Sonnet CLXXVI

Whose home is this, which gladly I destroy?
It’s mine I think; I recognise the place:
so messy, falling out of ordered grace –
I’ve failed to keep it running like a toy,
although I’ve tried a multitude of ploys
to save its limbs and legs and fallen face.
But still it shatters at a growing pace;
its moaning racket starts to thus annoy.

Collapse and death are threatening but near.
This home has not been kept for very long,
but doctors say there’s nothing they can do.
We only wait, regret, and wipe our tears
as bodies rot and live where they belong –
in earth, corrupt, and serving plants as food.

Sonnet CLXXV

And in the microwave my cancer goes,
the wrapped-up packages of frozen food.
A lack of time destroys my happy mood,
a lack of time creates my wasteful woe.

Day in, day out, my breakfast flurry grows
as time constricts, and chokes me with its noose.
Each morning, sickening, disgusting, crude
I wolf down chemicals and trash that glows.

However, on the weekends, slow and good
the meals are cooked, and time is freer too.
The vegetables and fruits, all bright and clean
delight my tongue as wholesome munchies should.
However, hiding in the depths of fruits
and veggies too – the DNA of bees.

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 CIV

I really should go run or stay outside
to keep myself from dying worst of deaths.
This worn-out corpse needs health and exercise!
so sloppy, messy, always out of breath…
from physical activity I hide…
It’s sad! I’m such a lazy little mess,
but now not little, getting much to wide…
it’s hard at times to wake and dress!

But I digress…hyperboles above
disguise my true condition – I’m not fat,
but certainly require more healthful ways.
And though I need a gentle – rougher - shove?
I should remind myself to stretch my back
occasionally – and exercise – it pays!

Sonnet CIII

The chemicals on jars of mayonnaise,
the toothpaste, soap, and flies upon my sink,
the harsh critiques of global warming’s blaze,
the many riddles to the ones that think,
the notes to friends and loved ones that I praise,
the sorrow, rage, and angst that since did shrink,
the winter snow, the rain, the sun, the haze,
the condemnations of society…

So many thoughts I’ve written all about!
Some mentioned here, most not, more coming soon.
And now, I look way back – at frowns
and love and joy – within my written brews.
All seems content with life within this house –
my inspiration, vibrant as high noon!

Sonnet CI

I’m glad my mother doesn’t cook our meals
(it saves me all the trouble washing plates)
Organic foods I never buy of late
(and now I save a lot of cash on meals)

Although my pains will never, ever heal
(at hospitals I now don’t have to wait)
And still I live with such a dreary fate
(but I’ll escape with my clogged arteries)

My fatty, salty foods may kill me soon.
I’ll get depressed just looking at my weight.
And maybe I’ll get nasty heart disease.

But please, don’t take away my toxic brews…
my tartrazine or lovely glutamate…
I’ll miss my EDTA and my saccharin!

Sonnet XCII

I do not jest when this I say to you:
all orthodontists lie! They’re scheming sprites.
Your money’s gobbled up like cotton food.
For what? To fix your faulty, shifted bite?

It’s garbage. I am pretty sure you’d live
with teeth than just aren’t straight or pearly white.
Don’t say it’s fashionable, superlative.
Sedating public masses isn’t right.

Conspiracies of dental masterminds…
how devious! They wave degrees around
to show their capabilities like shrines.
How treachery like wildfire abounds!

But no…don’t take my wise advice, you fool…
you WILL be sucked into a plot this cruel.

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.