Sonnet 8,132

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I could explore the contents of my heart
Explaining how I feel and what I see
Describing how I felt right from the start
And telling him the things he does to me.
I might decide to speak my thoughts for real;
Be tempted to reveal my inner state;
For how else would he know the way I feel?
Unless, of course, he sees it on my face.
I wonder if he’ll notice through my words;
And whether he’ll be easily convinced
Perhaps when first I speak, I shall be heard
But truth be told: my heart holds everything.
For when he puts his hand there, he will feel;
He’ll know it beats for him because it’s real.

LMN

SONNET 1,432

Standard

I write again with my iambic pen
As beats crash into me in five-by-two
My metered thoughts be thunk – and only then
Can I begin to write those words anew.
I feel it like a heartbeat ev’ry time
A pulse, a thud, resounding in my soul
And though t’was Bill’s, I also make it mine
But shan’t forget the debt I’ll always owe.
Twelve lines, you’ll find alternate rhyming ends
All puzzle-pieces making up the thing;
Near rhymes, exact, they all make aural sense;
Provided that your ears be listening.

To end, a simple task: by no means least;
A rhyming couplet finishes the piece.

LMN

 

SONNET 7,998

Standard

A poet’s soul is best when uncontained;
Whenever words are thought, they should come out;
For words and thoughts may die whene’er restrained;
A poet should not leave their soul in doubt.
A writer’s mind is best when it’s displayed;
However stories happen, have them told;
For stories always ought to be conveyed;
A writer’s mind should write them, loud and bold.
An artist’s heart is best when free
to paint;
Wherever muses strike, let art be done;
For beauty’s revelation’s never late;
An artist’s heart be fast once it’s begun.

And yet, t’is best to quieten for now;
Let words and art reveal their hearts somehow.

LMNĀ image.jpg

SONNET 6,932

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I see a vision, hear an unheard sound;
Feel something that I’ve never felt before;
His eyes, oh Lord – those eyes, so deep I drown;
Just thinking of him has me on the floor.
Yet up I get, to see his face again;
Not long before I melt into his smile;
Two seconds ere I stop and stare and then
I dream of shortening this lengthy
isle.
My heart a drum, my eyes a’glazed with hope;
My mind a whirring book of poetry;
As this be new to me, I’ll learn the ropes;
The virtue: patience, calls its name to me.

I pause my soul: my hopeful heart pulsates;
For sheer perfection’s always worth the wait.

LMN

 

SONNET 3,292

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image.jpgWhere iron and velvet meet they crush within;
And where they separate they crush without;
Imprisoned by perception, comforting
Where thoughts be nought, incarcerating doubt.
Where skepticism hides and faith be sought
And where the two sides battle oft and much;
In prison bars free thinking’s never taught;
Rare velvet gloves appease and give soft touch.
Where inner softness masquerades as hard
And where protective metal coats the cloud
A person’s mettle softens through the shards
Shared differences hid, yet love avowed.

But if a love surrenders – cold wet, dying;
Then nature’s glove gives life by velvet iron.

LMN

SONNET 2,333

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I would not have you fall in love with me;
For what would you do then once you are loved?
You’d wrap yourself in everything you see;
A sentiment misleading, via drug.
You’d tell me how I spin your heart and head
And speak of all the things I have you feel
You’d fall under my skin and into bed:
Where lies the full percentage of appeal.
But soon I’d be a tiresome little wretch;
Who’d fade away, too easy to ignore.
Whose old and rhyming soul falls from the edge;
Too passionate a person to endure.

Unless you are in love with poetry;
I beg you: do not fall in love with me.

LMN

SONNET 5,239

Standard

He speaks to me respectfully, t’is true;
With words so fresh and sweet, unlike the rest;
He does not send me images of blue;
His heart be pure, to that I can attest.
He asks about my day, about my life;
With sentiment of pure and truthful care;
He does not ask for things that are unright;
His soul be calm and tender over there.
He looks at me: both eyes are shaped like hearts;
With visions of one future we’re both in;
He does not see me as a sep’rate part;
His mind be seeking starstuff, equal kin.

For years I was a book upon a shelf;
Yet now I read his words and read myself.

LMN

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