Sonnet Collection 1 below

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Sonnet Collection 2  

Sonnet #121

The ship that sails the seas of fantasy’s
A flaming ship whose sails are freedom blown
Exploring different worlds’ realities
From dreams and hopes into the vast unknown.
Come sail with me to newer songs and lands!
Come join my craft which yields to fancy’s gust!
Ascend and sweep the cloud-land’s fabled strands
Which mark the route of mankind’s Gnostic thrust!
A myriad’s bright mirrored light may maze
Or halt our course, or we might even pass,
For anti-dream man’s highest quest betrays,
Into and through and on life’s looking-glass.
            For in the end, howe’er our spark does burn,
            We know the frivoled vessel shall return.

                                                                                    Maplewood
                                                                                    23.11.69

Sonnet #122

What kind of craft should we attempt to choose
To sail to freedom’s ever-sought for shore?
How large a ship is needed for this cruise,
And who shall be our crew and stevedore?
The men who chant the revolution-song,
Who put away what’s dead, create the new,
These men shall clang and sound our vessel’s gong
Which bids the outworn past each last adieu.
And if our schooner’s body proves too old
Within the midst of freedom’s quested course,
Our gallant gang must stay forever bold
To build another barque without remorse.
            Within the mind or o’er a sea of tea,
            Man must aspire to be but always free.

                                                                                    Boston
                                                                                    (Cambridge)
                                                                                    1.12.69

A Christmas Sonnet

From darkness, light; in Heaven’s light is fire –
The Night Sea’s golden orb, the magi star,
Toward which each flying vessel does aspire
To kiss as Sun, the yuletide’s avatar.
Let’s bear along a sprig of mistletoe
Upon emancipation’s mystic quest
And ask each festal fire’s winter glow
To make the solar hero manifest.
We shall accept no less than treasured peace
Or mankind’s joy of brotherhood as gain:
Midwinter marks the trough of day’s decrease
And now the end of our Piscean wane.
            For Christmas though the darkest time of year
            Is yet the birth of light and not of fear.

                                                                                    Maplewood
                                                                                    21.12.69

Sonnet #124

On beauty bet, my friendly crew and foes,
As we embark away from Gotham port
And pass its pointed spires and vertigoes
To where true liberty does not distort.
Shalt beauty be and be our only law
Though chaos storms upon our sacred cruise
For beauty bids beyond the great guffaw
Our hope’s sole trust, our mind’s last mystic ruse.
And leave shall we our earthly wife ashore
For captains take but not their wives to sea;
Their bride’s instead their masted ship with oar
Who sails them to the depths or apogee.
            O ye wisemen of Gotham, ye must try
            With life to smile and love and even fly.

                                                                                    New York
                                                                                    13.1.70

Sonnet #125

What is this? Freedom for entanglement?
Why none or two or more but never one?
Yet on this search so womb-ward bound and sent,
Beginnings might become once more begun.
I’ve loved more than remembrance could afford
Perhaps in hope my other self I’d find
But find instead my half-self only bored
Or loving halfly with half heart-and-mind.
May virgin lays be early signs at least
Which hail the end of life’s mistaken quest!
God flush your universe of star and beast;
Stale urine nay but water pure and blest!
            For earth’s cathartic flood takes us above
            To baptal kisses of rebirth and love.

                                                                                                Abraxas
                                                                                                San Juan
                                                                                                6.2.70

Sonnet #126

The fall of Satan and the fall of man
Are that most ancient curse which came to earth;
The time black magic’s evil rule began
While masquerading as a good god’s birth.
Perhaps a carnival’s chaotic mass,
When earth and sky unite as primal time,
Could hold the formula of mankind’s pass
And make the fall of light ascent sublime.
Let’s kiss each ugly mask in spite of fright –
If not today, some other time at least –
For we must find our Lucifer of light
To bring that last reversal of the feast.
                                                                                  Mardi Gras
                                                                             Port-au-Prince
                                                                                   10.2.70

Sonnet #127

Haïti how I hate your hungry joy
And how you promise much but withhold all;
Yet anger melts before your smile so coy –
Enchantment thus becomes a fatal call.
Some siren not but La Sirène herself,
With mask of tropic dress and brooding peaks,
Who steals our dreams and makes our souls her pelf
Because the freest life is what she seeks.
But how escape do we beyond despair
For though our barque now drifts, still are we free?
For must we not return someday to wear
The pearl’s elusive hospitality?
            Although the unobtainable I hate,
            It is alone that which I seek to mate.

