Sonnet CLXXXIV

Who are they? Bumblebees and witches, fruit.
From house to house and yard to yard they fly:
a fairy princess or an action guy;
perhaps a pumpkin, stout, rotund, and cute,
or lovely mermaids, lithe or more obtuse.
In any case, their flashlights light the night
with glowing beauty simple as their plight
of chasing candy down in scattered troupes.

And “trick or treat!” they call, but only “thanks”
are whittled out of them when parents chide,
apologise, and carry them away.
Though happy with their sweet and chocolate weight,
soon all our little demons flee inside,
exhausted, thirsty, itchy, pulling pranks.

Sonnet CLXXVII

It’s been ten years since last I swam that pool.
The last I came, I ate my fill at lunch
but then I barfed my fill as low I hunched.
And sometimes scabs would fall into that pool
and mingle with chlorine that stung so cruel
as water trashed me with its heavy punch.
And still I recollect the belly crunch
of those I laughed at, known as diving fools.

So now the pool looks small and favourable,
perhaps because I’ve seen much larger pools and depths,
but still the murals line the walls like friends.
And though my skill in swimming has since dulled,
it’s nice to see the water’s gentle breadth
although the memories have seemed to bend.

Sonnet CLXV

The days of catching up unfinished work –
so much to finish, bits from everything...
if only catching up on needed sleep
were just as simple, but it’s not, of course –
for sleep is just a waste of time, no more,
required nonetheless, but time for sleep
is great in quantity though time’s not free,
and thus, for sleep we sacrifice our chores -
we could have done more work within that time;
we could have used it better than just rest...
and yet we need to rest, we need to sleep...
but so much work to do – and where’s the time -
alas - we need our beauty sleep and rest –
so then, it’s just a cycle, circling.

Sonnet CXXXVIII

What use have I for polynomials?
Will I go to a grocery store one day
and simplify a polynomial?
Or maybe rational expressions? Say,
“I’ll simplify and state restrictions!” - lull
the poor cashiers to sleep; make others pray
I’d never put those things inside my skull?
Oh, how may functions help me everyday?

Of course they do - in ways I fail to see -
but now, I drudge through math as it were mud.
It isn’t even art, so bare and free -
but even art has purpose, one might add:
to entertain with skill aesthetically;
to bring us bliss when functions make us mad.

Sonnet CXVIII

I’m bathed in light of clearest blue azure.
Around me walls begin to animate.
They leap away, become a hue so pure,
One thinks the walls are burning with blue flames.

And glowing from the source a fire demure,
A screen of blue, where dreams will thus be made,
Where bliss is manufactured and procured
And peace and calm erase my dying hate.

My damn computer. Haunting, burning flame,
Which animates my mind before I sleep.
I need that time to help recuperate!
You steal my sleep, make nasty little dreams,
destroy my life, and always make me late.
You damn computer, burn within thy greed!

Sonnet CXIII

It’s not my fault I fall asleep in class.
You see, it is a big conspiracy
of teachers, principals, et cetera,
and all the giant textbook companies
against poor students learning math and mass.
It’s not our fault, and soon you shall see why:
I’ll tell you why we doze as if some gas
had poisoned us with noxious fumes of sleep.

(See, textbook companies put drugs in books.
That’s why they have that “new book smell” when bought.
Then, after years and years and years of use,
when all the textbooks lose their crisp, clean looks,
that’s when the textbooks know they’ve done their job:
to make sure students have a lovely snooze.)

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 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 XII

Exhaustion catches up with me once more
As hours squandered haunt my memory.
Defiant, slovenly and leisurely,
I shirk my duty, till it turns to chore.

I’m not productive, lazy in the night,
Abusing hours – time I should have used.
When wasted, time turns me to criminal
For spending time on trivial delight.

My guilt is chiding me, with skillful knack -
It’s savage, yet appears so innocent!
I’m thinking of those times I quickly spent,
the times that now I cannot beckon back.

Bad habits swell, endowed by wasted time
until they torment me and turn to crime!