Poems Writ for Lublu FRONT COVERPoems Writ for

It is no surprise that a writer pens poetry to the woman he loves, especially when her life-long passion is theatre, drama, plays and Shakespeare's sonnets. And that the offering will be grandiose, florid, passionate pastiche because the writer can only pit a miserable wit against an over-shadowing genius. Nevertheless, it was greatly appreciated by the Lady from the start. She was gracious, sometimes even overcome by my efforts.
Neither is it unexpected that the poetry will sink to introspection and despair when the writer learns his loved one is dying. You can't present poetry about the nuances of death to the dying. It was fortunate she mentioned how she had loved her nursery toys when a child. Early in the sequence I introduced a parallel world, one relating to the toys but placed in the setting of her beloved home, King's Court. Hope, tenderness, reassurance could be expressed in this noble nursery theme. The change shows from about halfway through the sequence as her health deteriorated.
These fifty-one sonnets Poems Writ for Lublu: A Tragedie in Fifty-one Sonnets are almost the only poems I have written. It was a steep learning curve but surprising how quickly one can get a feel of a literary form, especially when driven. I have been embarrassed with a wife turning to her husband and asking "why don't you write poetry like this to me?" The simple answer was that my friend was dying. The inevitability concentrates the mind and it was a way that both of us could come to terms with it.
There is more information on the Poems Writ for Lublu page on my publishing site where you can also read Sonnets I-V and the accompanying notes. The paperback and e-book are available through Amazon.
Here are Sonnets X, XXVIII, XXIX and XLVII.
Sonnet X
Joy Lane 8 June

Since Moon and Mother Earth embraced of old
the Rosy Orb has fiery passion thrust
and spread its glowing hand of fingers gold
'cross endless empty morns of cosmic dust.
Then has it also slipped the gift of night,
such, impassioned lovers calm and gaze
'twixt pleasure sighs and whispers tight
a myriad of silent stars ablaze,
to dream celestial paths paralleled
through stars flung far across Elysium's field,
a firmament so eagerly beheld,
a Milky Way laid fresh as loved ones yield.
Through Heaven's age-old paramour's delight
we will go far our star-gazed lovers' flight.

John Wilson Park, 15 September 2001

A tear did slip when Lublu hurt her arm
twice now tumbled with the naughty witches.
Kindly Seamstress said "no lasting harm,
all she needs is love and fine new stitches."
Beneath a watchful beaming face, the Moon,
the birds did line and show a friendly wing,
Pierrot raised his flute to rouse a tune,
the gathered courtyard crowd began to sing.
Crickets, bats and owls upon the tiles
even livened up the crispy air
such the chorus brought those lovely smiles
before their Mistress left for her repair.
Pierrot held her tight and kissed her dear.
He was there and nothing need she fear.

Sonnet XXIX
King's Court, 17 November

Night yet before the day to steal away,
breathing silent, bathed in silver raw
from misty courtyard drizzle-cold and fey,
my Sylvan Sprite I gaze upon in awe.
Thus I start this ode as every day
by moor or wood or shore of foaming gold,
past flowering hedge along Spring's vibrant way
where fruits a-ripen as your smiles unfold,
through Summers fresh to dance and Autumn stroll.
Arm-in-arm a foggy eve we slow
and you do warm the hearth of Winter's toll,
setting days of darkened nights aglow;
our timeless journey while you softly sleep,
on which, my Beauty, I do silent weep.

Sonnet XLVII
John Wilson Park, 31 December 2002

Peacefully upon her lace-edged pillow,
twilight grey on cool pink satin sheet,
Lublu's in the land that Time does slow,
savouring his slumbered charges sweet.
Her fine friends did also coo last eve
her rouge-done cheeks and eyes like patterned dishes,
trilling, turning, nodding, truly pleased
that she did cast her basketful of wishes.
So innocent she wakes from Tenderland,
stirred gently now by bars of gold, deep slept,
a maiden just let slip her Pierrot's hand,
that he in crepuscule had quiet wept
awaiting the return his Rag Doll Queen.
He cannot go alone where lovers dream.

Hand-made edition 2002