Sonnet – Michael Maxwell Steer

A Psalmist’s Sonnet

My tongue is the pen of a ready writer said the psalmist.

Jane, whatever I say can’t capture the length And depth of what you’ve meant to me.

The lanes are lined with may as ne’er before.What further proof is needed of rebirth?The scents of spring my senses…

Obedience is a path sometimes barely discernible, yet sensed by the intuitive.

Now, I’ll never tear the skies asunder,Nor disperse the morning fog with sun:My chance to snatch the age’s transient glamourLost,…

A crack within the monolith of thoughtProduces new vistas – which seem at first alarming. We’re so held by forms…

Sleep is like a file that won’t download. Sometimes it gives you hours to write an ode

It takes you suddenly by surprise,A fleeting long-forgotten thought,Memories once dismissed as naughtNow hold you fast as in a vice.…

Sometimes there are no words but only music.

So beautifully grown to who are, Unlike any woman else I’ve known.