Church Hill Sonnets (VII of VII)

Sonnet LII (Church Hill VII)

Walking back beneath the bowed boughs above,

Climbing the hill I descended amazed,

Trying to escape the beauty I razed,

Hands torn from wielding this axe with no glove,

Seeking no leaf, nor return of my dove,

And finding no sign of God to be praised,

My mechanized body has become crazed,

Tired and defeated with no faith in love.

I drop the instrument guilty of death

That I swung to fell the tree of my life

That I climbed in search of my love, my wife,

For the axe is dull and I’m out of breath.

I can no longer tread this steep incline;

Whose are these steps that are making mine?

Church Hill Sonnets (VI of VII)

Sonnet LI (Church Hill VI)

I gather my dreams from where they are strewn.

I tidy the mess I made in my haste,

Take one last look in the light of the moon,

And turn to return to my life of waste.

The portal swings open of your accord.

You pass with a smile, your family trailing,

You all are now home and I feel abhorred

Found in the branches I have been scaling

And snapped budding twigs to blossom no more;

There will be a poorer harvest this year

Unless someone tends to the limbs I tore.

I’m ashamed to have become what I fear.

Sap runs down the hilt of the axe I hold

And sticks to my hands out here in the cold.

Church Hill Sonnets (V of VII)

Sonnet L (Church Hill V)

My journey ends in your room on your bed.

To no other end but rest from my mind.

I lie, covered by the claims that I’ve said.

I sleep, toss and turn; your flannel sheets bind.

From this cocoon I will stir and awake,

Slice a current in the sea I'm swimming,

I will carve in this deception I make

A hollow to collect limbs I'm trimming.

I hear the scratching peeling paint away,

The bark, from Woofy, pawing at your door,

He whines and cries until he gets his way,

Then looking at me, falls onto the floor.

I don’t want to hold the axe in my hand

That will fell the tree of this precious land.

Church Hill Sonnets (IV of VII)

Sonnet XLIX (Church Hill IV)

I walk through the kitchen on creaking planks,

Away from the entrance and my entrance

Induced by the shrine of so many thanks,

Each step heralding my cautious advance,

Past the old stove with the pilot light lit,

That eternal flame ever set to spark,

Just turn up the gas and stand back a bit,

Make circles that burn bright blue in the dark,

To the upright piano where I pause.

The yellowed ivory, faded ebony,

Disobedient to musical laws,

Without you here to bring your harmony,

Still rings with memories of string and song.

I continue hoping you won’t be long.