Temperance: Pull It Together

15 sonnets that run the gamut

Welcome, and a warm first hello to the newcomers!

I’m so happy you’re here.

This week is about Temperance, the card that seeks integration. When it appears, I know it’s time to consider how to unify the various parts of myself.

In that spirit, I give you all fifteen sonnets I wrote this week in the course of processing a grueling move into a new apartment. The subjects range widely, as does life.

Background music: “Black Swan Event” by The Lizzy Co Show

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Ladybug

A ladybug sits on my right shoulder;

I notice it as I wait at the light.

These days, on the sidewalk, I feel bolder.

To be seen by others: it feels so right.

The ladybug saw me and chose landing,

Chose stopping by, chose to come be with me.

I wish I could make it into a ring,

This tiny red-and-black gem, so pretty. 

I’d wear it with a beautiful new gown,

A one-shoulder number, tailored to kill;

No fucking stilettos will bring me down,

I’ll wear flats because I’m paying the bill.

A ladybug reminds me who I am.

She knows it’s going according to plan. 

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Houseplants

My houseplants are learning a new window;

Their leaves are turning, searching out the sun.

They find themselves upon a new table;

They have no clue just what it is I’ve done.

Houseplants have understanding unlike mine;

Our perspectives don’t overlap that much,

But I know that these plants will be just fine

Under the care of my green thumb’s sweet touch.

The high window invites warm breeze inside;

My plants, they get to feel the singing air.

I’m here because I failed, although I tried;

This is a space I do not have to share.

We are all living our days one by one.

What beautiful houseplants to be among.

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The Truth Is (thanks to

Jim Hall

for the first line of this one)

The truth is: who we are is how we write;

Notice the way some words attract you, so.

The language cannot lie, and that’s alright;

It speaks clearly, because that’s all it knows. 

The fact is: what we are sits on the page;

The atoms we comprise become letters. 

We find an order in which to arrange 

Ourselves, so that we can become better.

The essence can be found in paragraphs;

There is so much distance between the lines.

A book, a soul, these are the things that last; 

You can share your truth, and I can share mine. 

Let us sit together, upon a shelf,

And learn such things about the other’s self. 

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I Choose

I choose a bad day, clouds gather at will;

If I look for misery, it finds me.

Gather a mighty wind that gives a thrill;

Use it to scare the storm away with glee. 

I choose a good day, the filter snaps on;

I notice only things that bring me joy. 

Had to grow new organs, took me so long,

But now I process things that would destroy. 

I choose what kind of day I’m gonna get;

I think you’ll find the same is true for you. 

If you look for something, well, then, I bet

That people will do what you think they’ll do. 

I choose, that is the burden, and the gift. 

I lose when I think choosing is a grift. 

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Teams

I’ve worked for many husband-and-wife teams,

Bar owners tend to come in pairs, like that. 

One sunny day, I noticed that it seems

The wife always wears the cheerleader cap.

She spreads the word so far and wide with ease;

She tells the people, “Come see what he does.”

I always wonder when I see these queens:

Does being support staff give them a buzz?

“He’s just passionate,” one of them explained,

Trying to make an outburst seem ok.

My tongue was silent, but my look was pained;

I quit that damn job the very next day. 

I have witnessed the husband-and-wife team. 

I did not see the wife pursue her dream. 

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Finery

I grind my teeth at night, studiously,

The way a jeweler works away at gems;

The mouthguard helps, but my jaw wants to be

So hard at work, forgetting where it’s been. 

I wake to find my face in a grimace;

My asshole clenched real tight, as well, most times. 

Never formed clear memories of the hits;

When I try to look for them, I’m just blind.

That doesn’t mean they don’t come back some days;

I just don’t get to choose when I recall

The reasons for the times I feel afraid,

As all the folks around me seem so calm. 

Get me a set of loupes, so I can see

The pins, that hold pain, in my finery. 

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King-Seed

People are loving me through my mistakes;

They’re rowing me along to better shores.

They seem to think that I have what I takes;

They know I won’t break if they ask for more. 

People are showing me a kinder way;

They don’t abandon me when I stumble. 

They see I’m imperfect, and that’s ok;

They know that sometimes life makes us humble. 

People used to mean danger to my eye;

I had an early predator-palate. 

I always wanted something else from life;

Took me decades of errors to get it. 

People, I’ve found, can do all sorts of things;

Each of us contains the seed of a king. 

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To-Do List

My task of late has been to choose substance,

To, over and over again, appear;

To trust others to hold me in this dance,

To stay when others say they want me near.

