Sonnet Central Submissions


Return to sonnet submission page
Sonnet Central Home Page

I'll Be Regretful

back to top

I'll be regretful if I seek them in vain,
Songsters that so softly tunes to me bring
And give me pleasures without any pain,
As when the first of colors come in spring.
The fruits of life are all in shades of green,
That nature gives when first she is in bloom
And all there is of feelings in between,
Until the autumn comes as fallen groom.
With colors darker laying on each way,
Like dove sleeping silently under wing;
Softly and white in winter's overlay
When birds have flown and nature can not sing.
It is like love that comes of feelings first
And then in yearnings on and on will thirst.

Manipulated Hatred

back to top

Please mute all sounds of laughter when she wakes
You must turn on emotions that hurt her
The opaque petals are dead from the hate
You dispel like a tsunami of water

What has become of that sweet darling girl?
The speck of truth from her eyes has vanished
A dragon has arisen from the pearl
Once trapped inside a vivid oyster of light

She has found another way of living
This life you struggle to find meaning for
Perhaps she has difficulty giving
The gift of loving you pretend to adore

She is wiser then you will ever be
It is you that is destroying her halfheartedly

Tempestuous Song

back to top

Surrounding tranquil splendor, wishfulness
Of twilight becomes overtaken, alone
The flicking wicks that play upon darkness
Dance, unstable shadows speak harsh a moan.

Nature, whole and disturbed, entraps taunting
Thoughts, plaguing moon and stars cloud virtues light,
Consoling blades of grass, oh sweet exuding
Perfume of thee, so cherished dark is night.

Churning truth disheartens thy untouchd soul,
Somber wind blows silent sweet songs, the fallen
Cannot endure the dark, its greedy hole
Willfully consumes the weak and solemn.

Encircling night, so belove'd a play,
Divulge your untold secrets to me where I lay.


back to top

"I told Hans to bring her to the big house,
But Papa Sambo would not let her go.
They'd just jump'd the broom, and she was his spouse,
So he told Hans, 'Tell, Massah, I said no!'
Papa Sambo was my biggest nigger.
He was all muscle and stood six-foot-four.
So when he rush'd us, Hans pulled the trigger.
Hell, black blood leaves no stain on a dirt floor.
Then we dragged the black lass to my chamber,
And we tied all her limbs to the brass rails,
And Hans laugh'd, 'I'd love to help you tame her,'
I must say half the fun lay in her wails.
Oh, I slept well till that day Sarah said,
'I've cut your ripe red neck, Massah, you're dead!'"

Black Churches Burn back to top

A nightmare from my too familiar past
Has me in a cold sweat from head to toe
For in this dream, I hear a shotgun blast
Then see Four Horsemen race off in a row.
Each imp is Klad in Klothes of Kotton white
Upon their skulls each wears a dunces crown
And in one hand each bears a bright torch light
Which echoes off each Fiendish sore-filled frown
Throughout the starless night, this ghostLee crew
Wreaks Birth of a Nation II,
And o'er their wake of flames, I catch this cry,
'Niggahs, the rebel flag will always fly.'
Oh, in my restless fight, I toss and turn,
While in the regal South, black churches burn!

© Bernard A. Quarterman, Jr. 2002

Sonnet Central Home Page