Lunch Sonnets

My latest idea is to write a Petrarchan sonnet (same number of lines but different rhyme scheme from the more familiar Shakespearean sonnet) every day at lunch. I've only tried it for the last two days, and they are not very good sonnets, but I plan to keep trying!

Day One

Before I wake, the time creeps by so slow
the minutes right before the bell seem hours
yet once awake, still sleepy, at half power
The breakfast hour's a blur, I eat and go
The shower's another time-vortex, although
I've only got so many parts to scour
and don't need so much water, but my showers
could last for hours, dazed beneath the flow.
But sometimes, only sometimes, certain acts
or certain sights transport me, and I find
time bends both ways at once, expands, contracts.
And sometimes, clocks, alarms are left behind.
While watching cars pass, headlights... Time refracts
and bends around my (nearly) empty mind.

Day Two

Clear skies this morning as I stepped outside
The clouds above our building high and white
just one street over, though, unwelcome sight
of dark grey storm, and so I turned my stride
to a convenience store, shrugged off my pride
and bought a child's umbrella, hurried right
to school as morning skies turned dark as night
I glumly watched the downpour from inside.
My mood turns dark, but soon the rain's no more
The flooded field is drained, the sun comes back
It soon seems like it never even poured.
Initial sadness swells to aching lack -
The rain excused my mood, which now endures.
Excuseless now. Rain's gone, my mood's still black.

The Last Few Years

Here are all my Tanka and Haiku (and, I think, some sonnet fragments) from the last 3 years or so. This is me, this is my life, here are my thoughts, etc.

Bamboo branches trail

Down into the brown river

And leave their leaves there.

Boys, elephant-back

Lumber down and kneel to drink

Thrill of primal fear.

Grey clouds encroach

On darkening blue-green hills.

The brown Khwai’s round whorls.

The sun nears the hills.

Red ants drowse on a teak board,

Ignore my teacup.

In the muddy stream

A dropped stone, a broken bone

I watched, and still watch.

The slow brown river

Drooping bamboo groves, birdsong

Two cans of coffee.

Light rain before dawn

Misty clouds pulse with lightning

Coming or going?

High on building roofs

Like mountaintop watchfires

Row of red lights blink

Lamplight through the trees

The sky lightens above them

Shadow still, between

Three days’ solitude

Shuffling blind through empty rooms

Surprised i’m alive

Thunder at midnight

Rain spatters balcony rail

I go back to sleep

White curtain of rain

Descends and transforms the world

Everything goes dark

The construction cranes

Like branches against the sky

On a dark fall day.

The darkness lifting

A cool hour before the heat

Almost feels like fall.

The street before dawn

An idling taxi’s sign glows

I’m too tired to think.

Bird cries by the lake

Damp jungle life, mid-city

Canal’s muddy banks.

Full moon in clear air

Swallowed by a mass of clouds

But i know it’s there.

Time stretches, then.

The hour before the alarm

Was it five minutes?

Sky clears after rain

The ground still damp underfoot

Small sips of coffee.

The days grow shorter

Swift clouds on darkening sky

Then - a rooster crows.

Lights in others’ rooms

Why are they awake at night?

Yet I’m awake too.

Past the darkest time

Thunder in the night, clouds gone

The street is still wet.

Rained lightly all day.

We still walked around the lake.

A dead fish, bobbing.

Darker every day

The way forward is flooded

But I still must go

Street still wet with rain

Pools of light under streetlamps

How did I get here?

Canyon of towers

Surrounded by glass and steel

One banana tree.

The sudden downpour

Turned the world white for an hour

Field became a lake

Clear air after rain

Ring of clear red rooftop lights

Taxis pass below.

Grey night clouds like waves

Blowing back, blue sky behind

Sunlight’s tide rolls in

A cool morning breeze

Seems the rains won’t come today

One cup of coffee

Calm minute before dawn

Bird cries from the trees below

Pools of orange lamplight.

It rained all day long.

