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365 Sonnets is completed! While there be no more new posts, feel free to read the sonnets and comment! :)

You can read my new poetry at Some Turbid Night: http://someturbidnight.blogspot.ca/ :)

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Sonnet CCIX

I used to listen to a station on the dial.
It plays my favourite music of the old Baroque
and other “ancient” times – the waltzes slowly poke,
the overtures are bristling with a youthful guile –
but now the station has become so cruelly vile.

Of late, the station seems a bit less old Baroque,
and more commercial. Stupid ads appear and poke,
those bristling words I hate, as foul as my bile.

But no, the station hasn’t changed a lot these years.
Alas, perchance I was mistaken in my fears?

And yes, it’s stayed the same this while, although I’ve grown.
It’s me that’s changed, grown up, matured, and turned more wise.
I see that blinding innocence of youth has flown,
and in its place I see manipulation’s vice.

3 comments:

  1. I like the reflection in this poem.

    And I like the Canadian/British spelling of "favourite."

    ReplyDelete
  2. It's part of our national pride. Like we have French AND English labels on our food. And our uniqueness pretty much ends there...

    ReplyDelete

A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

- Emily Dickinson

Thanks, Wordle!