Sonnet CCCLXI

Interrogate the robins – ask them why –
some sudden sunshine peeks between the leaves.
Familiar laughter claims the startled ear
and torpid languor confiscates the eyes –


We spent such carefree days beneath the skies
and when the rain had interspersed between,
we hid like naughty children, impishly
and laughed and laughed and laughed away the sky –


Relinquish you –
                            beyond my feeble grasp,
released beyond my grandiose love at last,
such scenes we’ll see again our separate ways?
Rekindled in my solitary view
at all familiar turns I think of you –
do you remember me at all today?

Sonnet CCCXII

The pinkish, french-fry earthworms wiggle,
their gossamer a sheerest shine.
I carefully avoid their squiggles
and quickly leap minutely by.
The ravens perch like jet-black devils,
their eyes like opal, heads all level.
From trees above, they wait with glee,
their stomachs churning, fed with greed.
The rain is sloshing by my shoulders
and all about my feet as well.
Do I tread worms? I cannot tell!
Alas, I look beyond my sneakers -
I’ve helped a bird digest his meal–
at the expense of worms at heel!

Sonnet CCLXXX

I wonder why I wake when other people die.
The sun begins to dim, reflecting on their fate;
the calls of birds seem less like ditties for a mate
and more like delicately grieving, solemn sighs.
My footsteps tread with guilt toward the beastly right.
My eyes draw to the sun and greet its sullen face -
I wonder why I still may see its tepid grace
as Death deprives the living of their human sight.

The world seems cruel on such a bitter morning’s start,
when all the world seems stripped of love and crudely stark.

And what a pain to feel for such that isn’t mine –
as here I am, ungracious, petty, as a toy.
And whilst I sympathise, I do not help – but sigh! –
a most unseemly vice, a most beseeming ploy.

Sonnet CCXXXIV

I love the end of lessons during Christmas time.
I feel like Santa, giving lovely things away:
the strips of stickers, shiny, glittery, like day,
as bright as all the happy grins I see each time.

The flakes of snow and snowmen turn the day from grey
to cheerful shimmer. Best of all, the lessons s play
instead of drag. Each student can’t resist my tray
of stickers, so enticing, pretty, and sublime.

(Of course, I take a few. Who dares resist their fun?
They cheer me up when all my day of teaching’s done.)

Surround yourself with happy things and joyous thoughts,
for life is only bearable in happiness.
Ignore the rapping at your door by sombreness,
Or else our sadness gropes for life and plots its plots.

Sonnet CLV

I’ve just wrung out my hundred-fifty-fourth.
As much as Shakespeare wrote. How proud I feel!
Persistence, stubbornness – these got me here.
And now – I wonder – dare I write some more?

Perhaps I’ll stop tomorrow. End this war.
I’ll end this war of strange ideas and greed.
I’ve written tons. I’ve got that great Bard beat.
But still I write. I write until I’m sore.

Why do I write? Specifically, why these?
Why sonnets - difficult, and bratty too?
And why so many? What’s the urgent need?

I wish I knew. When answers come to be,
I’ll know the very first I’ll tell is you:
when finished, both of us need remedies!

Sonnet CXXII

A true friend shall not use you for their aims
or curse you if you fail to serve them well.
A true friend isn’t jealous of your fame
or bitter, hearing new successes swell.
A true friend does you favours. And the game
the others play of selfish playback quells.
A true friend loves you through your flaws and frays
and comforts you in sickness and in Hell.

Does such a friend exist? I must say no.
It’s nice to think one has a friend like that.
But all of us have plans and goals and dreams;
we can’t serve others faithfully and know
the friendship’s symbiotic. Some are that,
but most reciprocate the very least.

Sonnet LXXXVI

Apologies to forks I have undone
I meant no harm to compliment the spoon.
A fork, as well, feeds all and everyone,
just with a different aim and manner too.

Ambition, marked by sharpness, greatness makes.
None matches grand achievement like a fork.
What else can jab a meatloaf or a cake
with such precision, grabbing up that pork?

And also, bold enough to learn more trades.
On icing, prongs make many little trails.
In gardens, other forks can dig all day.
And forks in roads make many sob and wail.

I’m sure that lofty goals may warrant blame.
But better to be eminent than tame.

Sonnet LXXXIII

The mirror insults me, not for its plain face,
but for the nature of its glassy stare.
Two wholes, alike, not meant to be a pair.
Its difference of sameness a disgrace.

Shall future joy exclude me, entering here?
I will not know; I mask all well, you see.
But still, as faulty allies break their creed,
the truth remains, a taunting little leer.

Alas, I’m superstitious, mutely so.
I’d never break a mirror willingly.
So shamefully the twins stay gleefully,
observant in their grief and undertows.

As over-replication causes waste
so do the many lies, which make distaste.

Sonnet LXXI

I want a gentle pat upon my head
and you to say I’m good all of the time.
Review my talents, comment on my strengths,
and say for all these things I have a knack.

These happy words and actions are now gone.
Of late I’m drowned in harsh reality.
Forever I will look upon these times
and wonder how those complements I won.

One thing I have to say: Don’t lie but tell
the Truth. I don’t need all your pretty tales.
Don’t float my ships with falsehoods you designed
to make my confidence and ego swell.

I’m not implying that you should be stark,
but don’t dilute good criticism’s sharks.

Sonnet LXIV

I swallow mayonnaise, the sumptuous spread,
all slathered on a piece of ancient bread.
The quiet afternoon is restless still
and pricks my skin, thus urging me to quill.

But nothing comes to mind and nothing will
as blank stares greet me from the window sill.
Sad empty promises all sing above,
for things to do are things to never love.

And schedules and timetables fly by
and drift away, forlorn by desperate sighs.
I relish reading facts on calories
that say that fat is actually good for me.

And so I eat my mayonnaise and bread
while reminiscing of my future dread.

Sonnet LXII

That chocolate, melted on the tabletop
is not fondue. It's melted there because
you left it there. And now it's molten tracks
of liquid, sweetened wine of brown and black.

Don't lick it off - don't lick it off, I said.
Now get away, and turn the T.V. off.
And no, I will not play a board game NOW.
I’ve got to clean this up, so snub my vows.

My GOD! Why are the popsicles all there?!?
I told you, “Leave them on the plate – don’t touch!”
But noooooo…who disobeyed me? It was you!
You left them on the carpet, melting, too.

My brother, insolent and devious.
You charm your warden with your gentle kiss!

Sonnet II

Ambition fails me here and now once more.
This twisted passion falsely guides me through.
The labyrinth of the heart is black with war,
With strange desires, evil tendencies.

My heart grows sick with jealousy.
All joyous, you who love the gracious calm.
Within the bliss, disaster’s revelry.
Unrest dawns here, though happiness prevails.

Insane I am, it’s true and very so,
For envy here I hold for reason not.
Disastrous ways shall cause much strife and woe,
The first of which pervades my very life.

The spite still grows within my hated soul;
To live the day unharmed, that is my goal.