came showering down.

A bald man in the crowd donned a harlequin’s crown.

River in the Plain (Cezanne), Sonnet #411

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My Human Disguise.









The river’s over its banks — four days’ rain

Draws from its pebbled bed a ruddy stain.

(My dreams flood like this and fill up my brain —

Hypnagogic between shores of the sane.)

I slowly wade downstream and a white crane

Flies over, followed by an entire skein —

They pass me by with a clacking disdain.

I know I should fish upstream but the pain

In my bad hip will ceaselessly complain

If I try to challenge the surging strain.

The river always divided the plain,

Low at times, or high, as now, it will drain,

But some level of water will remain.

It has a life and purpose to sustain.

La Cigale, “The Grasshopper” (Joseph Lefebvre), Sonnet #410

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



















Fear most the things you’ve left undone. 

While you were singing to the sun

You lost your tunic in the field. 

You kicked off your only sandals. 

Your food was stolen by vandals

And no one shares the harvest yield. 

All resent your beauty, your ways,

Ignoring what anyone says. 

And even though you’re innocent 

You behave with a fool’s intent. 

Some almost wish you’d tempt their lust

And justify your being crushed. 

They will look to your starvation 

As their much deserved salvation.

Note: This beautiful work refers to Aesop’s fable of ‘The Grasshopper and the Ant.’ Painted following the 1870-71 Franco-Prussian war, it was considered an allegory of Napoleon III, who lead France to economic ruin. The painting depicts ‘The Grasshopper’ in autumn, realising the consequences of her careless frivolity.

Angel, Sonnet #409

Light is invisible until it hits

An object or penetrates the pupil.

No effort of intelligence or will

Can else know illumination’s spirits.

Real angels, it seems, are almost the same.

She can’t exist at all until I name

Her, with sounds I can’t think, and she appears,

The breeze from her wings allaying my fears.

She carries a small bouquet of flowers

And her raised right hand is empty, no sword

Or torch — hers are the powerless powers

I dare not test with even a whispered word.

Her wings buffet me — she rises to go.

I finally speak: “Stay.” Her smile says “no.”