Attempting Sonnetude

Reading the Bard: In Shakespeare’s Style

Mahog’ny walls drop to shawl the list’nrs .
Characters glide onto and through the page.
Stopping only to hear the cool command:
Quiet the stage, the troops must gild the age.

Th’enrobed nobles glide elegance’s bow,
Bard’s bliss leaps upon what heart’s strings barely
Know. The beauty of long lost age, bliss to now
Unrecognized story of love mortally bound.

But hark! The bliss in what room may be felt
Midst shredded tee, short shorts and livery told
Of what horrors clothes philosophers might melt
And sing Jehovah of tresspassers so bold.

So time’s corrupted viewers hold what key
To master moulding love and anarchy.

The Golden Hour

The kiss of approaching night lies on the towne
Embracing green lands in precious hour
Whose breath gilds the time of meals renowned
And crowns each studious heart in haven’s bower.

Whisper only as ne slides through thick air
Moving through warm and piercing rays
To sup in eternal peace, when time’s fair
Youth could pass in doting sunborne haze.

But quiet the night and wait just hours
For glimmering stars and carousers reverie
To see what blackened psoes rest in showers
Outpouring of humid’s withheld stream.

Control chaos of bitter battle night
Tears the veil of golden hour’s bliss sight.