Sonnet

 

SONNET

 

I have never written a sonnet, and I never would,

But for the memory of our love I will write one to remember.

You are eternal summer—lovely, temperate, good—

I will love you countless ways, and after death, better.

I love you close, as your hand on my chest is my hand,

Or as your eyes, the sweet moment I fall asleep, close.

I love you white, as a desert of pure, relentless sand,

Or green, as the mountain heights of fresh water flows.

You are the bursting hope of dawn, dusk in luminous desire.

You are the abounding body of a river, rain falling to console.

You are William’s immortal fancy, Elizabeth Barrett’s fire,

Pablo’s darkling secret between the shadow and the soul.

Forswear my foolish oath—it is folly to say never!

Our sonnet and our love will now abide forever.

 

Our sonnet and our love will now abide forever.

The Journey Continues

 

THE JOURNEY CONTINUES

As of June 28, 2025, my poetry blog has received 210,000 visits and counting. In thousands,

 

USA 72.6

Philippines 33.8

Singapore 28.2

Hong Kong 17.4 

Sweden 5.30

...and others

 

 

Milestone

 

MILESTONE

As of May 29, 2025, my poetry blog has received 200,000 visits and counting. In thousands,

 

USA 71.9

Philippines 33.7

Singapore 27.7

Hong Kong 16.5

Sweden 5.26

...and others

Kilometer 0, Manila, Philippines

Ianuarie by Claudia Serea – Analysis and Commentary

 

 IANUARIE BY CLAUDIA SEREA – ANALYSIS AND COMMENTARY

IANUARIE by Claudia Serea

 

The old year is dead! 

Dead, cold, gone.

 

We drifted and swam through its wide river, 

what a survival story that was. 

 

And now we cling to the new one 

like dawn to eyelashes, 

 

like song 

to guitar strings. 

 

Like smoke 

to fire. 

 

https://www.issues.righthandpointing.net/136a

 

—Claudia Serea, “Ianuarie,” right hand pointing, retrieved January 1, 2020

The poem introduces itself forcefully with sentiment in exclamation and then steps through a series of highly perceptive, striking metaphors, closing incisively. Brilliant.

No idea why the poem’s title is in Romanian.

 

 

...like song to guitar strings.