Sonnet CCCLVIII

A pair of crows stood, foolish, chatting!
Resplendent in the winter sun.
Was gossip ever idler, waiting?
Impending doom a distant drum!


And now my car comes crashing, wildly!
The earthworms tremble under, blindly…
The semi-frozen earth grows pale!
Vibrations thunder in the air!


But – ah! They flee too quickly – ninjas!
Oh, stealthy as the flashing winds…
Their flight igniting oxygen,
their wings opposing sluggish minutes!


But what a tale to tell at lunch!
"We only nearly dodged that one!"

Sonnet CCCXL

Attired richly – handsome ship, where to?

The grandest feasts where held for all the crew,

the Kingdom’s King and Queen have visited.

A garland circled every maiden’s head –

the skies were never bluer on that day!

We once knew love, we once had known the way,

but now we sail, forgotten, and alone.

By fog obscured, by raging rainstorms blown,

we have no end to seek and no return.

The ocean looms at every futile turn

yet hopelessly we search for sight of land.

We curse the weather’s fiercely bitter hand

and suffer in our salty carousel,

remembering a time we knew ourselves.

Sonnet CCCXXIII

O newborn baby, quiet as a sheep,

your eyes are tightly closed in tender sleep!

How soft your rosy skin, how small your lips;

What tiny nails upon your fingertips!

Your eyes are opening, first one, alone

(the other one is much too tired to show)!

Your ears, two conches, listen all around –

The world’s a brand new place, so full of sound!

But happiness dissolves to angry cries,

Much stronger than expected of this child!

Poor Dad and Mommy try and search and try…

But calming Baby takes awhile!

Then soon she’s off again, asleep for hours,

A precious little angel, sweetly sour.

Sonnet CCCXXI

The ketchup on these plates I wash is dry,
a spray of crimson spared from Monday’s fries.
I recognize those peanut butter marks
that decorate our cups with muddy tracks.

These fossils of the meals we once have shared
are found upon this dirty tableware,
but such remains will soon be washed away
and are replaced with newer, fresher stains.

We’ve shared so many meals upon these plates;
we shared so many secrets as we ate!
I grew from youth as cracks grew from their sides –
what memories these little bruises hide!

It’s sad to think I’ll one day leave these bowls,
to buy new sets to fill a newer home.

Sonnet CCCX

Equations always bother me: they’re hard and difficult.
And yet, just practise, learn, and understand the art of math
and suddenly, they seem as simple as a homespun path.

My algebra is long, complex, annoying, odd, and dull.
And yet, with patience, perseverance, and a clearer plan,
it’s solved as one would solve a jigsaw puzzle – just like that.

As hard as math may be at times, it’s always solvable.

The art of human interaction’s not as black-and-white.
The human nature’s fickle; answers aren’t so clear to me –
and unlike math, the question’s not laid out for one to see.

You think your good relationship shall last a life – or more,
and then it crumbles, reasons unbeknownst. And enemies
perhaps - are not as menacing and evil as they seem.

Sonnet CCCIII

Two singers – sisters maybe – frozen on a tapestry –
gaze back at me, emotions still unchanged, though years have flown.
Who knows how long ago their faces first were stitched and sewn –
my guess the Renaissance – their clothes exude its majesty.

One gown is crimson-red; her sister’s, blue-green like the sea.
Who knows who was the prettier – they looks as twins – or foes.
Or maybe neither lived – they’re dreams that no one living knows -
but either way, they’re shrouded in their girlish mystery.

Eternalized forever, in this lovely piece of art,
they set us pondering, with wooden instruments in hand;
their mouths sing unheard notes, which twist their graceful dance.

Dismembering from their tongues, complex harmonies depart,
unravelling in our minds, and waking creativity.
Their voices die, yet live again with grand imagining.

Sonnet CCLXXVI

He hates the mirror. He looks at it and sighs.
It’s hard to looks upon himself and see his face
without detesting it. Deprived of youthful grace,
bereft of happiness, without a joyful smile –
he hates those children, blithe and charming, juvenile;
he hates these families, enjoying time like waste;
he hates and envies all the world, so armed with lies!

For self-contentment’s false; so’s joviality.
The world’s a dark and gaping hole, a mean chicanery.

Or isn’t it because he wishes more from life,
and more of merriment; to see that things are fine?
Or is it that he wants to know that peace of mind,
that feeling, waking up, embracing more than strife?