Narrow street, a car-churned sea.

My shoes are still soaked.

Red lights in red mist

The shapes of buildings at dawn

I turn back inside.

a hole in my shoe

I’ll be late walking to work

This lovely morning

Trees still in shadow

I want to watch the sun’s climb

But do I have time?

A nearly full moon

Headlights on the distant bridge

Last year’s trees have grown.

A dawn so clear, clean

Rows of windows turning gold

Wish I’d’ve slept more

Pink clouds on blue sky

Three days’ rainclouds have lifted

Feels like New Year’s Day.

The darkened pathway.

Bats and cicadas at dusk.

I lost a whole day.

Clouds over Bangkok.

Trees and buildings keep growing.

Soon the rain will come.

Canned seltzer water

Killing time in airport lounge

Double espresso

This is the last day.

The stream’s never been this low.

Each now is always.

Stream is slow today

Dead leaves fall on rust-brown pools

Then drift slowly by.

Summer’s growing old

deer, hares leap into the dusk

I’ll watch while I can

Fireflies’ brief green glow

Sheets of steam rise after rain

Grateful for my sight

The hillside still cold

Light plays on passing ripples

just this. Just watch now.

sun through leaves, the wind

Make the forest floor waver

Like a pool’s blue depths

Sun’s returned at last

For this summer’s last Sunday

A blue crane glides by.

Wind shakes loose dead leaves

A damp chill, like before snow

Unseason; too soon.

Old walls in the woods

Ancient trail on granite shelf

Damp fields of low ferns

Light in the forest

Young grass grows where a tree fell

Shade will close in soon

Late sun hits brick walls

Washington Street, Hoboken

Dark fear dims my sight.

Ruined brick chimney

Rock shelf overlooking lake

Cries of hawks ahead

In the deep green woods.

Heavy, damp, autumnal chill

Has summer ended?

Dark, slick old stone wall.

Rained all morning, raining now.

My head’s cloudy too.

The day turned cloudy.

Sound of small raindrops on leaves.

I didn’t go in

It’s too hot to move

A hawk wheels slowly above

Poolside umbrella.

Has it been a month?

Crushed leaves on the muddy shore

The firefly hour

Slanted amber light

A dragonfly crushed in mud

Train roars by above.

From a new angle -

I’ve watched that “tree” all summer -

A rusty pylon.

Dust motes in sunbeam

from nearby leafblower, though

And my shoe’s untied

Creepers, vines, moss

Trees draped with spiralling life

Nothing’s alone here.

Dark trunks wind upwards

Translucent green leaves splay down

Wait - a hummingbird!

Reflected sun-waves

From the rippling stream below

Dance on leaves’ pale screens

Clear pool, streambed rocks

Shimmer as if in noon heat

Shelley’s thought, now mine.

Dusk drive from Ridgefield

Tops of trees lost in the mist

Lights in living rooms

Dusk blankets the woods

Strange birdcalls, mist rises, floats

Somewhere, coyotes.

Approaching thunder

The wind picks up - watch the pool -

Bubbled circles spread

Air bakes - true summer

Grass dry, dirt loose underfoot

Clear, cool stream still flows.

Clack of steel on steel

A bottomless brick chimney

Braced by rusty bolts

Hills in rising mist

Under the leaves, spongy earth

On my knee - a tick!

One drop on dark branch

The breeze frees more drops above

And onto my head.

Rain patters on wood

Blue woods deepening to black

I had to go in.

Light dancing on stream.

Light breeze lifts the fresh green leaves.

Reading, my gloom leaves.

Sun near its highest

stream higher too, after rain.

I feel awakened.

Street dried after rain

Earth takes longer, but it dries.

But leaves look greener.

Dark forest, grey clouds

Light rain falls through early mist

My mind has gone black.

Racing through forest

Leaves hide rock faces, deep vales

Stone Age hunters’ world.

Late sun on tree boles.

Fresh wind turns my book’s pages

So much still grows here.

