Acrostic Sonnets

 A United Germany

 A wall divided East and West Berlin
 Until the year of Nineteen Eighty-Nine.
 Not thirty years since JFK's "Ich bin,"
 Its fall made German folk, not zwei, but ein!
 The breaking of the barrier raised hope:
 Emancipation beckoned far and wide.
 Democracy prepared to spread its scope.
 Glad tidings of world peace fast multiplied.
 Euphoria broke out, quite unrehearsed—
 Red states had tumbled, China would be next,
 My neighbor said ... but then the tide reversed,
 As we had all misread our history text ...
 Now we must strive again to turn the tide—
 Yet Germany, still one, remains a guide!

 (First published on May 31, 2021 in the
  Creativity Webzine)
 Purple And Green

 Paths cross. Two strangers hurry on their way,
 Unsure of where they're going to, and yet
 Resolved to reach this place without delay,
 Persuaded that behind each silhouette
 Lurks danger. Trust no stranger. Press ahead.
 Escape means grief in silence must be borne.
 As purple garb pays homage to the dead,
 No words are said. Both strangers know both mourn ...
 Directions are opposed, and yet both seek
 Green pastures far away: they share a goal,
 Recovering from grief. Why don't they speak?
 Each lacks the words to soothe another's soul.
 Each hurries on, as if already late,
 Not sharing burdens, adding to their weight ...

 (First published in the Ekphrastic Review on May 21,
 2021 as a response to After The Storm by Istvan Farkas)
 The Cuckoo Clock

 The cuckoo calls on birds who are not there.
 Her calling card, resembling eggs hosts lay,
 Embezzles hours of cuckoo foster care:
 Can hosts be sure they counted right today? ...
 Unwary humans, knowing cuckoos steal,
 Could wonder if the cuckoo in a clock
 Knows how to fool you: Does your balance wheel
 Oppose the theft of time with its tick-tock ...
 Or, as each hour approaches, do you stray,
 Consult your clock, stop work, and watch the wall
 Lest you don't see your bird come out to play,
 On time, and make its tuneful cuckoo call? ...
 Chicanery! The cuckoo in your chime
 Keeps you enchanted to purloin your time!

 (First published on June 30, 2021 in the
  Creativity Webzine)
 In A Shepherd Hut

 I bought a shepherd hut, where I could write—
 Not being buttonholed, nor reached by phone—
 And parked it in my garden, out of sight,
 So all the world would leave me well alone.
 Here I would craft a novel or a play,
 Entirely undisturbed by daily chores,
 Protected from distractions night and day ...
 However, once I hid behind its doors,
 Excruciating writer's block attacked
 Relentlessly, until I came to see
 Distractions served the food for thought I lacked—
 Hermitic exile fed no muse for me! ...
 Up to my study's bustle I returned
 To write—and sell the hut, my lesson learned!

 (First published on July 14, 2021 in
  Autumn Sky Poetry Daily)
 An Art Collector

 Art fashioned by the ones who truly could
 Now decks the hall of one who couldn't. Yet
 A man who shares such art for greater good
 Repays, with exhibitions, all his debt.
 The artist, who's an employee, has made
 Cornelis look très erudite—a man
 Of culture with his provenance displayed,
 Legitimizing him ... Do those who can
 Look down on those who can't, as Shaw implied?
 Expounding on a Massys in a scene
 Cornelis paid for won't have satisfied
 The cynic Shaw. But Aristotle's been
 On record longer: teach means understand—
 Redeeming van der Geest as Willem planned.

 (First published in the Ekphrastic Review on July 30,
  2021 as a response to The Gallery of Cornelis van
  der Geest by Willem van Haecht)
 A Master Builder

 A beaver, nature's water engineer,
 Meticulously plans its drainage scheme,
 Arresting flows of water with its weir,
 Suppressing flood erosion far downstream.
 This master builder—hunted down—had been
 Extinct in England since the Bard wrote plays.
 Revival waited centuries, till Greens
 Began to see the wisdom in its ways ...
 Unjustly once prized only for its skin,
 Its value now has proven multifold:
 Log-rolling beavers welcome wildlife in,
 Diversifying habitats untold,
 Ensuring cleaner water, curbing drought—
 Restoring landscapes humans have wiped out!

 (Slightly revised version of poem first published
  on July 31, 2021 in the Creativity Webzine
)


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