Sonnet CCLXXIII

Of late, she thinks about herself and how she’s changed.
She’s old, dependent, dying, trapped within her home.
She planned on travelling, to Paris, Cuba, Rome,
but now she lives off pensions, locked inside her cage.
She thinks of youth, and misses it, a bit amazed
at how the time has passed. Her only son is grown –
but stingy – keeping phone calls, money for his own,
while thinking she’s decrepit and deranged.

Her son would never spend a measly dime for her
despite his wealth. She’s raised him all these years, to err!

And yet – to err is only human. What of that?
Forgiveness is divine! If sons decide to scorn,
then who’ll coerce their smiles, forced and falsely warm?
An honest miser’s better than a lying rat.

Sonnet CCLXV

His bones were light, much lighter than my brother’s now.
I felt his weight and found my awe-struck self aware
of what he weighed. Accustomed to a burden’s fare,
his feather-heaviness was welcome to my bow.

A child’s magnitude, however, weighs a cloud.
What lightness shall belie, a tantrum will repair;
how little years mislead, commanding ways make rare;
what innocence portrays is shattered by a growl.

Their paradox: a double personality,
a drop and perseverant anger fills the sea.

These things I thought while gently prodding him along,
amazed at how compliant he could seem;
while deep within there lay a monstrous, wicked beast,
which once provoked would never cease to shriek its song.

Sonnet CCLIV

An anxious Andrew bashed his shopping cart around
and packed in cookies; slapped in juices, yellow, red;
then grabbed his wife’s requests and zipped the way ahead.
His enemy was Time, his watch so cruelly round,
while rushing to the checkout; seconds like wet hounds,
their fangs a-dripping. Pulling through to aisle ten,
to checkout nine, where those with items eight or less
were bound to head, he fast advanced! But turning round -

He saw the stupid crackers he forgot in haste.
He raced reverse – the party would be starting soon!
And now he had an item more – so nine – how cruel!
The hand struck three – upon his shaking, fumbling wrist –

Anxiety then melted to a laughing howl –
his watch was early – almost by a half an hour!

Sonnet CCL

I have a little dog - her name is Butterfly.
I take her to my school. I carry her to bed.
She used to have a ribbon, nice and long and red,
but then I took it off, and said to it, “Goodbye!”

My doggie is my friend – because she cannot lie.
She doesn’t hit me, though at times she’s bruised and red
from violent gallops, lunchtime, journeys in our bed;
the spaceship rides to planets, green and huge and high.

When Mommy washes her, I feel so sad and blue,
but when she’s done, my doggie’s such a different hue!

Adventures with my doggie make my life so bright
although she’s silent. Still, a friend’s that’s silent’s best.
She doesn’t bite me, hurt, betray, or make a mess –
she’s comfort for my heart, and cuddly in the night!

Sonnet CCXXXIII

“DIVORCE” was not a word that Adam heard before.
He first encountered it when he was five or six.
Remembering his mommy’s voice in little hicks,
she told him Daddy wasn’t coming anymore.
He left for good: he packed his bags and shut the door.
Although they had divorced, she didn’t feel a fix
for sadness in her heart. And Adam was a mix –
confused and sad. But never did he ask for more.

At Christmas, Adam asked his mommy, puzzled, sad,
why Santa Claus had stopped to come – or was he mad?

And Mommy gently said that Santa loves him still,
but doesn’t have a lot of time or money now.
And Mommy gently kissed him on his little brow
and promised him she loves him. And she always will.

Sonnet CCXIX

I beg to differ to the fact that Hell is hot:
I say that Hell is cold as Hell – and just as mean.
It’s holding ladders for my Dad, as up he leans,
to put up Christmas lights on eaves with hooks we bought.
We move the leaden ladder to and fro a lot,
like frozen crabs a-scuttling to the yells of fiends.
Eventually, my fingers turn a lovely green,
my hat is itchy, legs are sore, my mind is fraught.

And still there’s half a way’s to go, a “wee” bit more…
I suffer, freezing, as the snow begins to pour.

I’m bitter, wondering why such a holiday
is celebrated with such foul means as this.
And then, sadistic snakes of wind begin to hiss,
as moaning, in my sadness, shout I, “Woe is me!”

