Sonnets Here, In-House

Thank you, Vanessa. You ARE going to be the first person to get a SECOND sonnet about you on this thread; but we need to let some additional folks have their first....


For Solya


So delicate and gentle, so replete
With goodwill and compassion, the desire
For harmony with everyone she'll meet:
This is our Solya. Oh, to think what mire
Of darkness and cold falsehood could have been
The trap of Solya's soul! But Christ prevailed;
The false gods gave way to the Nazarene,
And happily into His light she sailed.

Don't force her to reflect on harsher things,
On battles fought by sheer necessity;
She has her way to serve the King of Kings,
And her existence is a melody
Which angels may take up, and think it sweet,
As they, like Solya, bow at Jesus' feet.
 
Jax wrote a compliment while I was working on the piece for Solya; that makes it her turn now!


FOR INKSPOT



For lurkers on the internet, who might
Not have the opportunity to see
Far islands for themselves, there comes to light
A panorama, brought to you and me
By one of the good ladies of the Lawn,
A friend to many; Inkspot is her tag.
When diving in the Caribbean dawn,
Her camera entitles her to brag
Of perfect choices from the Lord's buffet
Of beauty in creation--birds and fish
And lizards, and whatever--to display,
So we may taste the colors as we wish.
She gives us, in the midst of fantasy,
An anchor in the best reality.



(I had a hard time getting this to post. Serves me right for composing sonnets in peak activity hours.)
 
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Thank you, Lady of Narnia! I would write one about you in response, but I don't know enough about you. So in lieu of that, I invite you, if you are so inclined, to post a poem YOU WROTE on this thread, as Dayhawk did the other day.
 
Awww, you're so sweet! :) I'm going to save that one in its own file and look back on it when I've had a rough day. You made me very happy, CF.
 
Thank you, Lady of Narnia! I would write one about you in response, but I don't know enough about you. So in lieu of that, I invite you, if you are so inclined, to post a poem YOU WROTE on this thread, as Dayhawk did the other day.

I would love to, but I can't write poetry. I've tried before. I'm better at writing stories, not poetry.
 
Now that Will's here to see this also....


For Near, a.k.a. Jersey


If we were hiking over desert sands,
And suddenly, without a warning word,
You felt me striking your back with my hands,
It might seem both offensive and absurd.

But if you learned a moment later that
A scorpion had been there on your shirt,
My blows you'd understand as a love-pat;
You'd rather scorpions fell to the dirt.

When you have seen me sticking to my guns,
It wasn't malice; it was love of truth.
I have experience with scorpions
That want to sting the vulnerable youth.

I won't say what I think you want to hear;
I'll tell you things I think may help you, Near.
 
Aw, Joseph thank you! Not even my sweetie ever wrote me a sonnet! :)

These are really awesome; I can't believe you can just sit down and think them up. I would need a dictionary, a diagram and half a day to come up with just one ...
 
I was once called "a wordsmith." Unfortunately, the man who said it was in the middle of calling me a liar.

But moving on to happier thoughts....



For Tiffany Narvaez
("QA48" is NOT lyrical)



From hurricane to syllabus she went;
From worries about money, to the books.
She moves in her artistic element,
As if unconscious of her own good looks.

She could have carried out a noble task
In comforting the mourners of the dead;
But God consented when He heard her ask
If she could seek an art career instead.

She still, in fact, has comforted the sad;
But that's not where she's hoping to be paid.
For her sake, and for others, I'll be glad
If we can ever see her works displayed.

Although that hoped career still is an IF,
We're praying that you make it, lovely Tiff.
 
This thread grew out of the gesture I made several days ago to cheer up my spiritual granddaughter. That was done on the "Current Mood" thread, and may not have been seen by more than five or six persons. Therefore, let me reproduce it here....


Amanda Jane, the Bruiser of the web,
Upon the scarcely-known Columbus Day,
Was feeling deep in gloom, or so she said,
Which caused her Papa Joe to feel dismay.

To Papa Joe, a.k.a. Copperfox,
This child's unhappiness was no small thing;
For she had helped him through the hardest knocks
That premature bereavement's bound to bring.

So using all imaginative means,
He virtually embraced the somber girl,
And wished her happy days, and happy dreams,
Sent straight from the Creator of the world.

If sonnets came with more than fourteen lines,
He'd tell her that he loves her lots more times.
 
In "retaliation" for his generous graphic gesture:


To "Lord of Light"


Young man with opportunity to shine,
Your greatest works for God still to be heard,
Sufficiently ambitious to combine
The force of pictures, and the written word,

You give assurance to an older man,
Who sometimes wonders if the torch will drop,
That when my heart shall fail, a younger hand
Will carry light ahead without a stop.

The war unseen is growing less unseen
Each day, as worshippers of Might-Makes-Right
Seek openly to stop the Savior's team;
But stay true to your Namesake, "Lord of Light."

The picture of your life, within its frame,
Will illustrate your praise of Jesus' name.
 
THIS WILL BE DIFFERENT FROM ALL THE REST. AS VICTOR HUGO OBSERVED, THE GROTESQUE, TO PROVIDE A CONTRAST TO THE SUBLIME.


/// For Somebody NOT on the Forum \\\

Today I met a stupid teenage boy,
And I mean really, really, really DUMB.
I told him that the smoking he enjoyed
Was filling him up with polonium.

He said his brilliant plan for his own life
Was not to live past forty--what a jerk!
If I had died at forty, that would wipe
Away my whole career in linguist work.

What kind of education do they get?
Professor Kirke, we need you; where've you gone?
At least some light is gleaming even yet;
I see it here upon The Dancing Lawn.

Here, kids don't cite their boredom to explain
Unwillingness to exercise the brain.
 
Okay, as a new page begins, I'm going to indulge myself shamelessly:

SECOND Sonnet For Vanessa


Exalted shall the humble people be:
So said Our Lord, Himself in servant form.
This fits a lady dwelling near the sea,
The one whose hands I said I'd gladly warm.

She does the sort of work aristocrats
Historically consider lower-class;
But every time she changes bathtub mats,
Or polishes the silver and the brass,

She makes her labors honorable by
The Christian attitude she brings to them;
And hotel guests who look her in the eye
Know they'll be honored if she is their friend.

Vanessa, my sweet Nederlander lass,
In character, it's you who's upper-class.
 
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