Tag Archives: Blank Verse

Bone Cold [Blank Verse Sonnet]

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From a stove-heated room, the snow brightens
one's mind with hope that all will be made clean,
but cleanliness is next to nothingness
and nothingness is next to loneliness.
From inside, snow is silencing and light.
It's fine and shifts like sand in desert dunes.
It's silent like the depths of a cabin
at midnight on the prairie before time.

From outside, snow saps all of one's resolve,
and makes one wish to flee the purity
it pretends to generate all around.
The cold, it bites like a full-body vice.

The feet go numb, but brains... they fire wildly --
they shake one awake, but dare one to sleep.

Schrödinger’s Isle [Blank Verse Sonnet]

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The island's rocky columns rise upward.
Its gray and green was tiny, but now looms.
A giant jutting rock that stands on high,
and shades the white sand beach and coral sea.

This island will be home from now 'til doom.
One's gratitude for fists of sand first swells,
but it will crash in time with tedium.
Could a sea death beat solitary life?

One lives and dies by coconut water --
day after day - week after week,
and dreams of company and comfort food,
while knowing this is hell and paradise.

What prison is this island - place unknown -
that like Schrödinger's box shrouds life & death?

Last Blossom [Blank Verse]

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The final flower falls to the sidewalk.
It's damp and deformed, -n- sugared with sand.
It's gritty and pretty at the same time.

The ants are crawling around and across.
A faintly putrid scent must call to them.
They crave that little bit of death in food.

And tomorrow it'll be gone -- somehow -- gone.
Who knows where: swept up, carried, or wind-blown.
It will be gone, and branches will be bare.

POEM: Claustrophobic Shores [Blank Verse Sonnet]

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The rain bands slant across the narrow track
between the leaden clouds and churning seas.
The vastness, standing before ocean’s edge,
is boxed by rain, low clouds, and rising waves.

My view of infinite space shrivels up.
The water curtain hides what lies behind —
the lost horizon lies, disguised by lines
of squall that crawl with all the time allowed.

What brought me to this shore is now mislaid:
some sense that I could never be contained.
I’m sure that storm intends to push me home —
back to the box where it thinks I belong.

But then it passes by; blue skies beyond,
and I can see out past the trawler’s shapes.

POEM: Ghost of Cosmos Future

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I’ve seen these fleeting glimpses of the world.
They dissolve — memories of dream soon lost,
and leave me longing to see raw, rich truths —
the craving lies — a deep itch in the mind.

The ghost of cosmos future threatens me.
It shows me worlds with all the wrongs righted,
and asks if I’d push a button of change,
and feel my suffering grow in exchange.

And would I walk a road paved in torment,
if the tormented souls were thus made free?
I know not whether I’ve such heroic bones
to take that change and pay the entry fee.

Is virtue stuff from which heavens are made,
or is it yet another kind of dream.