Take one [sonnet]
I set out riding once at dusk, by bike
riding a cemetery’s tranquil trails.
God’s wonders peeking forth from evening veils
I mused along vague themes: Life—and suchlike…
Rounding one swift curve a vision assailed:
three nubile maids in nylon, fresh from the pool.
passing this trinity, I—the mad fool,
Beheld three graces; reverie prevailed.
Midst sepulchers I wondered at such sights…
Was I Paris? dazzled by their beauty,
my mind’s eye grew distracted in duty.
The resurrection glimpsed: angelic sprites !
(the third go-by my thoughts fell down to earth;
carnal, I scanned their suits of flesh for worth…)
Take two [rhymed couplets]
While I rode out one summer eve through a cemetery’s peaceful cheer
I chanced upon three suburban maids in Lycra swimming gear
fresh from the pool among the tombs… or fresh from the tombs to revisit earth?
Arrested now my thoughts, I passed in resurrected beauty’s birth.
My sight and mind strange tricks did play. I couldn’t believe my eyes
amidst the dead, upon green paths, I lingered on their graceful thighs.
I pedaled fast and asked the Lord: what brings such lovely damsels here?
Around I rode, then passed again. As visions surged, the heavens drew near.
A little further now they’d strayed from where I first had seen them. Then
their brightening smiles stopped time. And so I passed them yet again…
Distracted now from holy thoughts I mused upon their girlish faces
[Thus Paris faltered before the three, confusing goddesses with graces]
What led them thus to flit so much alive among the verdant graves?
A thousand questions surged that verged on blasphemy. Still Paris raves
of lissome bodies on the grass, the bright-eyed smiles of lovely lasses
naive in nylon innocence, like Botticellian trespasses…
But they were simply walking home, and took a shortcut through the grave
and they were young, but now I’m old—and a dying renaissance knave.
Take three [haiku]
Early dusk graveyard:
Three nubile girls, wet swimsuits