                                                                                         Port-au-Prince
                                                                                                San Juan
                                                                                             Maplewood
                                                                                      14, 15, 20.2.70

Sonnet #128

Dancing a top celestial orbs and spheres –
“Everything ends,” is whispered in a song;
“Too soon,” and passing seconds are the years,
For loneliness of change is all that’s long.
But now’s an age impossibles alone
Can save, must save our spectre called mankind;
By miracles the wonders can atone
And shrug off paradox as only mind.
What magic might be such without love’s kiss?
The past’s dichotomy we bury deep
To let for man a fertile tree of bliss
Our loving-loved magicians feed and keep.
            To Hell with spells enchanted by no love
            To Hell with all that lifts us not above.

                                                                                New Orleans
                                                                                          4.6.70

Sonnet #129

From that famed fountain of eternal youth
Did I by inadvertence chance to drink?
And thus am I now hid away from truth
Because with youthhood aye I interlink?
No Merlin in a stone of growthlessness
Would I e’er wish to be unless that stone
Alone encompassed all of boundlessness
To then the very fate itself disown.
‘Tis true I find myself but waning not
And wonder if somehow I missed a turn;
But rather than dissatisfaction’s lot,
I’ll keep to youth and there I’ll keep to learn.
            For water I perhaps but chanced to taste
            May have close-mindedness, no more, erased.

                                                                                                Maplewood
                                                                                                2.7.70

Sonnet #130

Self-evident, we hold these truths to be:
All men created equal are, and too,
Besides the right to life and liberty,
Pursuit of happiness is each man’s due;
Whenever any form of government
Becomes destructive of these ends, it’s then
The people’s right to cause abolishment
For tyranny is not the citizen;
Thus government’s foundation must possess
Both principles and powers which effect
Its people’s safety and their happiness
But which free range and growth foremost protect:
            Our independence we therefore declare
            For now demand do we our freedom’s share.

                                                                                 “Philadelphia
                                                                                  “4.7.76”

                                                                                  Maplewood
                                                                                    4.7.70

Sonnet #131

Frivolity is earth’s – for happiness
Alone does have a certain boundary
Which marks the zone of infinite finesse,
That realm that waits beyond joy’s apogee.
But fools fly on, and fools must pay the price
For seeking endless and ecstatic heights
Forever with elusive paradise
Since such a deed the anti-dream invites.
A world of mystery instead of bliss
Might be attained when bliss’s bound is passed,
But only heroes conquer this abyss
And only as the wise enthusiast.
            Though not the world the erring fool did seek,
            It’s yet a world enchantingly unique.

                                                                                             Maplewood
                                                                                                15.7.70

Sonnet #132

Omniscience did help myself for naught
When snatching at that still ephem’ral spark
Which but the past became in time’s onslaught –
A past which left no world of light but dark.
From San Francisco’s shallow seas and shores,
The Crescent City’s Mississippi smile
And Gotham’s cosmoramic corridors
I leave to pass the past to now beguile.
While fearing not the New World’s victory
In all her evolutionary ends,
To help insure against futility,
My song I take to other lands and friends.
            So while the future’s light and past’s dark war,
            I’ll search and sing as life’s ambassador.

                                                                                  Maplewood
                                                                                        18.7.70

Sonnet #134

Why me so free and others not but caught
Within a maze and trap of cruelty
Which makes no life of joy but one distraught
For all they see and find is slavery?
Am I the only one who can make sense
And such alone with none with which to share;
For is the rational so truly tense
It too the knowing mind does fear and scare?
Above, below, I shall accept this fate
And wander through the world which is my friend
For ‘tis the shining cosmos who’s my mate,
With whom I sing and seek my final end.
            And if I must this truth I’d solely own;
            And yet, take care, I’ll not remain alone.

                                                                                             Amsterdam
                                                                                     21 September 70

Sonnet #135

Do I remember friend, dear one, dear love,
To tell you how the earth does autumn glow
And birds to winter’s home fly high above
While leaves do mellow now and rest below?
To tell you what delightful dream I’ve found
In what comes close to me a paradise
And how all life does make a music sound
Which surely all the powers must entice?
To tell you that despite our different stands,
Our comic battle and our well-worn feud,
The warmth that’s felt between our touching hands
Is that by which the sacred drinks are brewed?
            And whether I shall ever leave or stay
            ‘I do you love’ do I forget to say?

