Sunday Sonnet!

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As pass the years of doing this and that,
Oft driven by obsessive need to please
Unruly passions, ending in regret,
Mere mortals, so the lord of life decrees,
Need not be caught up in the rodent race,
Learn lesson that appears in elder age,
To hasten slowly at a measured pace,
Receding strength of talents to engage;
Too often, much too late, we soldier on,
Ignoring counsel of the inner voice,
Until affliction’s dissonance is born,
Rendering our pride with little or no choice.
Humility our shortcomings to see,
Enables graceful future well to be.

©Meanderings 2018

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Sunday Sonnet!

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When to the distant Past my thoughts I turn,
Some counsel for the Present there to find,
Embers of rich experience brightly burn,
Irradiating warmth of Welcome, kind;
Too seldom do we access lessons taught
By error-stricken actions come to grief,
Until, perchance, in life we’re left distraught,
Appealing to what’s gone to seek relief;
Not only is the Past a burial ground,
Where hurtful, dark encounters are interred,
Nuggets of counsel, wise, oft there are found,
Awaiting on someone to be conferred.
Leave not untended what is gone before,
There, wisdom pearls aplenty lie in store.

© Meanderings 2018

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Rictameter #1

To be,
Or not to be,
Some insight may possess,
None ever truly can assess,
Save Him who has the future in His hand;
There be no need to fear our Fate,
If we can learn to wait
Then Faith will see
To be!

©Meanderings 2016

Rictameter is a scheme similar to Cinquain. Starting your first line with a two syllable word, you then consecutively increase the number of syllables per line by two. i.e. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 Then down again, 8, 6, 4, 2. Making the final line the same two syllable word you began with. See here:   http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/rictameter.html

Death!

Are you so fearsome Mighty Death,
When all that is shall cease to be;
When mortals gasp their final breath,
From future pain and suffering free?

How did you come to be so awed,
By many homo sapiens,
While others learn to live with you
And treat you with due deference?

Are you and Life parts of a Whole,
Like all converses in a plan;
Neither of which to take control,
A greater balance to maintain?

Who made the two of you such foes,
For to what end does all begin?
Is this not how the cycle goes
To formulate the golden ring?

Is fear of you not by man fed,
Who, driven by his selfish needs,
The loss of transient mostly dread,
To other ways cannot accede?

Does some religions fuel such fear,
Some customs breed anxieties,
Rendering perspective so unclear,
That sense no longer can appease?

Have humans now broken the aim,
Fouling the template of the scheme;
When will the balance be reclaimed
And all return to ancient themes?

O Death, may we not you despise,
Essential to the golden ring,
Beyond you waits some great surprise,
We never can know everything.

©Late Harvest  2009

 

Ash Wednesday!

The Faithful Yearly Call to Mind
Upon this Life’s Sojourn,
Amid the Tedious Daily Grind
A Lesson sure to Learn –
Mortals to Dust Return!

Self-discipline for Forty Days,
However Passions burn,
With Temper that Control Displays,
The Tenet ne’er to Spurn,
Mortals to Dust Return!

All Inequalities that Scar
The Face of Good’s Concern,
All Privilege shall None Debar
From Precept ever Stern,
Mortals to Dust Return!

©Meanderings 2016