Sonnet LX

Your nine-foot roots are terrifying pains,
Conniving, selfish, wicked little brutes.
You blatantly ignore my crude disdain!
(Perhaps I’d love you more if you had fruit.)

But no, you cursed weed of legends old!
With floating seeds, persistent, vile still -
Your children multiply like bread’s blue mould.
Not mortals nor immortals bend your will.

But still what are you but a harmless plant?
We slay you all in vain all day and thus
we make our lives so difficult and rant
whilst you’re so easy to maintain – no fuss!

Just what we need – more hardship in our lives…
but Life’s a dandelion, so – survive!

Sonnet LIX

the hills are green forever here, my dear
and ships will dock in seas of my domain
and happiness will dwell here evermore
and birds will sing and suns shall never wane

the hills are we, eternal mounts of joy

[Except, you know not that the other’s you.]
[Except this world of joy will never be.]

Unless this joyous, mutual love is true!
Unless, you too, at night will call my name
and listen to the echoes sweetly still!
Unless, you too, contrive the times we meet
and hide the burning passion that I quill!

To think, you will but read this probably
and still not know I love you witlessly.

Sonnet LVIII

Ah Fame, you were my King of long ago.
What are you now, I ask you, what are you?
You are a wretched beggar, on my streets,
Abandoned from my Kingdom, foul fool.

Ah Fame, you Tyrant, now I see your truth:

A bitter Trickster, digging cavities
for those of noble talent to fall through
and never see the light of modesty

You never crowned your subjects with fair crowns
(you never will, you idiotic prince)
you’ll always use your wiles to cheat our share

Of lowliness and honour, not a pinch!

It seems, when you had ruled my dim domain
you conned me for your own disastrous gain.

Sonnet LVII

Caught up in gloated glory, now I’m blind:
I think I’m much too good and much too great.
My work seems perfect, unattainable
Because my pride’s so strong it clouds my mind.

Ah Modesty, you virtuous maiden, you.
How difficult you are for me to seize...
How virginal and honest you are still…
How difficult to imitate and prove…

Alas, how sad, how sad for you, my dear.
You are the ultimate in virtue, yet ignored.
Shunned by society, by all you see -
Then, ignorant of you, their dreams are sheared.

Ha, cruel you are, you virtuous maiden, you!
The ones who spurn you spurn their fortune too!

Sonnet LVI

It saddened me to hear my brother say,
“There’s nothing here to do without T.V.”
When I was his age I played by myself.
I had no siblings yet and made up games.

I read, I made neat crafts and music too.
Inventing things to play is what I did.
And now I use my creativity
To write these sonnets and play piano too.

Alas! Will youth today not learn to use
Imagination as a tool and gift?
Will T.V. be all that they think is “fun”?
And reading, arts – will they be boring too?

Today’s society will atrophy
If life revolves around that damn T.V.

Sonnet LV

Oh Tree, how solemn and how still and staid,
A gentle giant, towering above.
For centuries you’ve stayed there solemnly,
So steadfast, standing in the wind and rain.

While proud birds make their nests, defacing you,
While showy squirrels race amongst your leaves,
You bend in mute agreement, concordant
And modestly, you dress in moderate hues.

Oh Tree, unwaveringly humble, still!
While birds will flit away and find new homes,
While squirrels bore themselves with petty plans –
You stay there, never proud and modest still.

While triviality and fancies flee,
Firm modesty endures like humble trees.

Sonnet LIV

Oblivion! How sweet and sharp the word!
Propinquity has brought us here these days.
But ignorance shall keep us far away.
Oblivion, you help but hurt my cause.

How sadly I do love this perfect friend,
And yet neglect will keep her far away.
But yet, my bashfulness, alack, each day!
Is glad oblivion shuts out my love.

These cursed pangs of love are my demise.
I see her here, all day and every day.
And yet love won’t relent, it won’t away.
Oblivion prevents it and increases it.

Oh, poor sad me, so hopelessly in love.
If only crude neglect would it remove.

Sonnet LIII

Get up, you lazy spawn of atrophy -
whose minds and bodies have no dignity.
You idle products of our selfish kind -
shut up, stop eating, talk but sensibly.