A ghost can learn a solid way of life,

With time, and help, and patience with mistakes.

Ethereal creature, I am no wife;

No love ever thought I had what it takes. 

A phantom woman can claim solid form,

She just needs proper resources, is all.

A life given a chance can become warm;

I always get back up each time I fall.

The to-do list is long, it never ends,

But it’s easier when I’m held by friends. 

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Guts

Look at these guts, I think they’ve had enough.

They did their time, they stayed so very brave.

They look unkind, but these guts need some love;

Just a sweet, gentle touch, don’t rearrange.

Look at these guts, they shouldn’t be outside,

But if that has to be the state of things,

Then I’ll take these guts with me on my ride,

I’ll love them if they’re what I have to bring. 

Look at these guts, worked 24/7

To keep me safe from folks who meant me harm.

They did their job til I found my heaven;

These days, nobody gets to grab my arm.

My guts are tough, but tired. Time to rest.

Every day does not have to be a test. 

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Birdsong

If you’re outside and the birds stop singing,

Best take a beat and cast your eyes around.

There’s something wrong if song isn’t ringing;

There’s danger afoot when you hear no sound. 

If birds don’t feel it’s safe enough to sing,

Take note and take a hike, get gone, get safe.

The birds are creatures who will tell you things,

If you would listen to the words they say.

Birds, they will fly from danger, as should you;

The air is a highway to sweet freedom.

There is no honor in holding abuse;

Better to take flight, wonder at the sun.

The birds will go where it is safe for them.

You have the exact same right, my dear friend. 

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Cabin

The storm gathers, and we run for cover;

There is a cabin just near here, I heard.

The lock on the door’s broken, my lover;

We are not breaking in, the line is blurred.

We need a place to hide from blackened clouds;

Creak the door open just as the skies weep.

Tell me your secrets, thunder drowns them out;

If I confess, will you be mine to keep?

The rain assaults the windows, beating fists;

It hurls itself against the heartless panes. 

No matter how it threatens, we resist;

Rain can’t find us, it does not know our names. 

This cabin will do for the night, I’m tired. 

Please, my darling, would you build us a fire?

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Self-Soothe

I live somewhere my family can’t find;

At least, the ones related by cold blood.

My chosen folks are welcome here, that’s fine;

But people who lack empathy can stop.

They come no farther than the garden gate;

Their scratching claws leave no marks as they wail.

No bread and salt for those teachers of hate;

They try to enter, but to no avail.

A friendly person understands the path;

They notice a narrow trail to the left,

And duck around the railing monster-ghasts,

So quietly, so silkily, so deft.

Barely notice the shadow as they move.

To enter my kingdom, you must self-soothe.

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Facial

I started my facial routine at ten;

That is, ten years of age, not time of day. 

I worried about wrinkles in my skin;

I should have been focused on children’s play.

I wanted SPF against the sun;

I worried about lines, she-spider’s lace.

But, what was I expecting to happen?

Why was my self-esteem appearance-based?

I grew up at the feet of a woman

Steeped long in 1950’s femalehood. 

To her brown eyes, it simply made no sense

That people who look ugly can be good. 

The trick is: ugly isn’t a real thing.

It’s just a made-up, hurtful, hornet-sting.

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Grenadine

I’m grenadine, pomegranate and bloom;

Not cherry like everyone seems to think.

I swirl into your cocktail with a swoon;

I swim among the ice cubes in your drink.

But if you cut me up, I’m a grenade;

I’m much less sweet when I am incomplete.

I just want to exist how I was made;

From crooked cowlick, to super-wide feet. 

Oh, leave me be, or let me be sugar;

I have no desire to bring destruction.

I’ll come together with you, my lover;

I seek ingredients that complement.

The spoon slides in and stirs us all around;

When we are poured out, what new thing is found?

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Leaves

The leaves grew large when I was not watching.

Just small buds, the moment I looked away,

Now flaming bright in sunshine. Bees won’t sting

The folks who sit beneath the verdant shade. 

The leaves don’t mind my curious green eyes;

They like that I’m a little bit like them. 

They shimmy in the wind, to my delight;

They’re just as gorgeous as me and my friends. 

The leaves have their designs, as do we all;

They have intentions that we do not know.

A leaf’s purpose: to turn summer to fall,

To rustle soothingly when high winds blow. 

The leaves grow large, and we love them for it. 

Lean close, breathe deep, enjoy the oxygen.

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All my best,