Sunday Sonnet!

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Do not the thought of vengeance entertain,
A guest intent your person to consume,
Until few dregs of self-respect remain,
And gracious honour finds an empty room;
Pursuit of recompense, a tortuous route,
Is littered with the shards of broken dreams;
Traversing vile terrain can be a brute,
Assailing hapless with nightmarish screams;
Richer, by far, the more enduring trove
Of virtue, that, within the soul resides,
Like luscious fruit within celestial grove,
Requital in domain of God abides.
Reprisals have the custom to return,
Of hand that wields the fire, the fingers burn.

© Meanderings 2017

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Sunday Sonnet!

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We search for endless years that niche to find,
From unrelenting meddling thoughts apart,
That ambience to inner growth resigned,
And discontent forever can depart.
Mere mortals grow accustomed to their fate,
Seduced by concrete transients for their roots;
Inclined the wiser counsel to berate,
Deferring to more palatable fruits;
Yet, deep within each selfhood there resides,
Unquenchable desire to attain
Much more, surpassing earthenware, besides,
The stuff of which endures beyond all stain,
May God his gracious gift to all decree,
That peace of ‘letting go’ and ‘letting be’!

©Meanderings 2017

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Easter Sunday Sonnet!

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Does Eostra flaunt her Spring fertility,
As some would tend at this time of the year,
Promoting coloured eggs all chocolaty,
Supplied in plenitude by generous hare?
Beneath such sensate pleasures there resides
A more enduring paragon of grace,
Accessible to all, with none besides,
Awaiting meek acceptance to embrace;
For devotees of Man from Nazareth,
The Queen of Festivals the heart enthrals,
Proclaiming central lodestone of their faith,
Triumphantly, with ‘Al-le-lu-ia’ calls!
From dereliction of a barren tomb,
Came forth New Life as from a fecund womb!

©Meanderings 2017

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Palm Sunday Sonnet!

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Ebullient crowds bedecked the way with palms,
Their expectations echoed far and wide,
No indication of prospective qualms
As they extolled your meek, majestic ride;
Where were your mother and your closest friends?
Had you not warned them of the risks ahead?
Perchance, they questioned not your selfless ends,
Perceiving your reflecting little dread;
Into each life there comes a day like this,
More often unannounced though not sans fear,
Staring into dark, bottomless abyss,
Who would have thought redemption to be near?
So dark can be the night before the dawn,
Yet, from such emptiness new life is born!

©Meanderings 2017

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Sunday Sonnet!

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Caressed by gentle early morning breeze,
Their little yellow heads turn to the sun,
Their eager little spirits to unfreeze,
That searching lonely ramblers may have fun;
Sweet lark salutes the day with joyful song,
Resounding o’er somnolent, rolling field;
Anon they will be hosting feathered throng,
A matchless chorus for the heart to yield.
Heralds of Spring, you are, fair daffodils,
Pregnant with pristine beauty, unsurpassed,
The dream of hope in lonely hearts fulfils,
Whose warm embraces transience will outlast.
Though brief your visit be each passing year,
Your sight is balm to many a lingering tear!

©Meanderings 2017

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