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 CCCLVI

At last I breathe again, at last I live:
perhaps my loneliness was only relative.
I once desired love – your company –
but I shall fill these hours easily.
From time-worn, weathered eyes erasing you,
replacing such projected joys with truth,
I live once more in grounded, present time
unbound of empty fantasy and rhyme.


I roam the changing earth, but pondering
as drifting, migrant snow joins, flight by flight –
and neither wind nor I know anything
of where we go from here and when or why –


but all we know is that we still exist,
if still unseen – at least by loyal sunshine kissed.

Sonnet CCCLIV

My geese – my ever-faithful geese – have left!
I watched the emptied autumn sky, bereft,
and watched them steal away to tropic lands…
oh how’ll they’ll love those toasty, sun-baked sands!


I cursed their infidelity that day
and bent upon my lonesome, grumpy way –
I’d find some other loyal friend to love!


But everyday I’d check the skies above
and find them vacant as my mournful heart.


Then suddenly – in shy, reluctant March
they squawked once more upon the melting moors!


And I – my injured self! – ignored their lure
(with great contempt) – and sauntered, haughty, off –
remarking how we’ve changed – and how they’ve not!

Sonnet CCCLIII

Epiphany? My love is shorn to shreds!
A guileless love beguiled by devious ends…
Dark, bitter grief ignites my inner core –
I cannot love this monster anymore!


And yet – I tremble at each docile smile!
I loved the clever traitor all the while.
I now regret that fatal day, when first –
a charming word deceived my artless thirst.


And yes, I still feel dearly for the fiend;
a foolish heart does not know want from need.


Ignore the ingrate! Flee the treachery!
But how we still dream fondly, stubbornly;
demanding vengeance for our suffering,
yet far too weak to do the injuring.

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 CCCLI

The dying afternoon, diaphanous –
how young October smiled upon my cheek!
Then through a stretch of sun-filled oxygen
your voice and eyes called blithely out to me!


We walked, our eyes upon the skyward seas,
our eyes delirious with shifting skies
as clouds subsided to obscurity
in grandiose swashes, gold and pastel dyed.


I could have stayed forever at your side,
evaporated honey everywhere;
but as our paths diverged in weary light
I drowned into intoxicating air.


I paused – in step – exultant, yet forlorn
and as the leaves spun round, I stood
                                                            - transformed!

Sonnet CCCL

I stand, exhilarated, on the hills –
I burn with new and sprightly inner fire!
The winds of autumn cannot bind my will:
my yearning glance ignites with strange desire!
With fierce furore, these eyes will never tire –
I search the turbid skies for signs of warmth.
Beloved summer! Ever-tuneful lyre!
To leap into those warm and loving arms!


I’ll wait, unloved, forlorn, as lovers are,
but only when your promise sings again
will you return, melodious and warm –
and only then will carefree folly reign,
my foolish heart revived once more to mirth.
And only then will blossoms fill the earth!

Sonnet CCCXLVI

The leaves, already gilt untimely gold,
declare that cherished summer fleets too soon!


The winds, already prematurely cold;
the sun, already mild at half past noon -
Ah, summer seemed as young as sprightly June!
Too quick the torrid dream flits sadly by!


Too quick I fear the changes steal my youth,
as if my sylvan tresses too, ignite
and litter moor and dale and precipice –
as if they had no other life to lead!


As if a heart were steadfast like the skies
and thoughts were constant as the worthy trees;
as if a futile wish for summer lives –
as if autumnal minds could answer it!

Sonnet CCCXXXIV

My envy seethes below the fallen leaves,

defiant hills of discontented green.

I cannot find serenity today:

where are the placid fields of yesterday?

The strident branches reach up to the sky,

almighty in their rage, and ever high.

How void the arms which once held happiness,

which now are shrivelled in their bitterness;

how stark the cloudless sky of gray above,

a limitless expanse devoid of sun.

I have no place at lovely Nature’s feast;

the hosts all mimic me and tease.

I only see the progeny of rage,

which taunts me, multiplied in every way.

Sonnet CCCXXV

we long to drink we long for drugs and sex
were wicked teens strung high by natures hex
adrenaline and folly are our chant
our words are slurred our movements are a dance
were on computers every waking hour
ignoring chores and acting simply sour
were rude
               were boorish
                                    always such a mess
at every moment mad or quite depressed

and Yet –
               We still take buses to our school;
               Our mothers still remind us of the cold;
               We’re still subject to all our father’s rules;
               And frankly, we’re still kids – we’re not that old.

But rebels we shall stay, extreme or mild,
each one of us an adult-werewolf-child.

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 CCXCIV

I sit here, thinking now, of love and life – and you.
I think that love must be a boat of gentle size,
with us its former passengers. Within we’d daily ride,
contained within our pair, unseeing of the blue.
If overturned, we’d find ourselves in seas anew,
like those still plashing in experience’s tide.
We sailed each day to find where satisfaction lies,
but never reached it still intact – we’ve split in two.

I swear there’s always fish within that sea,
and one will be the one for me – or close. We’ll see.

