Sonnet 1
This day of frost and fire this Valentine
Beckons us to venture forth to meet the sun
And hurl smiles for all the world to shine,
Yet all the world is grey its course has run,
As Thor released his thunderbolt of mire
The earth moved too and crush’d dreams
And towns and villages and all expire
And peace is broken by its screams,
Life’s storms do not abate for us to shed
The load that we have made its toll
Like some vast cloud that rumbles dread,
Voltaire in his deep grave would roll,
To hear of such calamities curse god above
For we have ventured from the sacred path of love.
Sonnet 2
The briny stain of hardship lingers on
Pecked by the gilded peacocks of this land
Poor hands and visage often weathered long
Reflect a schism that denotes our stand,
The haves and have not’s parted by a card
Of circumstance, by chance of birth,
Out of this hoary wash of poverty and wrecks
Which lies within the cracks of all excesses,
Can ner’re be washed away, but lingers on,
In this our fortune and our failings try
Our claims at being civilized, this wrong
This wealth, not well divided is a lie
When I see truth in hardship sold
To those corrupted lined with tainted gold.
Sonnet 3
January sadness with no spring in her stride
Her thoughts don’t light the sky with joy
Warmth and sun from us poor souls do hide
She shivers in the cold comfort of winter’s icy ploy
The moon sulks for she is overworked in long night,
The sun, her head above the clouds will sleep,
When darkness owns the world come snowdrops white
Tiny heads so small, so delicate, so fine, they peep
Shyly they rise and in their thousands claim the land
And call for spring to come, and skylarks sing
And in this secret wood their thousands stand
Sweeping up to graves of racehorses who bring
Derby memories many moons ago, in peace now rest
Their hoofbeats, cheering grass of this great Derby fest.
Sonnet 4
A mighty star is facing death, explodes and dies,
Its fireworks fill the cosmic sky with colours unbelievable
From its death another star is born up in the skies,
Its elements of iron, sulphur, helium, are inconceivable
Make haste and join forming many other worlds
They spin and turn and whirl and as death became them,
So they re reborn, and one of these was hurled
Through space, and finds its satellites drawn, they come
And are like moons, and one is earth, and in waters,
Bubbles life, searches other life and in deep oceans
They grow to greenish threads knitting sons and daughters
And heavy metals sink and heat and form magma motions
Which give us basalt blown sky high and fanned
Strange in shapes this newly formed and sacred land.
Thanks to Henry Gee. A (Very) Short History Life on Earth.
Sonnet 5
There is a bond between earth and flowers to renew,
Each year a friendship a partnership of give and take,
It is ownership without license to enforce, but rue
The day if anything is false, it loves the delicate,
And strong, harboured by the sun and fed by rain
A bond, a trust, is made for all to watch that friendship last,
It is a place where hearts can sleep and inspiration came
To feed on, it cometh slowly from the past
It is not beauty or the need of any frills or fashion
It is a candle in the dark lighting its own foundation
It never walks away unless there is no passion,
For friendship is the heart of our creation
It is a cry for peace and love, the antidote to war,
It is a link of steel which binds us souls for evermore.
Sonnet 6
Of what is life but of itself afraid, which does parade,
A feast of finest memories, do they commend and stay?
When into the ball of life’s fire we’ve strayed,
For honing, supplng the mind and body for the fray
This is our finest hour, our greatest joy, our end
That we might live to fill those dreams of which we knew.
Would overcome our fears, our mind would bend;
Our hands worn with strain our faces rippled through,
Of life, the one in which we stepped when we were born.
Can we call fear, but a hardener of basic gold
A Thor who curves and rasps our edges, worn
Smooth so we can step from tin to copper and when old,
That is the final art, the power to magically renew
To die, but in a perfect form, into which we grew.
Sonnet 7.
And what of ornament, should we denude ourselves of flattery?
Is flattery an ornament of tongues, a generosity of words?
Should beauty live in a grey and formless sobriety?
Or does delight thrive in gilded halls with cherubim’s and birds
Adorning every corner of our lives with golden crowns
Is the line of beauty poor of colour and of form, no it wakes
Our longing to belong to that which sings out joyous sounds,
Does not the ornament of music touch the soul, its richness makes
For which the senses long, a sacrament to pleasure, almost holy
Was not the birth of Venus, but a show of understanding light?
And is not light that which overcomes the darkest melancholy,
January’s dull cold is winter’s dark and all that is not bright,
Lets celebrate the setting sun its ornament of night
And leave austerities gloom the Puritans birthright.