                                                                                Amsterdam
                                                                                     23.9.70

Sonnet #142

Is that me going through such antics still?
Still suffering the ups and downs of love?
To realize perhaps I always will
Does make me doubt I’ll ever reach above.
No angel though I have angelic times;
No demon either though I’m close to one;
Beyond a maker of a bunch of rhymes
I am and have but just myself begun.
A foolish lad who wants the world to save
(I’d dare to say who would have everything)
And be a poet, lover and a knave
To be man’s servant plus his foremost king.
            Ah yes, ‘tis me who’s in the worst of strife,
            Ah yes, ‘tis me who’s living none but life.

                                                                                              Maastricht
                                                                                                4.12.70

St. Nicholas in Lutkewierum
Sonnet #143

But O to pepper strife with paradise –
How nice, and who cares how it’s done, just done!?!
‘Cause then the combination shall suffice
Since then one knows the upward climb’s begun.
Ascent of kinghood’s a duration short
For one can sit not long upon that throne
For if he shall retain his regal court
As a magician must he then intone.
Yet youth and innocence alone do sleep
Because most free is their reality,
And if that truth must all advance still keep,
Man shall be free because he has been free.
            So sleep my little baby; don’t go ‘way!
            For I’ll come back and play another day.

                                                                              Amsterdam
                                                                                  7.12.70

Sonnet #144

Walking between the day and sleepless night,
Especi’ly at the darkest time of year,
One must so many monsters meet and fight
For ‘tis the place and time of greatest fear.
Not long would I hold you but long enough
To taste but one last taste’s forbidden joy
Then let the passing time itself so snuff
What sleeplessness cannot at all destroy.
For hollied songs and festal friends next come
To drive the darkest darks of all away
And bring to man the most adventuresome
As well as restful and e’er brighter day.
            Impossibles may seem beyond our mind
            And yet remain what man the most shall find.

                                                                                     Amsterdam
                                                                                          16.12.70

Sonnet #161

When times are bleak and magic is a joke,
Will someone understand malicious fate?
When optimism’s hopeful chests are broke,
Who’ll me believe perversity does mate?
Dear brother sleep! no Polydeuces I
To make you suffer cease to blissful rest
And walk this bitter lonely Lorelei
Which does from brighter shores my ship arrest.
Will I myself yet fool that all is grand,
O love who leaves me cold too much, too long?
Or shall I see it still as simply bland,
O love who hides away like martyred wrong?
            The sun may shine again; what empty joy
            For who am I when lighter days do toy?

                                                                                Amsterdam
                                                                                   28.12.71

Sonnet #180

Have I now reached upon my furth’rest point
Within my muse’s land – earth’s other face?
And do I see a monument disjoint
Or just a grandeur’s timeless wonder base?
Aye, aye, must make I what I want and will
For all the cosmos lies in stones as these –
And be they pebbles or great rocks of skill,
Each mirrors far beyond antipodes.
So sing I here my heart’s eternal wish
As earth moves by calendrical ascent –
For every circle’s but a halo’s swish
Not seen but worn in what’s accomplishment.
            I’ll let another new beginning be
            By whate’er point combats futility.

                                                                                  Stonehenge
                                                                              3 October 72

Sonnet #181

Rejection makes what’s charming something not
And lets endearing traits repulse instead
As if all former moments’ joy to blot
Like episodes of fiction never read.
But when one finds disgust in place of love
There comes a needed element’s release
For then one can discard an outworn glove
And reach unfettered into free increase.
A liberty of growth’s all some can ask
To not be chained to idle, empty dreams
For flight without the superficial masque
Is but the gift beyond all petty schemes.
            A destiny’s more than an untoward mind
            And triumphs every time for more to find.

                                                                               Amsterdam
                                                                                    9.12.72

Sonnet #199

Topography of time, like earth’s marked face,
Does render calendars which chart our days –
For maps these are of temp’ral space and place
Which yield intangibles with which to raise.
A guide to earthly half celestial law
And frame the unframed spontaneity,
For with each new and unpredicted awe,
The changeless changes simultan’ously.
We are no slaves who sail the routed course
And measure well the isles against the tide
For this for all’s a free galactic force
By which we each could find charisma’s bride.
            Let us walk down the throngs who crowd our feet
            And into stardom to the cosmos greet!

