This is written for every fragile flower that has suffered at the careless or cruel hand of a man, and it is dedicated to every faithless man I’ve ever known, all two hundred thousand of them. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!

No, I’m not bitter… why do you ask?

From curling roots to slender neck, it bore
Exotic blooms of purest milky white
So beautiful; it cared for nothing more
Than earthen pot and water, air and light.

I watched this trusting orchid weeks gone by,
Its glory crowned with brisk vitality.
Now vicious Time proves naive trust a lie –
Our simple joy could not forever be.

Call my heart this fragile, dying flower:
Your hand its petals crushed and tore away.
The troth I’d pledged you brought it grief this hour;
In dawn’s harsh light I rue our yesterday.

Could I undo the gift of love I made!
I’d sooner be an orchid carved from jade.

Tags: orchids, sonnets

I’ve written two others in the meantime, but I’ve not really posted them publicly. They will be eventually, but both are a bit too personal at the moment. One is for my dad, and one is for someone who may or may not like it.

This one is an expression of the burst of feeling one has, when one goes back into the presence of someone missed, and loved.

Unconcerned, all year they slumber deep –
Their wine-dark branches cradle empty sky.
No pressing cares or needs do break their sleep
As past their trunks the rest of life flows by.

Now rising sap of spring breathes silent call
To subtle buds of green that raise their head
Then burst to life, one supple bough and all –
White blossoms on the trees that once were dead.

Would I could demonstrate, when you are here,
The riot in my soul where you could see.
A maelstrom of joy when you are near:
All fetters burst, from winter’s prison free.

A veil of falling petals, sweet the rain –
And I, undone, stand at your side again.

Tags: sonnets

This is my first sonnet, and it’s for anyone who loves my crochet and/or unrequited love. I apparently am skilled in either subject.

The cord when stretched desires for the blade,
And to the sound of scissors near it list’s.
So tight was twine’d since day that it was made.
Such tension more akin to pain than bliss.

Now I with violet hook do further spin
And form to patterns beautiful in woe
The yarn, with freedom yearning there within.
How longs it for the shears of Atropos!

So too my soul is caught with hook to line;
Bound up so close with no surcease in view.
My thoughts, all knotted, seek to flow with thine -
My tangled dreams are filled with only you.

Unknot, untie, unravel me, cut free!
You will not love? Then by gods, let me be!

Tags: crochet, sonnets