{sweetheart}

{sweetheart}
Originally uploaded by bitterlemons

my Grandfather came in from london yesterday.
he blew in in a flurry of old leather and salt-and-pepper,
and our house has a way of being
shocked
by the energy he brings and the magical quality that he
reverberates.

he brought me a beautiful edition of the sonnets
on the cover, shakespeare
(with a full head of hair)
looks to young and beautiful
for the portrait to be
realistic.
and this morning, when i cracked my door to see if the house was still there
i found my own sonnet on the floor.

EMMA'S SONNET

there was a time my poetry meant more to me than bread

my metaphor more dear than pearl, my simile more rare.

i cared no more for common talk than silver boys for lead

why stoop to pray or rise to walk when there are wings and air?

and so i flew and wore the stars as diamonds on my chest

the sun a mere cosmetic then to turn my feathers gold

when others saw how far i rose, how remote from the rest

they'd wonder at my madcap dance and think me something bold.

and yet when i succumbed to earth my pinions scorched and sore

they'd barely noticed that i had flown nor heard a word i'd sung.

they'd drowned me out with chit and chat, diversions of the young.

mundane affairs as war and love and sometimes love and war

it seems to me we choose and choose when to ascend or no.

Today i dare to choose the plain.

It was not always so.

-Jack Winter

30 aug. 2009