Transfigured

The sky reminds me of volcanoes,

The receding grey storm clouds are seared with floes of hot pink, 

And thus today is brilliantly transfigured into tonight.

Sonnets for Sunset

The last sonnet.  Any suggestions for a name? 

 

Some think seven is a holy number;

Holy is the only word for this light,

It drew my soul from its lazy slumber,

And demanded all virtue and right

From me, a puny creature in vastness

Far beyond my comprehension and ken,

So wearily and broken, I confess

That I am sinful, again and again,

Pink clouds are what it takes to remind me,

That despite the troubles that firmly stay,

There’s grace and hope, a cozy cup of tea,

For me at the start and end of each day,

And no matter life’s dreary circumstance

My God hovers over all the expanse.

Sonnets for Sunset

The fourth installment….

 

‘Stolen’

Spontaneous crime has ne’er tasted sweet

As it did tonight when I stole a glimpse

Of a celestial masterpiece treat

Instead of digging up the bones of chimps;

Indeed, when I ought have been sorting through

Rocks and dirt, numbingly alike in form,

I maddly dashed and espied the fondue

Of a sunset, just over yonder dorm,

And breathlessly beheld it’s beautiful

Arrangement, by far the best design yet,

Each of its sides utterly luminal;

How I longed to stay and simply forget

To return to my class, but conscious bade

That I again take up my dusty spade. 

Sonnets for Sunset

The third installment in a week long series… 

 

‘The Swan Song’

Delicate wisps of soft grey are painted

Into the blue of the panorama,

They bend their heads like newly aquainted 

Swans and are odd like silent film drama

Drenched in nostalgia; Winsomly they move

Towards the yon setting Sun who swathes them

As pink sugar-spun tulle and beams with love

When they start the dance that forms the day’s hem,

Symphonically they swirl in full dome,

Forming the petals of the Holy Rose,

That exudes fierce light, terribly awesome, 

Whose radience none would dare to oppose,

The moon watches too, as the sun goes down,

Paling in the light of his golden crown. 

Sonnets for Sunset

The second installment in a week long series…

 

‘Scheduling A Sunset’

Today I will try and watch the sunset,

But my and nature’s timing might conflict,

Squeezing sky between calander events;

Planning it all out makes it seem too strict,

Like I’m milking every last drop of thrill,

Wringing out the elements of delight,

Objectifying and not feeling still,

In all the abundance of last sunlight;

I am yet resigned to feel what I might,

Despite the scirmish ‘twixt rythyms of life,

It seems silly that such a thing could blight,

And disturb with shackles, peacefulness rife,

Ah, for temporal liberty, I yearn,

And in eventide await rest’s return.

 

‘Facing Westward’

An obligation to the golden sky,

Frees me from the fallout of a bomb,

So hungrily I drink in the red dye,

That ropily smears the eyelids with calm,

But the empty sky doesn’t satisfy,

And I stagger,  I’m lost in a desert,

The only water, the salt-tears I cry;

I expected the sky to heal the hurt,

Mistakenly, for it is so wild,

Spanning savannahs and ruling o’er earth,

It demands that I become a child,

And offers all the pain of second birth,

What is it for? Why do I care so much?

All this I wonder as soul and sky touch. 

Sonnets for Sunset

I have a new project that I have been working on. Actually, as a response to Wordsworth’s poetry, I have been asked to watch seven consecutive sunsets and record my feelings and thoughts. I thought, why not write more poems! As Wordsworth was a poet, and I myself am an aspiring poet in need of practice, I have undertaken to write a minimum of one sonnet per sunset. Here are the first few… Enjoy. 

 

‘In Anticipation Of A Sunset’

 

In anticipation of a sunset,

I wander and fret the hours away,

In full actions for deadlines duly met,

And pacing each minute in life’s foyer,

For in that time all splendor will break forth,

As sunny beams stream glory above

And clouds are enflamed with hues like a torch

Letting me revel in glorious love;

Seeing this, I will not fear when night comes

Or when that inky darkness swiftly falls

Hereafter, I will hear hope’s tranquil hum

O’er the hauntind sound of life’s garish calls,

So I wait for the sunset, write a poem,

And wonder how long ‘til I return home.

 

‘The North Horton Fire Escape’

 

 It begins in pastels and waning light,

Splendid fingers extending, bright and pale,

And then, the sun drops and is veiled from sight

Behind the clouds, trimmed with bright lightning detail;

Great, silent, and slow to the ants below,

This celestial turning, too good to miss,

Sears the retina with a wild rainbow,

And blushes all pink, as after a kiss;

Suspended and heavy, an egg yolk sun

Is swollowed whole by clouds, ominous grey,

Unceremoniously it’s all done,

And a dusty blue twilight ends the day,

The watcher’s left waiting for something more,

Thirsting for rest on an infinite shore.