                                                                                  Amsterdam
                                                                                      13.12.73

Sonnet #200

Perhaps I sleep with open see-less eye
And suffer to the very least degree,
But this was not by choice this life to bye;
I make no overture to be like me.
The child I am of ancient carnival
Who’s glimpsed alone when changing times do meet
As man’s sole pleasure, earth’s own love to call
Which sun and moon, the masque and sleep complete.
Yes, great though strange ones are the loves of mine
Who do me part from loved brotherkind,
But freedom then to higher truths combine
Results from wisdom when I’m gifted blind.
            “O Lucifer of Bethlehem I see
            “Returning now to change reality.”

                                                                                       Amsterdam
                                                                                         Larentalia
                                                                                23 December 73

Sonnet #218

Once one of three my gods I sang thy praise
To share with man and pleasure – sons of earth,
But now I come to recognize love’s ways
As those a demon stilling hopes for mirth.
Begone ill-constant Eros like all foes
Who share one’s soul as sicknesses and pain;
Out-oathed be alien imbroglios
For a priori breathes to health germane!
Intruding joy and later dastard shame
As god whose rebirth is the miracle?
Or that vestig’al remnant, chaos’ name,
That earth and night for thought and light must cull?
            Long not that twain-faced clutching germ
            But lay for e’er to rest its ghost infirm.

                                                                                Amsterdam
                                                                                     30.3.75

Sonnet #219

Two bumb’ling shamans we who swim at dawn
Performing yet the makeshift ancient rites,
And though perhaps the former lore is gone
We honor still the light of solar heights.
So much the world we knew has passed away
And dire predictions pave all ways ahead,
For us or man do we exist today
When we the future’s fears attempt to shed?
Ask frightened children owning giant’s might,
Whose burglar’s majesty is clumsy grace:
Within eternal quest away from night,
Is joy the building hope or but disgrace?
            O sun-bestower of perplexity
            For peace no less we’ll cry your company.

                                                                                           Aups
                                                                         Midsummer’s Day 1975

Sonnet #225

The termination of a cycle comes,
The ring to make a void into a whole,
As if to designate the vacuums
And thus regenerate the moving soul.
Theistic nomenclatures are the game
Which coin a time and change a cosmic naught,
But this most ancient necessary aim
Alone with crystaled beauty can be bought.
So dare to have aesthetic worlds of gold
And with the elegantly touching flare
But keep the space for silent thoughtful hold
And there do cast away futile despair.
            In name of light we recognize our end,
            Concealing bright cheer’s double dividend.

                                                                              Foppas-Nussaus
                                                                               Terminalia 2728
                                                                                           23.2.76

Sonnet #226

Remembered winter-springs of yesteryear
And now again before the vernal time,
Within this epagomenal frontier,
The prematurely flowered paradigm.
This lonely longing on an ungrasped eve
Knows but the weary tears that wait ahead,
And though today’s the last to interleave,
What new tomorrow comes with joy instead?
To fail’s a bitter game without reward
And anchor lifts to let the mystic cruise,
But what dead albatross is too onboard
That dictates to the self itself peruse?
            Still come a welcomed year with hopes ensnared!
            A kiss that’s past is yet a kiss once shared.

                                                                               Foppas-Nussaus
                                                                                             29.2.76

Sonnet #240a

From Friesian fields or Atlantean isles,
In time or in times in between the year,
How soundless seems what’s passed, how lost its smiles,
Which once the promise gave of time’s frontier.
Decades and trines must end their sway at last,
But does the now contain assurance less
Though metropoles obscure the rural past,
And change as oft as not might fake distress?
The friend remains who held and holds the hand,
Bids couraged cheekiness and cheer ‘gainst fears;
Tomorrow is again a day he’ll yet demand
Above the still symphonic souvenirs.
            To take stock of remembered sounds that night,
            I’ll hesitate the while the new to sight.

                                                                                           Amsterdam
                                                                                                16.12.79

Sonnet #240b

I don’t care who am I I only want
To think about the gods and cosmic stuff,
I want to seek the primal atom’s fount
Then ride the stars and know their smooth and rough.
To walk amidst their garden’s willowed ways
And sniff its scents of axis mundi flowers
To eat those awful apples at the maze
And talk awhile with all the heavenly powers.
For freedom is my game along with time,
The furth’rest blaze of energy’s delight,
And music’s song but yes the only rhyme,
Then no withins without the sacred light.
            If memory must then be given, then
            Was mem’ry gave away way back a when.

