Sonnet 12

To the Rain God

When I heard the rain last night
I longed to go out to greet it.
Wouldn’t that have been a sight:
me in my sweats, arms out to meet it?

Maybe I would have done a dance, 
a little twirl or two of thankfulness,
for all the gifts the rain god grants:
the beauty pure and fabulous.

In the end, I didn’t go out at all,
I stayed tame and alone in my bed.
I have neighbors I don’t want to appall
when I get a weird notion in my head.

I’m sorry, rain god, if my thanks you seek—
but maybe next time I won’t be so meek.

Sonnet 11

Unpretentious Liaison

How is it such a perfect scent
emanates from one so modest?
It wafts across city cement
through the pollen, gravel and dust.

With every breath I suck it in—
take a moment to appreciate
the aroma that calls to mind spring
that a humble flower can create.

I must force my feet to move on
for if I remain everyone will know
about my longed for liaison…
and why it is I don’t wish to mow.

Who would have thought the simplest clover
would be the one I fawn over?

Sometimes, I admit, my sonnets take me strange places. This is not at all the poem I set out to write.

Sonnet 10

Holding On

Arise, summer, from ash of spring,
which came from sleeping winter’s bed.
Sunny, hot days are what you will bring;
the bounty of autumn still lies ahead.

Bring forth sunny, lovely days at the beach
hunting for seashells along sandy shore.
All happiness is within my reach;
just roll back the stone, open the door!

But how is it you’re still a month away?
I guess I must be content with dreams.
Despite the warm temperatures of today,
spring isn’t yet ready to let go it seems.

I won’t give up, I’ll continue my work
and wait for summer to heal my hurt.

Sonnet 9

Promise

What promise does the rose make
when spring season takes a turn to warm?
Petals of silk, make no mistake,
will take on the force of every storm.

Not so delicate a flower, it seems,
the rose withstands life’s trials and blasts
Rose’s thorny branches guard her dreams;
her passion holds her steady on her paths.

Her promise is made only to herself—
she locks it deep in her heart.
She may never achieve fame or wealth
but her world will always be full of art.

Don’t doubt the strength of a rose’s flame:
her passion and dreams you cannot tame.

Sonnet 8

Let the Dance Begin

“Let the dance begin,” declares Iris,
and roses join lilies on the dance floor;
while daisies and buttercups, desirous,
guard the violets we all adore!

Iris watches with stately grace
the festivities of her royal ball.
Spring proceeds at a hurried pace
she vainly wishes she could forestall.

Daffodils have long ago passed—
even dogwoods have gone to bed.
The best of us are not made to last,
she thinks with a shake of her head.

Each spring season must move on
and make way for summer’s  spawn.