In a dying state

peeled, weathered boards sag with age

Deer, fox returning.

Rabbits in the grass

Ruined stone hearth in the woods

How old we’ve all grown.

light slants through the trees.

Turtle halfway across road.

I know I can’t hide.

Already July.

Steaming hot, hushed Central Park.

Cranes perched on granite.

Train wheels clattering.

Sunbeam and floor both shifting.

Brick, steel, ivy, rust.

Lost track of the hours

Row of hills passed on the road.

Distant thunderclaps.

My mind in turmoil

Pain at recalling things done

Two limbs creaked above.

Circular ripples

Push back against the cold flow -

Stone in stream’s center.

Damp, round forest hills

Smoothed by long millennia

Stretch into blue mist.

Sun on old stone wall

Time-bent whitewashed wooden houses

New road splits old town.

Drops fall on wet leaves

The stream itself is silent.

Sun after cold rain.

I lay awake, read

Biography of Shelley -

Dentist tomorrow.

One year to the day

Stream still runs beneath bowed boughs

Green weeds wave below.

Trees piled like green clouds

Under dazzling cloud-ranges.

Curving road, blank mind.

Tail lights and fireworks

White knuckles, humid night air

The Merritt Parkway.

Young leaves tossed by wind.

Low sun, riverbank thickets.

A swaying green vault.

Two cups of coffee.

Cloud of scent - mowed mint patch.

Cottony seeds waft.

the decision made.

This will sow years of regret.

A shadowed solstice.

In bed; light. Solstice.

Aching. Drive down straight highway.

past fields, hills - snowpeak

Garden hammock sways.

Bleu cheese burger, side of fries

Face burned by the sun.

The streets were empty.

Rows of lone parking meters.

Why had I worried?

Low sun, branches glow

Two hens wander, out of place

Fat and unafraid.

Snowpeaks, pines, mist

So tired, must not lose my way

A missed turn somewhere.

One tall tree at dusk

Rising above bamboo sprays.

Dark against grey sky

Mist on the hilltops.

Brown river, blue-green bamboo.

Logs float by, are gone.

When the rain starts, the drops float.

Which strikes which - Stream? Drops? Both?

Watching the river

My tea has gone cold.

Blue-green hilltops, dusk.

Woke up to green hills.

Flooded fields, buffalo, birds.

Past that ridge - Burma.

Dawn sun, tower top.

Gold gleam over sea of mist.

The day broke too soon.

The whole world turned white.

The sports field became a lake.

I played the old songs.

Grey buildings, grey day.

The world turns to a white mist.

My brain is fogged too.

Drops trickling downward.

I watch the black sports field net.

The streets are flooded.

Cicadas, damp stumps.

Piles of grey clouds, grey puddles.

Against hope - a spark!

Dark waterlogged wood.

Catwalk along canal’s edge.

Tiny fish - ripples.

As the walk went on

As if we gained strength from sight

Thoughts, budlike, unfurled.

Through the damp market.

A coiled, crushed centipede shell.

The waters have ebbed.

Clouds have moved away.

Loose tiles still squish and splash feet.

Soiled, yet washed clean, too.

Sun on the palm trees.

Passing boats churn the canal.

I watch with new eyes.

Awoke to darkness.

Buildings lost in blue-grey mist

Sudden thunderstorm.

Bats above the lake.

Cicadas hum from dark limbs.

One more time around.

Bitter pu-erh tea.

Slanting light on Persian rug.

Already past noon.

The rain did not come.

Counting my breaths. Silence, sweat.

Alone with myself.

Low grey morning clouds

As I walk over the bridge

Ginza memories.

It was late spring then, but cold.

Clean grey streets, low grey clouds. Missed.

Grey waves on the lake

Blue glass towers, rose cloud-glow

Pipal leaves in dusk.

Candles glow in the park shrine.

Bats wheel. I want this to last.

Darkened room, alone.

The moon grows larger each day.

A planet shines, too.

