To be alive

A thousand eager faces hold the stage

in rapt attention. Slowly every heart

unfurls within this sacred arc. We start

by watching from afar, thinking our sage

or cynical remove can keep the rage

of fractured love at bay. But in the art

of light and gesture, we are pulled apart

by words astounding from the poet’s page.

The veil of separation has been torn

with rude abandon, making every breast

complicit in the tragedy before

us. For we share their breath, yet do not warn

them of their fate. Seeing our lives expressed

we ache to be alive, and cry for more.

Laundry day

A simple laundry-day sonnet, to share with friends over at the wonderful dVerse community.  Welcome, and enjoy!

A line of laundry baskets snakes around
The living room, as if about to shed
Its skin of cotton blends, in sleek casts found
By herpetologists beneath the bed.
Some days this house is full of mystery,
The mundane rendered beautiful, each small
Activity transformed for eyes that see
But do not judge too rapidly. I call
This attitude a discipline of grace,
Embracing imperfection with a smile
That lets me love the serpents I must face
In every daily task. For all the while
I long for past success, I must confess
There’s much to learn in cleaning up a mess.