A Wish Ungranted

Seconds to minutes to hours to night and day.
Torrents and torrents of tickings and tickings away.
How I wished their onslaught I could slay
As in your arms of lingering warmth I lay
And I could be empowered just once to stay
Unhastened, serene; Time miffed by its grim delay.
Dear Sonneteer

I wonder - can you take me to a world,
Utopia unfurled, where ladies fair
In billowed gowns on suitors' arms are swirled?
Around, around they twirl.  They dance on air.
And each, with hair upswept and well-coiffured,
Sidelong looks to handsome sir does give;
Then coyly turns (a smile is contoured).
Lust is held at bay.  Romance they live!

And in this bygone era, gentlemen
Practice rites of courtship with aplomb.
But mightiest is he who wields a pen.
To poetry his maiden does succumb!
So whisper euphony into my ear,
And lose us both in time, dear sonneteer.

On our skin gleams pearl white sand. Dreamily
I gaze into your eyes. In the sheen
of setting sun there comes the blue
of waves from sea deep as our
love, caressing land. As
stars now glimmer in
a magic sky,
I shimmer
Love Sonnet Valentine

My love, your eyes, two sunflowers, get bright
whenever I just walk into a room.
They follow me and keep me in their sight.
How I adore those pretty eyes in bloom.

My love, words uttered from your perfect lips
are precious pearls like treasures from the sea.
Each syllable in honeyed cadence drips
a nectar which is sustenance for me.

My love, your face, pale moon when lights are low,
appears as though a beacon in my dreams.
I'm mellowed by your aura's softened glow;
your skin the texture cream reflects its beams.

And when you bathe, my love, your locks of gold
spread round a splendid vision I behold.
Oh To Write

Oh, to write a sonnet on my one true light-o'-love,
To write a song to make the warbler sing-
A melody that to your eye would bring
Tears of fond remembrance for your own true well-thought-of.
Oh, to flood ravines with bursts of spring!

How do I employ the moon and stars in verse
And conjure with them messages to measure
the merit of the poet's brightest treasure
When I know not of love's allure nor passion to coerce?
How do I stir light from the obscure?

Oh, to etch a portrait of the one upon my pillow
With words that fall so sweetly on the ear
Of he with gentle soul who cares to hear
The moan of restless wind through pine and willow
Or of me, a billow rising to my dear.
Summer Love #2: Parting at Equinox

The equinox has come to even out
the nights and days and make them equal length.
I lie here now, as always, most devout,
but Sun, my love, you so are losing strength!

It used to be in early afternoon
we two would meet. . . your passion at its peak.
I played as if I were your small cocoon
enveloped by your heat, which now grows weak.

Oh, Sun, I miss those times your ardor surged
for hours on end.  I, prostrate, took you in.
And later, close to evening, I emerged -
your monarch, tinged with scarlet for our sin.

Your vigor that I crave now dissipates.
Farewell!  For your return your mistress waits!
By Any Other Name

If love could have a color, I suppose
it wouldn't be just any common shade.
I'd name it for the colors of the rose.
In heaven's hues this flower is arrayed!

From chaste love's hush of pink to heady rush
that's shown by cardinal or crimson red,
the rose reveals the grades of ardor's blush
unto the time it's thought that passion's fled.

But in the tint of amaranth, the fire
endures; in purple deep it can transcend,
while yellow blooms in bliss that does not tire,
and white's fidelity will have no end.

Though black the bud, a red will grow thereof.
By any other name, the rose is love.
Poems are copyrighted by Andrea Dietrich
(For Love of Day, For Love of Night)

In shadows' veils, at end of night,
sweet Moon removes her modest light
and softly, yet again, exhales
at end of night, in shadows' veils.

As she departs, her love's released
to climb the stairway to the east.
They cannot meet to share their hearts.
Her love's released as she departs.

She watches him while hid from view,
the way he kisses morning's dew,
and sees gold rays spill from his rim.
While hid from view, she watches him.

Sad Moon, alone for centuries,
with awe has watched Sun leave, cerise,
while she, afar. . . how cold she's grown!
For centuries, sad moon alone.

She takes his place so he may rest.
And though forlorn, she's always dressed
in lace, for Mistress Moon has grace.
So he may rest, she takes his place.

For love of night, for love of day,
she can't implore him that he sway
from course.  To be apart's their plight.
For love of day, for love of night.
Goddess of Night

Where Luna treads
are silver threads,
the wisps of clouds that slide
through sky of night,
and shining white,
they part so she might glide
serenely through
dark twilight’s blue
with slow and regal grace.
And to our world,
with aspect pearled,
she turns a beaming face.

She casts her glow
on those below
who love her mystery. . .
who reverence her
as with allure,
she dances on the sea.
The lovers sigh
as by and by,
the night fades into day.
And in their dreams
she softly gleams
before she slips away.
Prairie Whispers

We hear the prairie whispering
when meadow lark is on the wing
and pipit echoes a refrain.
Sweet solitude is his domain.

The sigh of breeze through blades of wheat;
a distant farm in summer’s heat -
still life. . . but for the shifting vane.
Sweet solitude is its domain.

Midst blazing stars of purple hue,
I murmur while caressing you.
The soft wind, moaning, strokes the plain.
Sweet solitude is our domain.

We hear the prairie whispering. . .
Sweet solitude is my domain.