                                                                                     Amsterdam
                                                                                   21/22.12.79

Sonnet #241

Tell me o light of life who stimulates
The soul’s short taste of blinded infancy
If but the prize with which the winner mates
Or else a pure contestant thou shalt be!
O first of firsts, revered in ancient ways,
The gyral hearth who roams against the seas,
The model of our beauty’s basic praise
That finds the normal as antipodes,
Be both is but my clumsy wish’s worth:
Be born, reborn, and turn the acrid wastes
That wait to suffocate aspiring mirth
A sweeter gem which toward the mother hastes!
            And though the outer’st reach we’ll still pursue,
            A’ knows that in the end the end is you.

                                                                                                Aups
                                                                                                Agonium
                                                                                    11 December 80

Sonnet #242

Tell me o rosy-fingered light of earth
Who’s sung as beauty’s forward, bashful best
If thine own famous face deceiving girth
Is to a hollow or volcanic breast!
O holy harlot of a lakh’s embrace,
Red emblem of man’s confident desire,
Moment supreme before our bridal base
And ev’ry virgin smile’s domestic fire,
Be one who greets each day and bids to dream
While yet the crimson norm to masque the naught:
For though the nihilistic empty scream,
Thine east is where awakes what wish has wrought!
            As vernal herald ‘yond diurnal spring,
            So deathless daughter yonder death doth bring.

                                                                                         Aups
                                                                                   Saturnalia
                                                                            17 December 80

Sonnet #243

Tell me o ever-sure support of all
From whom the child incorporates its quest
If loving thee imports sepulchral fall
Or but the fuel by which we fare the best!
O widest one whose way’s without waysides,
Germinal core of all that concrete be,
Whose foremost form as earth on earth resides,
Of whom we thy self seek ascendancy,
Be mother much of muchness much adored:
Though incidental gifts of learning pain
Are too bestowed along with pleasure scored,
We shall within thy bounty’s boost remain!
            With awesome charge, spin, mass and span we root
            To verdant vale and passing peak salute.

                                                                                                Aups
                                                                                                Opalia
                                                                                    19 December 80

Sonnet #244

Tell me o marking mead of jaunty joy
With whom we pace our world and know the next
If toward corruption is thy secret ploy
And lunacy is just salvation vexed!
O guiding light through primal night and time,
The triform sister yet fraternal twin,
Sea mistress, huntress, aiding birth and crime,
Still suitor who the bridal race doth win,
Be but our mother earth’s free flying soul:
A constant in this flux of wish and woe
Reflecting mensurative mensal goal
And stolen madness for the status quo!
            Much doubled of the double deal’s defeat,
            Our guardian to whom we shall accrete.

                                                                                              Aups
                                                                                            Divalia
                                                                            21 December 80

Sonnet #245

Tell me o light per se the most supreme
Who rules three worlds with wassailed wonder thrust
If from Crete’s grotto’d grave thou drank the dream
Or e’er everted wert in wakeless lust!
O art one thou art three, fire-father, five, …
An individu’l indivisible,
Odd elements elect our unit jive
When potent partnership’s impossible,
Be king! Be what thou art no more no less:
And daemon too if dealing dole be due
Because the dragon’s twained by thy noblesse
And holy order’s won a gain anew!
            Aye twinned’s thy wake of dazzling apogee
            O dancing one of music’s majesty.

                                                                                   Aups
                                                                               Larentalia
                                                                           23 December 80

Sonnet #246

Tell me o hidden lord who vajra helves
Yet hosts both swelling, sweating/swallowed, swarms
About thy many avatars and selves
And how thy friendship fair the friend informs!
O beauty’s boy most manifold by match,
Domestic and equestrian divine,
Who drives cruel darts by heartless love’s dispatch
And frenzy spills from out thy spanking wine,
Be second who remains the first adored:
The unit’s twin commencing rites of life,
But take us b’yond the mounting masses bored
And take us too above the bounds of strife!
            Three varied strides complete his dwarf-won course
            Who yet appears upon his white-hued horse.

