"I'd Like to See You..."

Because of the subject matter, I wanted this to be the most beautiful, the truest sonnet I ever wrote.  It's not quite a perfect sonnet yet, and I will edit it when an improvement comes to me. 

Shortly before she died, my mother wistfully told me she was looking forward to seeing her mom in heaven.  Oh, how I understand what she meant!

 “I’d like to see you,” she whispered that day.

I wish I had gone then.  The clock ticked on.

Without valuing time, I chose to be

on the job and away. Then she was gone.

Now her time had come; she could not escape

the call, the summons of the dark angel.

No second chance, no rewinding the tape.

It was too late. Oh, death is so final!

If she could call me now from where she lives

I think she would assure me, for she knew

I’d soon find peace and comfort. She forgives.

My mother’s heart was full, her love was true.

          One day we shall meet in God’s shining place:

Where time is not I will see her sweet face.

    

South Dakota Dreaming

For this poem I closed my eyes and remembered when I would be sent to call the cows for milking time, and then waited while the Surge milking machine did its work.  (Rumors that milk production fell off during these times are completely unfounded.) I used to sing at the top of my lungs, endlessly, and often the Gershwin number, Summertime, when the livin' is easy...

I stand in my own shadow,

the vast rolling pasture before me.

I’m nine years old

at noon in a South Dakota

summertime.

Arms flung wide,

turning round and round, all by myself--

east, south, west, north,

cerulean, infinite sky—

summertime.

Head thrown back,

breathe deep and let it go, sing loud and high,

until meadowlarks bow and cheer.

Growing up free in a South Dakota—

Summertime!

Cloudless Sky

Here's another post in the blog that so far has been about learning poetry forms.  Cloudless Sky  still doesn't meet the criteria for a Shakespearean sonnet.  I'll edit it when I figure out how to make the necessary changes:

CLOUDLESS SKY

If given the choice of a cloudless sky

or a rainy day and some time alone,

I’d be tempted to stay home, maybe cry

for time I’ve wasted, for things I have done.

Regrets abound. I tally rejections

until I’m awash in melancholy,

calling up times of painful desertions--

focusing all my attentions on me.

Clouds roll away and introspection flees.

Old sorrows disappear and losses fade

in the distance. New possibilities

lift my eyes and I recall when I prayed.     

      I see the depth of the pain in my past

      means sweeter peace when the Son shines at last.

My Way

Another sonnet-writing attempt here. Maybe this blog will be dedicated to experimental writings, like this:

MY WAY

What is the best way to go? Simply cease

my old rebellion, buckle up and run
to do what is required to keep the peace,
even if it means I'll never have fun?
Or should I lift my chin and say, “No, I
have my needs. To myself I must be true.”
Life seldom offers such clear choice, so why
even ponder this? Why put myself through
this wilderness of doubt and self-defeat?
Why not carry on without giving care
to questions like, Should we march to the beat
of this or that drummer? Or sit in a chair
     and write a poem about saying goodbye,
    with rhymes and beat feet that sing to the sky.