Turning my back to their glow

Why have I chosen this cell?

Manmade mountaintop

Huge green fronds sway in the breeze.

My pain softens, melts.

I woke, thought, taught, played.

Fresh green leaves burst from old roots.

Low red sun - start now.

Pain I gave myself

It’s nearly unbearable

I lie in the sun

Pray the heat will bake away

sins, bleach me like an old shell.

Gate at alley’s end.

Hilltop temple gleams; bells chime.

I gasp, transported.

Cool, breezy morning.

Led a group through Chinatown

With a map I’d drawn.

Felt exhilarated, proud.

Why this unease now, at dusk?

The wind turned hot, dry.

It will soon be time to leave.

One last slow noon-time.

Desert light on stone

Fatigued from rest, my mind blank

Shadows move too fast.

With effort, I upend my mental chart

Which says that South is fertile, flush with life

The waves and wind here flow from colder parts

Clean, cold sea wind blows.

Cloud-shadows sweep over hills

A sea-bird hovers.

Granite bones lie still. Mind clear,

I look towards Antarctica.

Head feels clearer now.

Eucalyptus, insects click.

Mid-morn solstice moon.

Pale moon at morning

Cool wind, clear sky, clearing head

Trees grow below.

Ten years older now

The loud streets seem clumsy, coarse

Was it always so?

Have I climbed upwards since then?

This seems a dark, fog-choked vale.

Dusk. World turns grey, pink.

Red beacons on distant spires.

Remember wonder.

Sunset already

Swifts wheel above, a cool breeze

The illness has left.

Orange, anvil-shaped cloud

On wispy sunset vortex

Thoughts of other worlds.

Pile of gold-grey clouds

The smell of frying garlic

I miss the mountains.

The rains came and went

The palm fronds hang heavy now

Will I sleep tonight?

Wind picks up; the storm is near

Hush, then the first droplets hit

Reached shelter as first drops hit

The rain would not stop all night

Lightning snakes across the sky

I watch, safely, from inside

Above the wall, empty sky

Reeds sway slowly in the wind

I think of that flooded field

The air thick with dragonflies

The sky outside turns black with rain

My world shrinks to one dry room

My heart ached all day

Rain rolled in, the world turned white

Then the darkness fell.

“A small leaf pushes

Through the gap in the driveway

The house gone silent”

Gaps

As the clouds part, I notice

More cracks in the tea bowl’s glaze

The garden wall shifts each year

Roots bulge between moss-damp stones

Silence

I try to stand still, but can’t

Breath’s wind sways me like a tree

Houses

A high-built heron’s nest floats

Above a sea of stone walls

Low sunlight strikes the buildings

new or old, all gleam golden

Silence

I watch evening shadows move

Across the still-warm stone floor

So much rain’s fallen

Weeks of dark clouds and thunder

I now feel at peace

The day stretches ahead now

No clouds til the distant hills

Hard to stay awake

Bangkok still feels unreal, thin

As if it might tear

Trees, park bench - I’m home, but not.

The squirrels here look like rats.

Standing by the stream

Young leaves wave as pale sunlight

Slants through slender trees.

The still, stony streambed waits -

Round rocks, brown moss, quiet, cold.

Glowing clouds piled high

Round green mountains all around

I walk, dazed, for hours

Wishing I’d kept my temper.

The shame fades as the sun sinks

Churchyard in Norwalk

Sun strikes bright on white tombstones.

I fret for my teeth.

Church spires across the river,

Shore lined with asphalt barges.

Railroad tracks, cold stream.

Grey stones, shade of maple trees

I listen, mind blank.

Water rushing, train whistle.

I’ve never been here before.

Evening sun on trees

Every leaf aglow with gold

Waving in the wind

Small birds swerve above the grass.

Twenty years - how many more?

Cresting the dark hill

Fatigue, headlights, engine hum

A sliver of moon

Above a sea of pre-dawn clouds

And mist rising from the trees.