                                                                                           Paris
                                                                                          1.1.81

Sonnet #247

Tell me o bright-seen lord who vajra heaves
And wills supernal seed by wildern hunts
About all that thy glory’s gift achieves
And how the fallowed foe thy flare confronts!
O handsome hero to whom we talk the most,
Who plays three worlds with pledged prosperity
While holding oath, oak, orb and earthly host,
Sire bull who bore our mother o’er the sea,
Be friend and greater brother, our own soul
Who’s savior in this solitary plane:
And share thy goodness past passed corp’rate goal –
Let not incentive’s fiction greatness stain!
            Abuse dims not his awful aftermath,
            Forget not yet but fare his winsome wrath!

                                                                                      London
                                                                                     13.1.81

Sonnet #248

I whisper of the howling hollow wind
Among the elements’ containing range
Who is alone to chaos disciplined
And would our soul for sterile ill exchange.
How lonely is your breezeless, rainless laugh
With icy screams to penetrate to pain
Who would the whole reduce to empty gaffe
And a primordial profane insane.
You are but too are not and never were,
And though some bells do bell on your behalf,
You shall become but history’s lost spur
Or harnassed like a limping forger’s staff.
            The one-eyed tempest claims a sea of calm
            As if volcanic kiss’s salvation’s balm.

                                                          Providence-Maplewood-New York
                                                                                    24.1.81

Sonnet #249

I whisper too of virtues’ vested verve
Among the elements kinetic kind
Who vexes vice and vents the vast’s own verge
So both divine and human souls be trined.
O solace of the fertile quest and birth,
Oft unseen but ne’er dimmed in pleasure’s light,
Much messengers of numinous and mirth,
Non-mem’ry’s your encyclopaedic might!
Ye are from man and avi’n dream e’er born,
Musician outcastes mounting ancient mounds,
And though ambivalent in wingêd form,
Ye little folk yet win ambition’s bounds.
            A many-eyed virility’s the van
            To void the void and conservation span.

                                                                                       Amsterdam
                                                             The Nones of February 1981

Sonnet #250

The all consuming jungle’s pulse does course
A neolithic nuance through today
In sluttish, thirsty lips without remorse
But frenzy for a sanguine kid as prey.
Some whore who would pretend a virgin’s guise
To snare a would-be husband’s manliness
And so her lingamed lover tantalize
To prove illusion as proprietress.
O black of bloody tooth and wanton eye,
What drawing fury to you mother naught
Where rightly vermeil ought to horrify
As if life is but dreamless afterthought!
            Light’s shadow in the goddess great’s melee?
            Two wives not one Lord Shiva has, I say!

                                                                                              Calcutta
                                                                                         21-22.2.81

Sonnet #251

“Diurnal friend am I who strides the sky
Devoted to all who adore my draw,
Devoted most to energy’s reply
Dividing dragons of the droughty jaw.”
“Thy wife consumes her master’s solitude
Presenting trumping trio as her dole.”
“Aye, double-dames forget a demi-brood;
No mother’s memory’s but half the whole.”
“My father’s demiurgic sacrifice
Whose daughter dotes where fancy works its due.”
“Begone you shadowed wench of primal vice!
I will instead your gaiting sister view:
            She foals me twins above malignant dreams
            Who are their sire and lover’s mirrored beams.”

                                                                                             Banaras
                                                                                    Ides of March
                                                                                             15.3.81

Sonnet # 252

“’Tween night and day at half-time of the year
Encirc’d with tasty youths what snatched away,
Yet herald I the halo’s hemisphere
For new beginnings are accomplished day.”
“Impossibles might seem beyond our mind
O virgin mistress mother of us all,
Yet we that quest that thou hast undersigned
Shall share in vow of vernal festival.”
“Within my lord’s embrace I’ve nether known
And grazed upon Elysian fields and fount,
But quitting there my quenching, vapid own,
I re-ascend that he may e’er me mount.”
            “Hail holy mare who fingers smiling sight,
            Twain aspirations ours by thee ignite!”

                                                                                              Banaras
                                                                                             21.3.81

Sonnet #253

“What woeful weariness is earthly want?”
“Nay, Mother, ‘tis thy shade that me rejects
And seeks for rest obliteration’s haunt
Without renewal nor resurgent rex.
But thou art queen who having been e’er be
With all the splendors of thy mighty scope,
And no illusion makes a myth of thee
As if at heart thou art the misanthrope.
With every morn upon another face
I see the joys as yet unshown within
As well as those which even now do grace
Incarnate life, thy godhead genuine.
            Weep not unless from copious delight
            For e’er from thee is born the sing of light!”

