Sonnet Attempt

These dewdrops are the jewels you offer,

they’re crafted though the chiseling words through time

the honey-suckle softly breathes, I see,

the creek nearby expels it’s soothing rhyme.


bread, my milk, sustenance can feed

your generous decree to labors sweat-

the joy of songs, of leisure blessed indeed

my time, my health, my portion I will get.


Still I know songs are written of these joys,

that still will seem to make this life complete;

this life can become all with its alloys,

though the state of my soul is defeat.


I see this perfect life lay down for me,

when I am bought with crimson currency.

Parable of the Sower

Tin man’s heart,

a bounce-off seed-

defective ears,

don’t hear their need.

Rainy season, kisses land,

so much green in your hand;

’til desert season makes it’s show,

then parched, shriveled, down you go.

Six words to a kiss,

kindness to a treason;

cold cash, calls out-

voice disguised as reason.

This fertile land, an oddity,

growth here, to border land-

crop lush, no modesty –

work of busy hand.