Dorothea Barth
Prose, Poetry, Music
Sonnets
Welcome to Dorothea Barth's Sonnet Gallery
The Sonnets Gallery is part of Dorothea Barth's Poetry Gallery. Posted below are sonnets in the Elizabethan style.
Two of Dorothea Barth's sonnets (Asilomar and Rosewood to Redwood) were published in the 2010 issue of Yale University's SAGE Magazine.
Please contact the author if interested in publishing or licensing a sonnet by Dorothea Barth.
Remembered Flight
by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2008
Wise raven with sad wings that fate has shorn,
Though kindness brought you to your painted home,
From redwood’s towering dome your nest is torn,
No longer its green canopy to roam;
Far lower falls your ripe fruit, freshly seeded,
Soft swinging perch gives injured feathers rest,
While gleaming wingful kin soar unimpeded,
The well-intentioned wingless care their best;
Yet though you cannot soar you still can glide,
Your knocks, your whispers reaching far above,
Where joyful feathered choruses alight,
Serene with songs of springtime’s fleeting love;
Oh raven can you comprehend that I
Have also wished that I might one day fly?
Sunning
by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2008
Though camouflaging with the floating log,
Reptilian roundness cannot quite disguise,
As morning rays break through the morning fog,
Two traveling turtles sun and socialize;
Devoted ducks seek comfort from beyond,
Alight upon the unassuming ark,
Suspended in the sleepy greenlit pond,
Suffused with algae in a golden park;
Now silver feathers, watchful wings alight,
A solitary heron’s sweeping surge,
Logbound toward a favored landing site,
Claims from the fleeing ducks their precious perch;
At noon no sunning birds afloat remain,
A transformed log, a seven-turtle train!
Dropped Letter
by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2008
The waterfront too wonderful among
The gulls, the geese, the seals, the boats at play
To ruminate on choices gone awrong
Events that might have turned some other way;
What discipline evaded, chances flown,
What work undone, what minutes yet remain,
What spirit undiscovered, love unsown,
What hampers moments’ rise anew again?
A white bird lands, round ripples emanate,
The patterns softly spreading undisturbed,
Cascading feathers standing unafraid,
The circles ever widening yet unheard;
We both were still the moment that we met
At once the churning R fell from regret
Alterations
by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2008
Mosaic altar, I am told, will change
As revelry with thirst and sun combines
And wedding guests their sentiments arrange
To vineyard fountain pouring forth blush wines;
Defeated dragonfly to ants immune
Love’s triumph is the message of this day
My bow is taut, my violin in tune
My stage arranged to keep the heat away
Grand estate whose master wears an air
Of jovial server, lecherous intents,
Clandestine sighs for maidens young and fair
Whose sweet ensemble to the bride attends.
To clean this home her days are occupied,
Tonight, instead, a glorious, gleeful bride.
Questions for the Chalice
by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2009
Perplexed, uncomprehending I beheld
My chalice standing empty without fruit
Its procreative destiny rebelled
Amidst its hollow echoes questions root:
O chalice, how to fill you to the brim!
Would you prefer a different type of brew?
Archetype of all that’s feminine,
I’d heed your predilections if I knew;
“Serene,” I think, is all the chalice said
‘Twas then that music flowed, a wondrous note,
And verse and prose converged within my head
Until the chalice nearly overflowed;
A simple chalice, filled with liquid pure
Reminds me of my contemplative cure
Survival
by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2010
They scramble by the dozens here to feed
Entangled feathers, pearl and charcoal grey
In search of gifts amidst the unkempt weed
Perhaps some human discards tossed their way
A bit of pretzel, crumbs of once fresh bread
Uncooked spaghetti left to pulverize
They battle loud, but grief they soon forget
Content with just a portion of the prize
Their bellies full, they're free their wings to flex
We humans with our taste for finer fare
Must strategize survival more complex
Sustained our struggle, home or heart to spare
For warm bread, wine, and pasta cooked just right,
We toil each day and then forsake the flight
Copyright 2009 Dorothea Barth. All rights reserved.
