Category Archives: sauna sonnets

Desert Seven

Israel, born Jacob, lived in desert heat,
Where at the well he and Rachel did meet.
I sit in sauna heat, thoughts turned to him.
Surely his heart filled with vigor and vim,
As he bargained for Rachel as his bride;
Seven years work, then she'd be at his side.
Fast-forward to appointed wedding day,
Israel finds out too late: he was betrayed.
Leah now his wife; Laban struck new deal:
Another seven for Rachel's hand for real.
Israel now juggles wife and idea:
Courting Rachel while married to Leah.
The solution for Israel was simplex;
The execution by hearts made complex.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore

Winning Goal

Author’s Note: I started this one in August, nearly finished it, but then started running and biking again, so I didn’t get to the sauna at the gym much for a bit. Having decided to go to the sauna after a weightlifting session at home, I’ve finally finished this sauna sonnet.

Amidst cheers and jeers galore, foot cocked back
To make Newtons and kilopascals meet.
Aim and power, trajectory complete,
Foot releases to gain the goal they lack.
Perchance 'tis football, soccer, or rugby
Fills your mind? If so, from violence refrain,
I implore; please don't let your mates mug me.
When I explain, your laughter please contain.
As you may imagine, the ball went in
The wrong goal, not by wrong trajectory.
It was block inelastic that sent in,
He failed to compute the stuff vector, see.
It was but a simple game of foosball,
And object blocked might have been a goofball.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore

Teepee Valves

Teepee valves, miniscule locks inside veins,
Unknown, unappreciated, obscure;
The sanguine tour direction they ensure:
Forward, up; gravity's effect contain.
Exercise neglected, too much caffeine,
Sleep deprivation, veins age premature;
Apple core, root beer belly, I assure,
And with poor hydration, a gap between
tiny valves creates, wider veins attained.
William Osler's band says there is no cure.
Root causes they ignore. Patents secure,
Full reversal causes bottom line pain.
So hope, so act I, reverse conditions
Which brought me here, miracle volition.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore

Death by Orchestra

The strings were the most innocuous things,
Certain I was that no harm they would bring.
The mallets soft on timpani have bark,
But bite requires they miss their mark.
Horn may signal the hunt, but here it sings.
Trumpet's clarion call? Heralds a king.
Piccolo or flute? Shrill but a mere lark.
Clarinet, mellow trumpet, contrast stark.
Bassoon, formidable branch, trouble yet?
Double reed; not even on a long bet.
Trombones three, start with t, long, low, slide punch?
Let's talk over brunch if that was your hunch.
So come again to innocuous strings.
Viola turns, makes the bell for me ring.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore

Vacant Echoes

Adductors: his vacant stare sees right past
But sees just short of bench where sits some lass
As she works her core, so through to her core
His eyes pierce as some demigod of lore.
Intrigued, she wonders what his eyes might see, 
But his eyes see nothing to bring him vim,
Just another human at the same gym.
Drenched in pensive fluid: wooden bench's salt sea;
Patiently replaying past episodes,
His focus lost in the past—Heaven's odes—
Sees another young woman in his mind:
Dark hair, middle part, bun or tail behind.
Unspoken echoes cloud the mind, her face
Unseen in vacant echoes of the night.

Author’s note: this takes some bits and pieces from an unpublished poem that evolved over the course of about a year. One version of that poem took a dark turn after six or seven stanzas. One version was too much of a “when you know what you don’t know” situation. The most recent version of that poem doesn’t end as hopefully as I would like, though I think it does capture the sentiment of “things are falling apart, no matter what I try to do to hold them together,” or, “this is not how I pictured things would be a year ago” with an unstated “can we go back a year and get a do-over?” I generally liked that poem, but it was maybe too personal, and in some minds, lacking context, could be seriously misunderstood. So, I’ve opted to canabalize that one in favor of other art.

My first attempt at this poem, on the other hand, was the inspiration for Trashed.

Copyright © 2024 H.K. Longmore

Trashed

It was too personal, said far too much.
As for that one, I liked the imagery,
But it had no structure or rhymes as such,
And got no boost for lack of symmetry.
And that one, that one I tried to salvage
But the sands of time have not dulled the pain,
Nor have torrential rains become flame's bane.
So the bit grinder its soul will ravage.
Add to the heap this one I won't retouch;
Not that one, to which I cling: cripple's crutch.
Keep those on dreams that I've yet to obtain,
But let go those that are far too arcane.
Spare those that speak of my little cabbage,
Or of Christian journey telemetry.

