This Sonnet is a Requiem for Love

For "Her."

This sonnet is a requiem for love
Once blinding and hot as the August sun,
Now faded, awaiting the early fall of
Leaves as winter’s chill cools spring’s passion;
I do here repent the words, penned for thee
While I languished in love unrequited,
Tortured by touches used to deceive,
And forced from Diana’s table unsated;
For too long I sought asylum in your
Memory, finding instead a prison
Of false solace, and my mind given o’er
To an Ophelian loss of reason.
I pray my heart, like a phoenix, shall rise;
Reborn to delight in a new love’s eyes.

Damn'd Cupid has Forever Cursed Me

For "Her."

Damn’d Cupid has forever cursed me
To dote on imperfection’s perfection;
With my eye to admire her beauty,
While my heart bleeds, battered by rejection;
The Archer’s arrow easily pierced my breast,
Though she, to love’s wound, was proof’d it seems.
Now visions of joy have been smashed to dust,
And the failures suffered infect my dreams;
Am I thus condemned to crawl in darkness,
The blind victim in this malicious hoax;
Destined to be consumed by emptiness,
And forever doomed to pursue her ghost?
Oh, impious devil, pity my plight;
Release my heart that I may turn to light.

My Fault Lies Chiefly in Loving You Still

For "Her."

My fault lies chiefly in loving you still.
It casts a shadow over all I feel,
Clouding my mind, overwhelming my will,
And closing my heart in a tomb of steel;
This yearning is a malignant cancer,
Cut out time after time, but never cured.
Age only makes the failure grow larger,
Ensuring that my soul remains immured;
Memory serves to refresh my pain with cruel
Truth: I will never be free of this curse;
This defect will force me to play the fool
Until I draw my last breath on this Earth;
My splintered heart lives shrouded in darkness,
While my mind drifts further into madness.

A Universe Begins With Just a Kiss

A universe begins with just a kiss,
The gentle touching of trembling lips,
An exploration of innocent bliss,
And the measured tracings of finger tips;
We take each other in with ragged breaths,
Enduring the raw pleasurable pain,
Inhaling fragrances of mingled sweat,
As every move becomes the other’s gain;
We promise ourselves a lifelong romance,
While lying together in a close curve,
Intertwining in this tender dance
Of pulsating heartbeats and exploding nerves.
Love grows into passion, and leads to this:
A universe begins with just a kiss.

To the Lady With Whom I Would Grow Old

For "Her."

To the Lady with whom I would grow old,
The beauty who owns my heart, I offer,
Faithful companionship as years unfold,
And countless days of loving none but her;
When in long counted years I reach four score,
It is your company that I desire;
To hold your hand and feel my spirit soar,
‘Til I go to Heaven, or to Hell’s fire;
In the march of time, sharp-edged lust will dull,
To be replaced by smoldering passion;
An enduring heat that permits no lull,
And that will serve to temper devotion.
My love and muse; my friend and guiding star;
The faith I hold in thee can ne’er be marred.

Love, of You, I Desire a Favor

For "Her."

Love, of you, I desire a favor;
A tattered scarf or a plain strip of lace.
Some gift to sustain me when I waver;
A light to lead me from the darkest place;
I beg some physical inspiration,
A forgotten cloth that still holds your scent.
Some token to fire imagination,
And jolt my brain when my dreams are all spent;
What I wish is only a trifle, yes;
A simple item that you’ll never miss.
This lifeless object I need, I confess,
To comfort me when I can’t have your kiss.
My Lady, I humbly pray for your love
To all the bright stars in heaven above.

My Simple Love Poems Live in Your Eyes

For "Her."

My simple love poems live in your eyes,
And in the slope of your imperfect nose.
Your porcelain cheeks beguile, and belie
The strange magic that inspires my prose;
My poems lie in the warmth of your lips,
For their sugared taste enlivens my pen,
And causes my heart to stutter and skip,
While yielding the rhymes on which I depend;
The touch of your skin arouses my muse,
While quietly easing my troubled mind,
With a wondrous pow'r I can not refuse,
As your passionate breath steals away mine.
You are the womb that gives my lyric birth,
And the lungs that breathe love into my verse.

I'll Not Promise Things I Can't Deliver

For "Her."

