November by William Cullen Bryant

Sep 19, 2016 | Autumn, Sonnet, The Work of Greater Minds, Victorian Sonnet

Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun! One mellow smile through the soft vapory air, Ere, o’er the frozen earth, the loud winds run, Or snows are sifted o’er the meadows bare. One smile on the brown hills and naked trees, And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths...

Roll On Columbia: a sonnet for our tenth anniversary

Jul 1, 2016 | Aging, Erotic, Gus Stevens, Love, Sinner's Psalms vol. 2, Sonnet, Victorian Sonnet

The bargain wine and complimented treats were finished hours ago: the hotel’s gift for our tenth anniversary. Now, as we shift our bodies beneath borrowed cotton sheets, could there be a better time to rehearse the old arguments, those familiar friends? Our...

Thou Hast Made Me, and Shall Thy Work Decay? by John Donne

Jun 6, 2016 | Italian Sonnet, The Work of Greater Minds, Victorian Sonnet

Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste, I run to death, and death meets me as fast, And all my pleasures are like yesterday; I dare not move my dim eyes any way, Despair behind, and death before doth cast Such terror,...

On Killing a Cat While Driving Home

Mar 27, 2016 | Grief, Gus Stevens, Regret, Songs for the Dead, Sonnet, Victorian Sonnet

He’d sprinted blind into the open road and she didn’t have time to steer away. I told myself of mercy, something owed, when I drove the second car to hit the stray. I had aimed for the neck to make it quick yet still felt all the worse for paying it. The...

I Did Not Need Malice to Murder

Mar 21, 2016 | Gus Stevens, Humor, Rhymed Couplets, Songs for the Dead, Sonnet, Victorian Sonnet

I did not need malice to murder the little Juniper, thin in its pot. She said, “Have you watered?” and I heard her though earnest and honest, I simply forgot. One can forget for a day, there is pardon, But if one forgets for a week, maybe not. True in love...

For Adam: a sonnet composed at church on the morning that I learned he’d taken his life

Mar 13, 2016 | Grief, Gus Stevens, Songs for the Dead, Sonnet, Victorian Sonnet

I remember, at fourteen, when I dropped my mother’s paring knife into the lake, how it seemed that time had slowed, may have stopped– but a moment too late. The sudden ache in my arms, too slow and too short to reach through watery darks, a blind hope to...