Sonnet 30

by Thomas Davis

I think about the moment when I heard
about each grandchild’s birth and how I felt.
The world, each time, took flight as if it dealt
in glory: Like the nests of bowerbirds,
red, blazing sunsets, Chaucer’s ancient words,
the stillness of a lake of glacier’s melt,
or bardic songs sung by the ancient Celts
that conjured life as Gaia bloomed and stirred.

Each face, in turn, became an individual self
that slowly grew toward what they could be:
Not pottery or flowers put upon a shelf,
but living human beings not contained, but free.
Inside this grief I cannot find myself,
but hear grandchildren laughing, wild with glee.

17 Comments

Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis

17 responses to “Sonnet 30

  1. This is lovely, a pure snapshot of love and emotion. Beautiful!

  2. Can I help you through your grief? Love David

  3. Wonderful poem. My sons are both getting close to that age when we think about grandchildren… they are both very close to wonderful girls… Your poem makes me yearn for such as you have felt. I wrote a poem to an imagined grandchild (both my sons were born after my father had died) that I can only know from my spirit…. it’s called “Lovesong.”
    Thanks for the poem!

  4. This should be celebratory but I feel such a deep sadness in there. I am sorry. My this new year help you grow through this.

  5. Julie Catherine

    Thomas, this is a beautiful poem – I really like the reference to Chaucer; the juxtaposition of ancient lore and the beauty of nature. The lines, “Not pottery or flowers put upon a shelf, but living human beings not contained, but free”, are excellent, love them! There is both joy and a palpable poignancy to this wonderful write that is extremely appealing to me. Very well done, I really enjoyed reading this. ~ Julie

  6. I rejoice with you in all these grandchild images. I mourn with you for whatever the cause of the grief! The laughter and the love of those young lives will heal, I can pretty well promise you!

  7. Caddo Veil

    Hello, my friends! Well, I’m now going to have to accept your unspoken challenge to try a sonnet in the near future–however, that’s not why I’m knocking at your window: I’ve nominated you for the “Seven x Seven Link Award”. (I can almost hearing you going, “arrgghh”–and that’s okay–you might like to read what I wrote about you in my “acceptance speech”, though!) God bless you richly today!

    • Caddo, you are such a wonderful person. Now I’ve got all kinds of nominations to catch up on, but it always takes time. Ethel and I appreciate you so much. Your poetry is always worth the time it takes to go to your blog. But more awards?

  8. Thomas this is a beautiful sonnet, one that touches an ache of emptiness within me. And yet as I read I hear the laughter of small children and I smile.

  9. Thomas, I was directed to your page by Julie and today this was exactly what I needed to read.THIS is what instilled the love of poetry into my life, Poems such as your sonnet.This not only portrays the fragility of life,but the joys as well.I know the sorrow of losing a child and I know the incredible joy of what life still has to offer.I look forward to reading more of your poetry health permitting

  10. ManicDdaily

    I would say,yes, that you love sonnets. Great job!

  11. Such joy in grandchildren – they truly help to ameliorate the shades of grief we carry just beneath the skin of our souls. I love this sonnet, Thomas – the kaleidoscopic of references to the “ancients”, the greats in literary and legendary history – thus are the delights of grandchildren!!

  12. Caddo did her job well. Yours’ is a most lovely blog. Thomas, this is stunningly beautiful.
    Debbie

  13. My found beauty in grief is the art of healing, even as my tears fall as I read your sonnet. You said the things I struggle to express. Thank you Thomas.

  14. Career Partners International Buffalo | Niagara

    This is exquisitely heartrendering (in joy and sorrow). I experienced the celebration, amazement, and letting go. But mostly the freedom that every new life is entitled to.

  15. This is very nicely done: such a natural voice that the metre and the rhyme scheme are heard as if purely in the background and you make every line count.
    Interesting how that penultimate line brings the reader up short, suddenly wondering about the grief, and then sent back to reread the earlier lines.

  16. A lovely piece, beautiful and meaningful on more than one level. Well wrought.

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