Face warm from the sun

Shopping families pass me by.

Beyond tan grassfields

And hill ridge layered with pines

Snow-topped mountain looms alone

Breeze ruffles green grass

Between chain bookstore and mall

nowhere else to go.

Shadowed forms slouch in parked cars.

This could have once been my life.

Rainclouds descending

Pour like mist over the butte

Quiet used bookstore

Drowsy, content after lunch

I read until my eyes hurt.

Deadly steel chassis

Hums with music from old games

I enjoy old age

Mennonite shopgirl

Fluorescent Underarmour

How did she view me?

Hurtling car, confused

Unsure if awake, asleep

Wind-swept straight highway

Shadows stretch on pine hilltops

Always/never coming home

I’d slept half the day.

Bikes pass in low cool sunlight

Under the huge bridge.

Walked past rust, pipes, stone, ivy.

Bus stop: a madwoman raves.

In direct sunlight

Office workers on lunch break.

I don’t belong here.

Some who pass born since I left

I think of Hartford, London.

Sunday afternoon

Windy lake ringed by white peaks

So far from Bangkok.

Water sparkles, thin clear air

Later, we’ll watch the same moon.

Girls race round fountain

Green glow of sun through new leaves.

Honeysuckle breeze.

April 14

Catacombed hilltop

Sun on broken aqueduct.

Swallows wheel above

Grassy, age-old terraces.

This birdsong, this rose bush, now.

April 13

The palimpsest wall

In damp, hushed church. Shade, shadows.

Remnants, ghosts and stones

Mosaics glint gold, azure

Some years add, some strip away.

April 12

Road the Romans built

High-walled villas to both sides

Birdsong everywhere.

I think of bees, vines, dovecotes.

Streets turned to gardens by time.

April 11

Sun on ancient stones

Like coral pocked by eons

Or vast jutting teeth

I sit, stare, and feel at peace.

Gulls’ shadows on broken domes.

April 10

Hilltop terrace view.

Gold afternoon light, tall trees

Rome stretched out below

Can’t see it all, can’t stop time

Just glances before we go.

April 9

A cold, wet spring day.

Pantheon, Trevi Fountain,

Crowds and small children

Stumbling on damp cobblestones.

Voices echo down alleys.

April 8

Clank of cutlery.

Hum of voices, servers’ shouts.

Small tables, warm lights.

Dusk falls while wine and pasta

Turn fatigue’s fog to clear joy.

April 7

Seagulls wheel above.

Dizzied by vast, cracked half-domes

We wade empty pools.

Diocletian’s baths went dry

When Goths blocked the aqueducts.

Day One

River flows slowly

Garlands hang from spirit house

Everything is still

Day Two

Rain on lotuses

Brown slow river, heavy clouds.

A cold autumn breeze,

Mist moving over hillsides.

I had almost forgotten.

Day Three

Ancient pile of bricks

Dead, those who built it. Weeds wave

In the dying light.

Sunlight on tree-trunk through leaves,

River-ripples reflect, dance.

Day Four

Holiday, full moon.

Bare bulbs glare from market stalls.

Crowds pass, voices blur.

Earlier, in the temple,

Things seemed much less dangerous.

Day Five

Evening hilltop, dusk.

Three times around the chedi.

Murmured petition

To my own sleepy senses:

Remember this golden light.

Unmoved by bright green

Underside of swaying frond.

Shadows lengthening.

The Old Customs House.

Birds call from rotted rafters.

Dark, damp grey stone shell.

Riverside bulk looms in fog.

Would it move me so, if new?

Sunshine on rooftops.

Dark anxiety shakes me

Although all is calm.

Birds wheel in building-canyons

Choked green canal creeps below

Dappled light on limbs

Gnarled and twisted trunk and roots

The Bodhi tree stands

I look past the lizard, bird

This is what I came here for

Burning eye descends

another weekend vanished

I watch roiling clouds

unseasonably cold now

My heart’s always been this cold.