Please leave, and send us all to joy
You don’t deserve the treatment you employ.
We're worthy, but we rot and wait for beds,
While you take all, while you still do annoy.

It seems that folly and obesity,
Induced by sugars, fats, and dull T.V.
Beat brains and diligence and kindness too -
While purity has left society.

All lazy, stupid, ignorant, and fat.
What pulchritude! I can’t compare with that.

Sonnet LII

The rain will fall from Heaven in the spring
and dampen earth below and spirits too.
There seems to be descending gloom in spring
when droplets fall and rain makes earthly trips.

But ah, dear rain, you tap so rhythmically.
You comfort me at night and join my grief,
You join my madness, dripping constantly.
You nourish plants, quench nature’s dying thirst.

Ah, rain, you blessed gift that dulls my gloom.
No wonder we, for centuries, have prayed
for your return, that even makes blooms bloom.
My misaligned companion, cry your tears.

But may there be glad tears that fall in spring,
as birds, despite the rain, still sadly sing.

Sonnet LI

A veil has lifted; now I see the world.
How nice it is to be but finally free!
My dreary time as prisoner is past;
I look to future plans with joyous glee.

Ah! Prisoner I was to my own thoughts!
How dreadful to be swallowed in my mind.
Thank goodness I was rescued or I’d be
Completely lost - to craziness I’d wind.

Oh happy days, oh joyous life to live!
Where have you been when in my grief I cried?
Where were you when I scorned harsh happiness?
Where were you when my soul bled and bliss died?

Propinquity to death has made me glad
To be alive, these joyous days to have!

Sonnet L

And though through death my slumber is but reaped,
Eternity shall break my salvaged rest.
Though immortality will be my prayer
It kills the purpose of my death – to sleep.

Ah, long eternity will wait for me.
That dismal length of time where boredom lays.
I cannot help society or such
And human pleasures I could never see.

Eternity, a cruel and ugly word,
Which makes the thought of Heaven feebly dry.
If I was to but live for all of time
What uselessness and boredom I’d incur!

Oh, sad infinity, which is a lie.
In calm fulfilment I would rather die.

Sonnet XLIX

Let’s watch what little children see all day:
Those shows corrupt in content and in worth;
Cruel characters who sell crude violence
And constant ads for junk that to them pay.

Let’s see what adult females watch to-night:
Their soaps and scandals, filled with quick divorce,
“Celebrities”, promiscuous lives, and sex.
Thoughts slovenly, in every single plight.

Let’s view what patriarchs might watch to-day:
Their “news”, all biased, but believed as fact;
Those headlines, changing viewpoints constantly,
But recognized to keep all fears at bay.

Ah, television, foul, enticing ruse.
Through you morality and wit we lose.

Sonnet XLVIII

The sun is beating down so favourably!
Vacations all will take to happy lands.
The cars we drive pollute – but we don’t care!
They harm the future, but they harm not me!

The sun is beating down so violently.
Oh Africa! Lands of despair, of falling tears.
What have you done to warrant this?
Your children have no food nor families.

Two halves, one darkening, staggered home for all.
One sun, two frightful images compared.
While some eat dust, there’s others so obese
That helping’s action is too great for them.

We squander and we waste and stuff ourselves.
While others writhe in hear, we spoil ourselves.

Sonnet XLVII

The spurned will always grope for happiness
And compensate their lacking with their tears.
Their cries are empty, fallen, desolate;
Their cheerless plight will fall on deadened ears.

Our sightlessness is blinding avarice.
While others writhe in dismal pain,
We smile – on purpose! - gladly ignorant.
Indeed, lethargy is our disdain.

We shed our tears and drink them, desperate.
Our fears, we swallow as our daily bread.
For no one sees our lacrimosity.
Our anguished agony upon our heads,

The spurned will scream their names to deadened air.
And echoes mock them, beckoning despair.

Sonnet XLVI

Stupidity is almost advertised
In television, comics, magazines.
The media would love to show some witless guys
While brilliance, brains, and intellect are snubbed!