Author’s note: i started a poem the other day in which I tried to salvage another that i have no intention of publishing, with a note explaining:

“This takes some bits and pieces from an unpublished poem that evolved over the course of about a year. One version of that poem took a dark turn after six or seven stanzas. One version was too much of a “when you know what you don’t know” situation. The most recent version of that poem doesn’t end as hopefully as I would like, though I think it does capture the sentiment of “things are falling apart, no matter what I try to do to hold them together,” or, “this is not how I pictured things would be a year ago” with an unstated “can we go back a year and get a do-over?”  I generally liked that poem, but often end up having to explain myself to some of my followers, and it was maybe too personal, and in some minds, lacking context, could be seriously misunderstood. So, I’ve opted to canabalize that one in favor of other art.

Ultimately I put that in the WordPress trash, providing the inspiration for this poem.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore

The Moth and the Post-Workout Shower

Laundry room: sweaty clothes deposited.
Bathroom: bathtub water set not too hot.
Bathtub: shower stop up, cold posited,
Stand back, let that flow pass me by, I wot.
Under shower: water warmed, start the soak.
Tile wall: crawling upward, a smallish moth.
Amygdala: spray it off, spray the bloke!
Basal ganglia: let live, be not wroth.
Under shower: turn my back and lather.
Cortex prefrontal: rinsing fixation.
Window sill tile lip: condensation.
ADD: watch drip lip-water gathered.
Tile wall: moth takeoff, on silence bent.
Water drips: direct hit! Down with intent.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore

Beach Wreck

Author’s note: I initially titled this “#4” because it was the fourth of my “sauna sonnet” series, and I was trying to develop a habit of writing sonnets in the sauna during my post-strength-training sauna sessions. Lest some future historian discover my poetry and chide me for such an unimaginative title, I decided to give it a different name.

Across the distance of days long and dark,
And through fields littered with chords from our past,
Solace seek in knowledge, high water mark,
Try to make joy brought by your grand smiles last.
But it's been so long, the miles fade away,
White sands pass o'er the wings of time, beach-wrecked.
Waves at my feet mock recall of that day,
Digital palms lessen rip tide's effect.
I do not fear the shame of going back,
Nor the possibility I yet lack,
But if I see your face never again
I'll let sands trade sanity for bliss,
Dreaming always of that last parting kiss
We never had, through one lifetime or ten.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore

Hanging On Too Long

Sentimental doesn't do it justice,
It lacks the depth of hope unrelenting.
Delusional doesn't account, just this
Doubt for which I'm constantly repenting.
Hope springs eternal, but muddied waters
Are wont to flow from a well nigh to dry.
The flame, of hope, of love, burns far hotter
Though it be quenched by eyes too dry to cry.
Yet in holding on too long, I may lose:
I may not see missed opportunity;
May not catch meaning of your fleeting glance;
Until it's too late, and time seals my fate—
But I'll hope and pray that you may perchance
On rethought, let Cupid's arrow find mate.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore

Silence, Ye Fears of the Avoidants!

For my sister, who correctly guessed this was inspired by her situation when she read it.

It was smooth sailing when first you two met,
You clicked as random parts of happy dream!
You knew no commitment, to make you fret
Or stare down the dream, in eyes a harsh gleam.
But something made it real, took scene from seams
Of dream; into realms of possible let.
Reality, to your head a hard beam,
Or in your eye it makes vision all wet.
Now your system's in fight, flight, fawn, or freeze.
To confront your fears, excruciating.
To run away, not look back, it's a breeze.
Break-up could be ameliorating.
The solution's not terse, won't fit in verse.
Confront fears, or worse, relation in hearse.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore

Saline Rivers, Fresh Tides

"Come and play with us!' His fellows called out.
"Come dance with us!" Peers tried to remove doubt.
He put up no fuss, nor yet did he yield.
They knew not the reason future revealed.
Me, now, options weighed, I'd like to have played;
I'd like to have leapt and danced through the glade.
But, uncomfortable in my own skin,
I had saline rivers to cross.
For the victor is the field,
But also for the beaten down.
Both, one day, will wear a crown.
And know ye that I ye kin?
I float no better on fresh tides than salty currents;
My welcomings of the same, recurrent.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore