| 
	
		
		
		
		 Here are a couple.  I left the first few (and the best) at home.  They were full shakespearean sonnets and very well written.  She spent a lot of time on them and were beautiful.   
 
The last sonnet that I have was written quickly and is not as good as the rest, but here it is: 
 
No stormy sky nor much awaited rain 
Will e'er suffice for poetry by night, 
The force of which the wind will not detain 
But driven by one found in heart-strung sight. 
 
Do you  think this writing becomes trite? 
With much regret, I'd give this all away. 
Without cessation, may one find delight. 
And more, an aching soul one does allay. 
 
But fie, this cold and torrent stain these days, 
And soils too the words with disguised dread. 
Too sad to express truly sublime praise 
That, rained upon, will still remain unsaid. 
 
The cold did steal some ardor laced in dew 
But warmer still is this fervor for you. 
 
 
 
Then, as spring came around, she switched to prose: 
 
While you may find the sonnet to be of elevated eloquence 
Prose is the more playful for the softer days of spring 
Thus the tedious tempo and meticulous metered rhyme 
Are replaced with the longer lasting lighted days 
.                                              And aromatic anecdotes 
 
Fear not that I have lost a lust 
For tricky trysts 
And perverse poetry 
Instead believe that I have absorbed 
Every last breath of sun 
.                                             Sweetly satiated 
But I regret that I must leave this warmth behind... 
 
Wait, before me still is the counterpart of the sun that hides within 
And emerges from inside to chase away the shadowed hours 
Such a light, warmth, and glow reside solely in your smile 
That I may bask in such a sun is so much more refreshing 
 
 
Then this: 
 
What cautous eyes do not see 
And weary ears do not hear 
A peculiar delight to alight 
The strangest of these rendesvous 
 
Idle tongue and pen have I 
This hour I write in haste 
But do not fret poetic cramp 
Will halt the weekly appetite 
 
Gaze you now upon the stars 
And the sky in quiet glory 
The great expanse is there for us 
To discover, to explore 
The world will well appease 
The taste that comes with living 
With all the world to contemplate 
All I can think about is you 
 
 
 
This was the last anonymous poem: 
 
Have you been lost? 
Can I not see? 
As quick as the waves crash in, 
The tide falls out 
.         And thus is my agonizing dilemma 
 
.         The weeks pass and from you, no jocund words escape, 
.         Sight unseen, and heart unmended, 
.         Misfortune, my newfound companion, 
.         Hides you now, yearning far from contented 
 
I sigh.  Oh that I may find you soon 
 
Worrisome, this song I write with heavy hesitation 
I fear it my last 
.         But know that in cessation of prose 
.         Adulation outlives poetry 
 
 
 
I was speaking to her about the poems over the summer.  She mentioned the "birthday poem" that she hand delivered to me, and I told her I couldn't find it, and asked her to send me a copy.  I later found the the version she actually sent me, and it is quite different from this one.  I cried when I read this one: 
 
The best of all my vices 
hides in daily, trite reprises 
 
the first tinny note 
pierces morning reverie 
mused by time, that incessant heartbeat; 
an eyelid-full of caffeine, 
it musters an encore, 
ever twenty-four hours 
 
and though I carefully note 
to wear a mood upon my sleeve 
on the other, skip of a heartbeat, 
to change what came before 
like the day preceding, of bitter encore 
the same ennerving hours 
 
but soon you're there, and a hope 
that this hour, too, will saunter in  
behind you through that door, off by a beat and different from the hours before. 
both came in unannounced, unprovoked, unseen 
but too late to break uncomfortable routine 
so leave as soon as you arrive 
 
no desired and important conference or spoken note 
has passed, but was so intended. 
instead you and false hopes 
left quicker than a heartbeat. 
morose regrets of my lost intentions grant an encore 
once or more by every passing hour 
 
may false hopes be true 
and happy birthday to you 
 
 
Even though things never really got off the ground between us, I treasure these poems and the memories they bring back.  Let me know what you think of them. 
 
edit: I tried to fix the 'formatting' let's hope it worked. 
argh!! it won't let me indent or put in extra spaces.  Oh well 
		
		
		
		
		
		
		
			
				  
				
					
						Last edited by Slims; 05-07-2003 at 10:35 AM..
					
					
				
			
		
		
	 |