First, die you wretches of the media!
For making me an outcast for my brains.
Next, die you wretches of the media,
For making people think marks = smarts.

Third, die you wretches of the media,
Promoting laziness instead of work.
Last, die you wretches of the media,
For dulling us and killing diligence.

The media – that junk that dulls our minds.
You filth, you frauds, you fakes, you snobs, you swine.

Sonnet XLV

The sounds of mourning beckoned me outside,
As morning’s dismal rays began their hymns.
The dawn that follows rainy days is grim
As tiny funerals are mutely done.

The sounds of morning were the sounds of death
And mourning’s dismal hymns bring fresher dawn.
The deadened things to newer ones are pawned;
Sad tears of heaven bring new tears of joy.

The earth is quiet, mute with joy and grief,
As happy funerals commemorate
Renewal purging dole and death abate.
Undying death will bring the life we seek.

Beauticious murderess of spring’s weaponry,
Your name, Renewal, strenuous is your fee.

Sonnet XLIV

The silence that’s between us shall not quell
The love I have for thee, oh darling friend.
How painful that thought is – to stay your friend!
My feelings of compassion are but dells.

To think, this may be all I am to you.
To think, I love you so, but still you are
Oblivious to my love, as high as hills!
How cruel, oh innocence, how cruel are you?

And yet I tend my withering flowerbed
Of hope, of joyful hope, that you love me -
And one day, all this hidden doubt, like trees,
Will sprout from seeds to bliss, and scruples, dead.

My aching love, how insolent thou art!
How hard to live to spurn one’s heart.

Sonnet XLIII

Why do I loathe thee? Let me reminisce…
Your avarice is blinding, selfish dunce.
You act is if to be so smart (how fun!).
Your selfishness and pride both at me hiss.

Haha! I’m glad you are so stupid, foe!
You do not know that now I secretly,
Behind your back, as you have done to me,
Plot your demise, and hate you, muchly so.

To think! I once thought of you as a friend!
Manipulation is your only skill?
You sicken me, you and your cunning ends.
You bore me with your tales and will to ill.

And if God choose, God-fearing, stupid fool,
Please burn in Hell and drown in poison pools.

Sonnet XLII

Cold bodies, frozen in Spring’s icy rain.
Each step I take inflicts their dole and pain.
Inevitably my bulky figure tries
In vain to miss the bodies underneath.

Raw flesh, fresh killed and glowing brightly red,
Of quartered worms, too stubborn to be dead,
Their small entrails and innards spread throughout
The road on which I walk, that stark expanse.

To think, these worms once lived and crawled and breathed.
Dull lives were led while elements had seethed.
And sadly others kill them – frigid, staid.
Not knowing that they took their lives by chance.

It's so unfair that organisms are
So staggered, put on tiers of unfair par.

Sonnet XLI

Computer, get away, you make me weep!
You break all of my dreams and steal my sleep.
The Internet just makes you worse it’s just
Your evil partner, filled with greed and lust.

The Internet! How foul is that name!
My privacy and thoughts by you are maimed.
Away from me, you dour computer - now!
No sleep nor rest nor joy do you allow.

The Internet is full of ads and more;
Computers need their fixing – what a bore!
I hate and loathe you two – accomplices!
The two who rob my thoughts and laugh and hiss.

No calm nor rest nor freedom is allowed!
I’ll lock them up until both make no sound!

Sonnet XL

Some things kids need in order to have fun:
Each other – friends – and lots of space to run.
Then there’s food and candy (not too much),
Some watchful supervision and some games.

I think that children’s play relieves our stress,
So innocent and conveying happiness.
It seems they melt away the worries that we have;
Concern in life, and for their safety too.

Young children leave our cares behind
And many entertainments they will find.
Despite our chiding, nagging, worrying,
They’ll soon go on and leave our fears to us.

It seems, as siblings, parents, caregivers,
Our worries will be lost as futile thoughts.

Sonnet XXXIX

Within these lines my thoughts are thus confined,
Within these lines my fantasies have shined.
Within these lines new happiness was found,
Within these lines new loneliness abounds.

Within these lines I tear myself from crowds,
Within these lines I find fresh friends in clouds.
Within these lines my bliss is found outside,
Within these lines I search myself inside.