                                                                                            Hardwar
                                                                                          Fordicidia
                                                                                        15 April 81

Sonnet #254

“When we do meet I’ve reached my waned out rise
And nought shall know within thy bright embrace.”
“Dear dying one, my other face does prize
Thy rearing fall for all the human race
That mounts and measures as a beacon’s light
For thou ambrosia art to gods within
And so complete what I at heart excite.”
“One of two chargers I to draw my kin
And shining car into the starry sky.”
“And of my wooers who become rewards
For every valiant effort’s well-meant cry
As healing balms to Mother’s heathen hordes.”
            “Aye, wife, we cultivate in unseen lores
            Beyond our forms the luminescent doors.”

                                                                                            Rishikesh
                                                                                              Cerialia
                                                                                              19.4.81

Sonnet #255

“Who are the bull and cow of ancient fame?”
“’Tis thou and I who are this awesome seed.”
“But who’re the two great mothers growing same?”
“Again ‘tis we, my lord, all children feed,
For I extend and am extension’s corps,
But thou my heart who wished of naught but me,
Engend’ring germ within my parent’s war,
Beloved base behind futility –
Together we, the smiling ones, do lurk within
The shadows of the splendid dregs divine,
Both man and god, our yearning youths akin,
Who ever seek the hidden-kept sweet-kine.”
            “By waking flash and virgin flame, these powers
            Bid secret suns as our reflexive flowers.”

                                                                                             Banaras
                                                                                     Vinalia Priora
                                                                                       23 April 81

Sonnet #256

“Who is the weeper paying what sum price
Within thy flaming free-for-all’s wide wake
While owning not to virtue nor to vice
But only to the moment’s make and take?”
“But who is this who treads no lunny’s path
As if all madness heads a moral code
And passion leaves no likewise swarthy swath
But is the night upon the daytime mode?”
“If matrons barefoot come to thee with smiles,
What end’s endured if one of havoc’s tears?”
“Nay, brother, fertile rains may be in guiles,
But burning bright must heedless be of fears.”
            “O virgin hero in the void congealed
            I join reflecting jinx beyond our field.”

                                                                                              Mysore
                                                                                               Vestalia
                                                                                            9 june 81

Sonnet #257

“‘I are; we is’, how else to talk in this?
For both the light inceptual and end
Of movement’s lust and thrust’s antithesis
Throughout prakriti’s womb and tomb extend.
The preconception the conception cons,
And two the allies ‘gainst the naught-one-naught
For anti-hylozoic dragon wans
When vajras vanquish gypping juggernaut.
I/we so honor mother, take to wife,
Beget the darling damsel, morn’s delight,
Whose harvest herds rain rife with reigning life
To be the prize of natural plebiscite.
            Let my/our people flee the citadel
            But ne’er forget to thank the wishing well!”

                                                                                                Kashi
                                                                                           Poplifugia
                                                                                            5 july 81

Sonnet #258

What god of gods recalls oblation’s due
Beyond the luminescent realm of wish
Projected and of peaceful dreams come true?
What trinities betoll by famous fish
Forgetting birth for savior’s single lot
And sweeping sin and sundry waves away?
What need of a priori maker’s blot
To evolutive nature’s writ and play
Who pen the laws of change in growthing form?
Why lose our super heroes, ladies fair
And faithful friends as means of golden norm
To shadowed fate’s superlative despair?
            Perhaps a coldly terror blows beyond,
            But bended knee need not by fear respond.

                                                                                         Kathmandu
                                                                                         1 august 81

Sonnet #259

With blame and shame the little minds accuse
Forgetting gift of generosity
And dwelling only for what each might lose.
They take to him so ugly gods foresee
The mask as too unfair, but he in turn
Contends forbidding coverings at all.
So fumes that fiend to olden rites adjourn
And claims the nat’ral soul abomination’s haul
As if some puppet substitute were king.
What slimy wings have aeronautic ends
That stay to swim as mired underling
Who sees no solar rise nor comprehends?
            When shall one learn that I is we whose whole
            Is peace alone within the multisoul?

