Sonnet CCCLXII

A picnic we could have on ruby Mars,
upon a single orb of crimsonness –
surrounded by the solvent swaddling us,
delighted by the swarms of smiling stars?


If universes sang in students’ jars –
perhaps, perhaps! If dreams and fables lived
in every Erlenmeyer flask and dish,
how many poets would be turned to Bards?


Some silver snow bewitches ether skies
in Lotus Lands designed for gleaming eyes!
A foreign galaxy must beckon tales,
beyond the formulae and recipes –
it must transcend the ordinary Jail!


But is it only hapless chemistry?

Sonnet CCCLII

But how those crystal eyes stared back at me!
Grand ecstasies sparked through my soul and mind;
disarming and distracting harmonies
obscured my scrutiny and made me blind.


I waited, waited - how I darkly pined!
Some desperate, thrilling, growing hopefulness
turned ravenous at every sound and sight –
then soon fell, plummeting to hopelessness.


And I remember - stubbornly - with bliss -
at how each word and stolen brush and glance
drew joyously, exultant like a kiss,
upon my steely thoughts…as if to dance.


But not today – there still remains a space -
where cruel, blue plastic mocks your worthy place.

Sonnet CCCII

I gaze upon my precious fingertips as if they’re gold.
You’ve never looked upon your own? They swirl and dance like birds,
their curlicues like hieroglyphs – some foreign future’s words?
I marvel at their shapely curves, a wonder to behold.

Each cell was crafted wonderfully – each doing as it’s told.
I gasp when moving all of them – cohesively – they work,
all lumped together on my thumb, the link up like a herd,
reacting similarly, swift. What suppleness unfolds!

I’m never bored on looking at our digits’ old refrain.
The handiwork is more than fine – it’s masterful and grand.
The shape is pleasing – so’s the grain! A finger’s never bland.

I marvel at our wondrous hands, and digits on their plane,
supreme in craftsmanship and form, unmatched in eminence –
our bodies still defy the change of tastes with excellence!

Sonnet CXXIX

As silver moons change always in their shape,
so too my thoughts are changing constantly.

As tides shift all about and dance all day,
so too my thoughts lack steadfast constancy.

As trees, moved by the wind, so swiftly sway,
so too my thoughts return and quickly flee.

Each day brings joy and lovely happiness,
perhaps another rains eternally.
Still others bring revengeful, angry bliss
while many more are peaceful, calm, serene.

And though my thoughts are fickle and at best
return to thus revisit me,
poor Time and Math and Science must confess
they lack the freedom of a drifting dream.

Sonnet CXXIV

My aching throat, you pain me so today.
Why don’t you just surrender graciously?
You cannot win; you might as well go play
with hic-cups, screams, and vocal trickery.

I miss the days we sang the livelong day,
recited poems, speeches - writ by me -
the times we shrieked and acted in those plays -
What lovely times we had, how happily!

Today is different; you’re a pain today.
You torture me and cruelly punish me.

You’ve hounded me with wheezing coughs all day,
with pains and aches and itchy phlegm I sneeze...

What happened to the joyous times we shared?
The merry songs, our lovely treasury?

Sonnet CXXI

“Ah Mother, I feel awfully sick today!
I’m coughing, sneezing, wheezing everywhere.
Please let me stay at home for just one day!
Without my night clothes, I feel sadly bare.
My bed keeps all the chills and heat away,
eliminating fevers with great care.
My head is aching, more than I shall say;
my throat is itchy – sore beyond compare!”

But “No!” she says, the cruel and vile word,
condemning me so very wickedly.
But then I see the reason of her words:
in tow, she holds a bunch of remedies,
“Drink up!” she says, as if I were a bird,
and down my cures did go - sweet medicine.

Sonnet CXIV

We’ll slice the ears right off and leave them here.
Inside you’ll see the inspiration’s bed.
Please journey down – from there, the view you’ll see.
That is the tone – the way the words are said,
expressing how their life and times may be.
And next we’ll quickly leave the complex head,
to where the juice lies. All the imagery!
The veins and metaphors – here is the heart.

And bubbling, sloshing literary tools
lead to the lungs, where things are clarified.
And please will you ignore the messy rules?
The unplanned way is better as we dive
into the stomach, resting when the brew
begins to burn – the poet's biting knife.

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 CV

Have you sat down and simply wondered how
the paradox of human time does work?
I will be dead one day – that I will vow.
But now my life is spinning from my words…
the words before, the ones I said were “now” -
now passed. Where did they go? They’re “now” I’m sure,
but no – they are replaced with fresher “nows” –
the present’s past and past is present now.

And then I figured out what speed is for.
In modern life, it keeps me plainly glad.
Or else, I’d be confused – “what’s life or time?”
So speed, our saccharin, helps us ignore
these thoughts. It brightens streams of coffee had,
the artificial substitute we’ll try.

Sonnet XCVII

I think that music is a mystery,
combining all the sciences of sound,
the use of mathematic ordering,
and art – sporadic and aesthetic art.

It’s really quite amazing: music wakes
nostalgia, melancholy, mirthful glee;
and human brains can simply separate
what’s new from old, disgusting from the good.

All this created by twelve tones – no fuss.
Perhaps some different pitches, notes, and sounds –
but really, music is quite basic, thus
comprising harmonies and rhythmic drive.

But human minds perceive it to be more,
for music wakes the soul and lets minds soar.