I’ll not promise things I can’t deliver,
Strands of pearls, or Everest mounts of gold.
In truth you will more likely discover,
I can give no more than my hand to hold;
I won’t promise you some fool’s paradise,
A shining love story perfectly told.
But I’ll be your bruis’d and battered knight,
Fighting life’s dragons, ever brave and bold.
I can’t promise you material wealth,
Though I’ll be, through summer, and winter cold,
A friend, a lover, in sickness and health,
Staying with you when you’re wrinkled and old;
My precious true love, worth riches untold,
I give thee freely from my heart and soul.

A Sonnet as Apology to Christina Alvarado

Pray, pardon this inarticulate fool,
Struck dumb gazing upon Venus’ face.
I’ll strive to bestow, with God given tools,
Flowery words to match your Thespian grace;
The tempest past, for ready pen I reach,
Vainly to search for a rhyme to submit
In excuse of silence, or stutt’ring speech,
And to worship thus from paper pulpit;
Oh, sweet Muse, fire of my fevered mind,
Judge me gently and allow me to vie
To once more feel your gentle hand in mine,
And gain one more look in your timeless eyes.
Accept these weak lines of admiration,
For I could not give voice in exaltation.

A Few Lines to Leave Behind

For my Family and Friends
28 August 2007

I pen these few lines to leave behind me,
In excuse for all those I shall bear hence,
To express the simple love I owe thee,
That could make such prolong’d argument;
I journey forth now to the promised land
Of faith, not unwilling, but unafraid;
To search for the eternal answers, and
Regretting only the things left unsaid;
I have paid the Lord the death He is due
And found an end to this fragile life’s pain.
With last breath I proclaim my love for you,
And thus defeat death when that love remains.
Allow these brief words to ease your sorrow,
And know we’ll meet some happy tomorrow.

Sleep No More!

For Arthur H. Monigold

“Macbeth does murder sleep.” Alas, I fear,
For all his genius, the Bard is mistook.
No, it was not the good Scot who crept near,
To steal innocent slumber, like a crook;
Nor did Claudius truly wrack sweet dreams
With “murder most foul” in Denmark’s garden.
‘Tis but fiction, though foul indeed it seems
When guards prey upon moments unguarded;
In truth, ‘twas one familial – one of trust,
That condemned me with his lies and incest,
Who used a child to sate his vile lust,
And damned me to endless nights without rest.
Weep, not for Dunsinane and Elsinore,
But for the child that lives, yet sleeps no more!

A New Angel Flies in Heaven Tonight

A lament for the loved lost.

A new angel flies in Heaven tonight,
Lifted up on high by our mournful prayers.
And while, to the eyes, she is out of sight,
In our hearts she will remain ever near;
She takes flight on newfound gossamer wings,
To reside amongst ever bright planets,
Shining stars, and all celestial things.
Let’s rejoice that she’s slipped the mortal net;
She is with God, and loved ones gone before,
In a beautiful place, absent all pain.
Let us celebrate, and lament no more,
A soul free from a broken body’s wane!
We must go on; but through our grief and pain,
Know that our earthly loss is Heaven’s gain.

Why I Can Not Write a Sonnet for You

For Catherine Harren Barufaldi

Ms. Barufaldi, with humble regrets,
I am unable to grant your request
For a sonnet that my own hand begets,
As my words rarely flow at mere behest;
Also, your marital status precludes
The penning of romantic verse or rhyme,
Which – as you know – a true sonnet includes,
This threat’s to turn the poet into mime;
Further, creating for a married Muse
Could lead to a dangerous consequence,
Like Writer assault or Poet abuse,
Leaving this scrivener beat out of sense.
Please, feel free to make future inquiry,
At present, though, I must dodge injury.

A Disputation of the Existence of Love That Dare Not Speak its Name

For Ian & David Newhem
on the occasion of their wedding
~ 25 July 2009 ~

We are but momentary motes of dust
On this Earth; floating in noontime sunbeams,
Rarely making contact with one we trust,
Or love, enough to share our mortal dreams;
As the fragile threads of this life unspool
And our too brief candle dims toward darkness,
We must seize our own joy, or play love’s fool
On a lonely stage, shrouded in lightness;
Mark not the word of Man; ask Him above
For blessings, and leave mortals to natter.
Look upon past love as prologue to love
To come…for ever, and ever after.
We must dare proclaim love – by any name,
For love unspoken or denied is shame!