I find myself quite frequently writing about birds as an extended metaphor. Asking myself why, I could only answer; they're beautiful - they keep things simple - and they mate for life.

To write meaningful poetry when challenged is quite an experience. This poem was a combination of two challenges - not so plain and simple.

First, a paradelle is a specific repetition of lines, with each stanza ending in two lines which use all, and only all, of the words in the previous lines. Also, the last stanza uses all, and only all, of the words from all previous stanzas . . . Secondly, I had to use the phrase "when faced with your face."

ACKKKKKK!

"Love makes the world go 'round" - I've heard that before. I think, perhaps, that there's a significantly growing sector of the cybersphere where the motto really should be amended to say, "Love makes the NET go 'round." Don't ya think?

My obsession for sunshine somehow seems to surface in most of my poetry. This SonNet is no exception. The sun even seems to have found a way to brighten every "online" day. Spending considerable time online recently has given me a new insight into the potential depth of relationships begotten "OnNet". Perhaps "Sunshine" and "Love" are synonymous? I do seem to have found the "inspiration" I need to do some extensive writing lately. I'm not sure why, but this SonNet just seemed to write itself........

I've always been a morning person. "Up and at 'em", as they say. My daughter, Stacie, is quite the opposite. She spent many a late night keeping me awake when she was a child. Now, it's her turn. Her little Cassandra has an agenda of her own. So, in loving revenge, I dedicate this to you, Stacie . . .

This poem, perhaps more than any other I have written, exemplifies my philosophy of life.

I value my friends, and I don't want to lose any of them. People have a tendency to dive into relationships too deeply, too quickly. Euphoria does eventually find its way into reality, and many valuable friends are lost as a result. True friendship can endure forever if we are wise enough to recognize its place in our hearts.

The kids are grown. I'm living alone! Peace and quiet, right?

You'd think that would be the case. Think again! So much for "My EmptiNesst", or "Solitude", or any other poem I've written about being by myself. I concede!

Mowing the lawn is one of my least favorite things to do with my time. I'd rather write a poem about it (rationalizing, of course). Since this writing, under protest, I have been forced to mow my yard.

Never fear, however, those stalwart dandelions are returning.

I love my children. They are the "Sunshine of my Life". It's so exhilarating to nurture them and to see them grow into fine young adults, isn't it? Of course, there are always those "special" stories from their childhood days. We remember vividly, and we tell the story, time and time again. This is one of those stories . . . and, I promise . . . There isn't one iota of exaggeration here. Every bit of it is true! ! ! !

My basement has a tendency to go from a state of pseudo-clean to a dank, dingy, deluge of debris in what seems like a matter of moments.

What happens down there, anyway? I don't spend any time there. Who's making that great big mess? I've been thinking about sending out the "Cellar Dweller" Patrol to resolve it once and for all.

Does anyone really like to do that dreaded cleaning in their basement? Doesn't it always seem like there's got to be some sort of malevolent force deterring us from ever completing the job? Well, perhaps we just need to see things from a new perspective - with a little levity.