Sonnet CCXII

A year of goals and plans to make my life less bad,
agendas, long-term blueprints, failed attempts at more.
A month of disappointment, plain frustration’s war,
exhaustion’s beast, woke from the sleepless nights I had.
A week of writing, adding, talking, being mad,
obsessing, doing homework, doing projects, more.
A day of stress, remorse, upset, and times that bore,
and yelling, screaming, hurting, brawling, being sad.

Thank goodness ice cream, popcorn – foods like that – exist!
Without them, life would be a dismal, sombre list.

So coming home from school, unhappy as the sky,
I chug my cola., eat my chips. When Mom comes home,
she cooks more comfort foods. And like a greedy gnome,
I eat and eat until my heart’s content – or try!

Sonnet CCXI

On rainy days, the ladders come to play with me.
They drop my player down a serpent’s cruel abyss
and make me wish that space was where I got to miss.
Alas I’m never petulant for long – for glee
is just a toss away. Surmounting ladders three,
I’m winning! But my brother’s close behind, amiss.
Then soon the tables turn and then my happiness
is fleeting as my fortune, dimming with each leap.

How quickly hours pass! What fun surmounts us here!
Perhaps I’ll play this game again, each day each year!

Alas, the rain subsides. The sun resumes its rounds.
The electricity comes back to all the lights.
But staying in our home, we watch the thudding pounds
of villains losing on T.V. in awesome fights.

Sonnet CCX

The hats I wear are many, varied, large, and small:
my music hat is vast and eats away my time,
but brings me endless joy, residing in its prime;
my academic hat encompasses my all;
my thinking cap is great, but can’t but help but rhyme
in iambs, forming sonnets; last, my hat of dimes
is small, though teaching kids for pay’s a joyous brawl.

But like an average Joe, my hats of family
remain supreme, as brother, son, and happy teen.

Though being part of such an awesome bunch of folks
is daunting, frightening, and strange at times, though fun.
I love the hugs, the bliss, the kisses, endless pokes,
but more than that, the love we share’s a glowing sun!

Sonnet CCVIII

The fish I used to own was red - a betta fish –
the kind that fight and come from far-away Thailand.
But then it rotted, turning pink, then white like sand,
and then it died, afloat despite my fervent wish.
But then we bought another pair of lovely fish,
the one was chalico, the other lightish-bland.
One day, my brother (two) had dumped their food – like sand –
into their bowl. They soon became as mobile as a dish.

(They ate too much and subsequently had to halt.
They died of greed, although it wasn’t all their fault.)

And so we have no fish. We bought no more to keep.
We thought they’d bring food luck. We thought they’d be a charm.
Instead, we murdered them. And thus, they made us weep.
Instead of luck for us, we dished away some harm.

Sonnet CCI

Away, away, some distant galaxy away,
suspended in a murky fluid, dark and red,
the dancing bubbles floated ‘round my tiny head
and splashed around as all my little fingers played.
While kicking Mother’s stomach every single place,
my Mother’s yummy nutrients had kept me fed.
Then bright and warm one noon, born on a pallid bed,
I left my mother’s womb to see the brand-new day.

And what a splendid day it was! So loud and bright!
I saw the noisy world and screamed with all my might.

My mother, with a home-cut, shabby haircut, said,
“Oh what a splendid day it is!” Her face was bright.
She saw her little baby, hugged him with her might,
and he was I, a little baby, wet and red.

Sonnet CC

I used to live in Texas long ago.
The weather always shined so languorously.
In fall, there was a fleeting little breeze
and winter was a joke – there was no snow.
Our small apartment was beside a road
with palm trees bordering, so slim and high.
The flat was small and filled with moths and flies,
and cockroaches had pestered the abode.
Longfellow Elementary School was near,
and dusty baseball parks were near as well.
I came home daily, watching Spanish shows
and missed my mom, who wasn’t very near.
She studied in Purdue, said she was well,
and kissed her letters, sending lipstick home.

Sonnet CLXXXV

In Hamlets far away in Canada,
there was a holiday called Halloween
where children, kind, obedient, or mean –
regardless of their character – were glad,
as all had knocked on doors of wood and glass
and then received their fill of charming sweets.
But only after yelling “trick or treat!”
(of course), and making sure the giver wasn’t mad,
a pedophile or rapist (or they’d run).
Kids got a heap of varied candies from
the teens a-writing essays on Macbeth,
the mothers watching husbands with their sons
(or daughters), grandmas left alone with rum…
and thrice the cauldron charmed their dreaming breaths.