                                                                                                Kashi
                                                                                15 september 81

Sonnet #260

Let’s sit beside the quiet circle’s edge,
The looking-glass of whisp’ring sisters three,
The sacral head which waxes mem’ry’s wedge,
The overviewed concealed antimony,
And then perambulate this portal’s part
To see the sightless tree with awesome roots
As here alone becomes our very heart
From which is fed for us four bidden fruits.
What stars and leaves to slake our wholesome thirst!
What counterparts and dreams to fuse our souls!
For all is there and waits to be coerced
For we are where the wishing eye cajoles.
            Our zero is a dancing harlequin
            Yet motionless with all the worlds within.

                                                                                                Kashi
                                                                                  1 november 81

Sonnet #261

“My western paradise, my ancient home,
The hidden air-borne island come to earth:
Here is begotten beauty midst sea-foam,
Some shifting monument of mankind’s mirth
Whose varied fingers sweep far shinto space
And other counter cultic eastern scent
With each diurnal turn against my face
To foster light for mem’ry’s nourishment.
Be dazzled earth and all ye little folk!
Our land reflects our mother’s golden eye,
And ‘tis the floating isle’s sole counterstroke
Which we alone decide to sanctify.
            Where’er ye wholesome virtues quest and laugh
            These eyes erect life’s brimming cenotaph.”

                                                                                   San Francisco
                                                                                Fordicidia 1982

Sonnet #262

“Thy drifting barque draws near to mem’ry’s source
Amidst what bogging weeds of fullness past
And former times’ anticipation’s corse
To view the promise that had sparred the mast.
What half-forgotten fair ferments a scald
Of friends and fantasies and futures gone
No more beyond obscurity enthralled
And once known animations now withdrawn?
Be not subdued parental star of quest!
For sure though frosty winds still steer thy sails,
And warmth’s ne’er guaranteed nor dispossessed,
But ‘tis the cosmic ebb and flood’s travails.
            Remember but in this thy brightest span
            Return no less the rosy courtesan!

                                                                                        Maplewood
                                                                              Midsummer’s ‘82

Sonnet #263

“What courtesy attends unburied dead,
The chaff of change and groundless covenants?
O daughter shine another face unwed
When courtships cease for other audience.
For I give all regardless of the cost,
But thou the whore who deems her daily wage
In kisses of auroral holocaust
That from the leprous mother disengage.
Be but the beauty for whom both contend!
Though each diurnal reign is brevity,
Yet kings shall alternate from end to end
If thou art holy hope’s synonymy.
            Though now she stretches claws around our day,
            Thy lad returns to sacred laws obey.”

                                                                                                Aups
                                                                             Opalia-Divalia ‘82

Sonnet #264

“What bud becomes a flower forward forced
By vain impatience prying petals loose
As if thy natural growth were love divorced
And fragrance could by whim alone produce?
Aye, biding time against a premature
Desire that seeks a beauty yet to come,
I’ll wait thy revelation in amour
Till when thy kiss no more is burdensome.
Be thus expansion to the call of joy!
But tarry not to answer past full bloom
No longer yet till overripe decoy
That drops vestigial promise’s heirloom.
            Unless to amaranth as axial bliss,
            Beloved, let not splendor root amiss!

                                                                                                Aups
                                                                                       Tubilustrium
                                                                                              23.3.83

Sonnet #265

“Thou stealest wife when we ought lovers be
As once we were in yesterdays of yore
Before ideas of sharing shucked acme
And our beloved queen became a whore.
Remember now our stance against such shame,
The gentle touch without the grisly gore,
The curse whose kisses naught but slay and maim
As if their wrongs have right to right ignore?
Be not a madness yond our mead for all,
To segregate in actions most deplore
As if a mockery’s life’s festival
And chance denies what honor must restore!
            What closet minds infect my world today
            Who know small schemes alone but to obey?”

                                                                                                Aups
                                                                                    Vinalia priora
                                                                                           23.4.83

Sonnet #266

“I am thy other essence, virgin flame,
Thy second son, the quiet roar to squire
Thy incarnation ‘cross renewal’s aim
And ecstasy’s old moss besotted fire.
And thous, O sire, the child who sparks that gush
Which nullifies the singularity,
Expands beyond inceptu’l plasmic mush,
And bends his time-space’ hospitality.
Be what as innocence we all adore,
The youth with open eyes who knows not fear,
Who sallies forth beyond each bounded shore
And sanctifies the vault as volunteer!
            Time blossoms mark the path thou spread’st for us
            With life and next eternal impetus.”

                                                                                                Aups
                                                                                                Eides
                                                                                              15.5.83

Sonnet Collection 2 Back to the Biblitheca