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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Disasters, Delights and Other Detours - 99. To The Old Spruce and At a Gallop

Two penultimate sonnets for September. As is often the case, reading aloud may be helpful. Any errors are my own.

To the Old Spruce

 

 

 

Behold the regal trunk, how high it grows

sprung forth from waters spoken by the word,

that syllable from which new life arose

and echoed ere Poseidon ever stirred.

The breath of heaven whispers in its spire

while cheerful creatures play on every bough

of deepest green the eye and heart admire

which summer’s heat with shade it will endow.

Yet now its courtiers’ robes lie on the ground;

soon winter snows will hold them long in store

and white will blanket all above, around;

in silent thanks for all that’s gone before.

As Capricorn stands guard while sleeps the king,

the scions of the tree await the spring.

 

 

At a Gallop

 

 

 

When slow the minutes creep and crawl their way

across the barren face of endless time

and pause for years in one eternal day

unbroken by a pendulum or chime,

then hastes the heart adventure to recall

upmounted on a strong and sinewed steed

whose gait and gallop held me in his thrall

while yet in motion was my spirit freed;

for fixed upon his saddle did I ride

yet soared above the white and rumpled plain,

and though his frame he let me sit astride

to him our pleasure’s pace I gave the rein.

The hours we raced in glory I can’t tell,

but ever will I love my stallion well.


I offer my abiding gratitude to @AC Benus for his kind and patient help with my sonnet writing. These are much improved because of his care. My thanks to you for reading these, aloud or no. Your thoughts on these (or anything in this collection) are most welcome.
Copyright © 2017 Parker Owens; All Rights Reserved.
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Parker Owens


@AC BenusYou’re not wrong; only now have they blossomed. That mighty spruce is still there today, and I watched the moon set over it this very morning while Orion looked on. And indeed, the second sonnet recalls a most memorable ride. Thanks so much for your help with these, and for reading them anew. 

Edited by Parker Owens
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Parker Owens
6 hours ago, Geron Kees said:

I love trees, and the free spirits that call them home. They are signposts of the seasons, certainly.

Horses I do not know as well as trees. But I do know those that love them, and for whom the freedom of the ride is everything. That's enough for me! :)

Two more enchanting versus. Thank you!

Thank you for taking time out to read these two sonnets. The magnificent old spruce has been a constant in my existence over the years, through many changing seasons. I’m glad too that you enjoyed the ride. Thanks again. 

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