But our first maritime adventure into love
shall be remembered – or at least by sea bound me.

I think I see you now – you’re drifting calm and free
- away – unto the brighter sky, as if a dove -

Sonnet CCLXXXIX

Do you remember me? I’m droplets in the rain
now perching on your eaves. I’m dreams you never cry
and tiny snowflakes, mingling in the azure skies.
I’m every happiness, each beaming face, each step to pain.
I’m jealousy, and worry; anger and disdain.
I’m carried in the breeze – at least my thoughts would fly –
I’m burning in the crimson leaves, and cooled by ice,
which drips so dangerous, above your window pane.

And though you’ve faded well, I still remember you –
some memory of fall now buried in the new!

No sun shall be a greater happiness – no moon
a sadder memory of lengthy hours since;
No snow a colder wickedness – no bitter wind
a frigid, madder leap toward the passing noon.

Sonnet CLXXXVIII

L’amour fleurit comme tout les noires et sombres nuits:
une fleur si belle et si mystérieuse comme toi.
Mais tout les temps tu fuis le jour et moi,
tes émotions, ombreuses; ses mots, le cœur de bruit.
Tu sais la joie? Je pense que non. La crise te suit;
les grandes tristesses sont tous tes grands nuages, si froid.
Mais toutes tes gouttes de pluie sont des larmes de moi –
et tu est insouciante et comme la lune, conduis.

Tu es la chose le jour fait comme un mal mémoire,
qui reste, puis, quitte ciel chaque souvenir de moi.

Mais maintenant, j’habite après la nuit de moi.
Le jour m’embrase, et chaque étreinte me donne la perte,
la perte de la mémoire, la perte de perte en perte –
et maintenant, j’oublie la sombre nuit, je crois.

Sonnet CCLVI

I wonder why the world is always smiling
when so much of our lives are so consumed with woe.
Perhaps a pessimistic view; I dare not prose:
the explanation’s long and riddled with my tears.

Well, all the world’s a-smiling, except for me.
It almost seems the world is ill - perhaps that’s so -
where everyone is gleeful, dancing to and fro –
but probably it’s me that has the malady.

Oh yes, I am an invalid – don’t come too close!
I’m leprous – crude contagion seems to be my woe.

But let me here, in sadness. Do not let me sting.
Exist in happiness; exclude me from your guild.
I will come back to join you later – save your guilt.
I hope my sadness flees, or else come rescue me.

Sonnet CCXLVIII

The love of youth, one says, is but a fleeting lie.
I hope my love is constant so my love is true,
but how can I defy the wisdom and the rue
or wicked Age and Time? I must obey or die,
for Death escapes the loop of Time and that of Life;
and Death defies the customs of the Ageist Rule.
But Life and Love, entangled with the nasty two,
are thus subject to foul wickedness and strife.

Oh Thisbe, why so fleeting from the lioness?
It proves a better death than love’s cruel happiness!

Alas, we love, we hurt, commend our sighs above -
for if my love is fickle, cast me to my death,
and Love will share my sudden robbery of breath.
Oh such a Fate, oh such a fleeting whim of love!

Sonnet CCXXX

To Mr. (Mrs.) Hacker #398:

I’m free of you at last – you’re vanquished – finally!
I hope you pay for what you do. (I guess we’ll see.)
Within my heart, for you alone, I saved some hate.
I saved it all for you because your stupid bait –
the crafty e-mails, monstrous download trickery -
corrupted my computer well and merrily.
I hope the cyber-cops will find you…just you wait!

And when they do, they’ll strap their manacles on you
and all accomplices: your wicked little crew.

My thanks go out to forums, solving daily hacks,
and spyware software. Thanks to better firewalls,
I’m safe and now I know the multitude of facts.
We’ll never come return to be your puppet dolls!

Sonnet CCXVI

The day is long and fraught with woe and toil too!
I’d rather stay in bed, the warmth surrounding me,
the winter far away, which fits me perfectly.
I’d rather stay entombed in bed than grab a shoe
and slap it on my aching feet. I’d rather snooze
than rinse my mouth and eat my food and brush my teeth.
When getting out of bed a chill embraces me.
I’d rather keep it waiting for another fool.

Alas, alas, alas – my damn alarm persists again!
Annoying me, I cannot sleep and thus I wake.

I greet the world, so wicked, and the chill of course,
so bitter, boiling in my freezing rage and clothes.
And walking to my bus, which everybody loathes,
I scream and throw a nasty tantrum, ‘till I’m coarse.

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 CCV

An English teacher is a nasty code to break.
Until you know their wants, until you know their style,
their code remains a cryptic one. With crafty guile,
they mask just what they want. Their comments are so vague –
“For next time, work on depth!” – and while I slowly break,
their code’s intact. And all this angry, busy while
(of writing), some elitist few have cracked the style
and never get below a hundred – though I ache!

It takes me ages still to find what teachers want.
And while I search and search, my marks shall mock and taunt.

Destructive, burning wickedly, my hands are hot.
And seething, taking what I wrote – at them I flaunt;
the codes of teachers chip away as them I daunt…
and now I spurn all wicked things that I was taught.