Within these lines ideas are buried deep,
Within these lines ideas to others weep.
Within these lines not much can be expressed,
Within these lines the meanings tell the rest.

Within these lines my soul and mind take flight,
Within these lines words illustrate my plight.

Sonnet XXXVIII

One cannot be enclosed in reveries,
For present life is carried on at break-neck speed.
If one does not proceed, one misses out;
One must be with the norm, or be cast out.

But why? What if I simply want to dream?
Then I suppose I’d have no food or clothes -
The world now won’t pay for philosophy,
Nor poets, who but muse and write for free.

To live – that is, eat, drink, and have a home,
We need to have a practical career.
Though some still value creativity,
Without reward, they give no generosity.

Or if we dream, as poets do all day,
We must be cruel and sell our thoughts to live.

Sonnet XXXVII

Have you observed how keen the minds of youth
do seem to be? They notice all the things
we miss because we’re caught in our strict lives.
We miss their youthful search, I realize.

And artist is a child who’s grown but keeps
the vibrant mind of youth that’s full of dreams,
applying creativity to things
in ways mature, but still on Fancy’s wings.

An artist wipes the blackboard clean
and scrubs the moulded thoughts away.
An artist finds new ways of thought, unique
from previous ideologies and views.

An artist starts anew, fresh from the norms,
like children, learning everything again.

Sonnet XXXVI

To comprehend our youth it’s understood
We need to dig back to our childhoods.
Because we’re grown and different now,
We have to recollect our former minds.

On Saturday, my brother played with me.
Or rather, he had asked to play with me.
He drew some pictures in his room when he
Decided suddenly to show me this:

It was a closet – his own hiding place
Where he would hide and play at his own pace.
It touched me that his playful little mind
Had changed a common spot to his own world.

At times we press our own ideas on youth,
But to their clever minds, our own are so uncouth.

Sonnet XXXV

If fowl fly, fish swim, and bees tend hives
Why should they be subject to equal plans
Which compromise their differences and make
Them equal creatures made for unlike lives?

The problem with our education now
Is that our schools have equal blueprints for
The youth who must go off to different lives.
Creative minds, suppressed and not allowed.

If people are so different, they say,
Then why are we put in generic moulds?
Each person has their different learning style;
We should but learn in different ways.

Uniqueness should be given room to grow
In order for our youth to find their roles.

Sonnet XXXIV

I feel as if I’m wandering culturally,
Although my heritage is plain to see.
I cannot read the words that many read,
Specifically the one my parents do.

But born in Canada, and with other ties,
I’m bound to be more Anglicized.
However, I’m still judged as “white” by friends –
The Asian ones – who don’t know why I’m less.

But now, my culture’s come from many ways,
I guess it’s where I’m from and how I’m raised.
Appearances are deceptive though;
From Edmonton, but still, I look Chinese!

It’s hard to be a race, but raised elsewhere,
Stuck in both worlds - and all in both shall stare.

Sonnet XXXIII

The harpsichord is sadly misaligned
As tinny, ugly, strange, and frightening!
But why? Its sound is magical and rare
And sharp and clear, but vibrant by compare.

Of course, dynamics cannot be achieved,
And thus the harpsichord seems dull and old.
But trills become a tremulous delight;
Arpeggios are shimmering and bright.

I think that music for the harpsichord
Should stay performed on its exotic keys.
For taking out the glimmer of its tone
Removes the glitter that it does denote.

And thus I love its timbre and its pow’r
And think its foes but ignorant and dour.

Sonnet XXXII

“Buy this. Buy that. Do this. Do that.” they say.
We sit there, motionless, and must obey.
What choice is there? Conform or die of spite;
Accept the numbing influence, or fail.

Dance in the cathode rays which so delight
The brainless masses, hypnotized by light.
Our eyes transfixed by floating images,
Our brains, destroyed by dullness, atrophy.

Corruption dominates our present world.
Stupidity is marketed but why
Is Brilliance looked down upon as weird?
And unattainable and odd and strange?

The world now thinks that geniuses are rare,
But I believe a genius just must try.