Sonnet CXLII

Was I as dumb and blind as those Grade 5’s
who sit in buses every day in front?
The media and biases in life
affected them so deeply it affronts
the wholesomeness to which the youth did strive
in times since passed. It makes our lives seem blunt
by sad compare. How wickedly they pry!
How foolishly dependent and defunct!

They flaunt their musical devices like
a book, so good and wise and valuable.
They speak of news without the truthful lies,
but with the bias printed in their souls.

They lost their innocence in their short lives,
and now, corrupt, are grossly so morose.

Sonnet CXXV

The moving pictures sometimes startle me,
their vividness is so believable.
The feelings felt so very vast and free,
the stories told so very palpable.

And yet the misinterpretations seen -
the segregation, so inevitable,
the liberty some take with history -
these things imprint themselves into our skulls.

And labelling becomes more prominent,
and scanty links with truth become less rare
and entertainment turns to ignorance.

Our joy should not be thought-imprisonment;
our movies shouldn’t bring those hopeless stares;
but wise enlightenment, not ignorance.

Sonnet LIII

Get up, you lazy spawn of atrophy -
whose minds and bodies have no dignity.
You idle products of our selfish kind -
shut up, stop eating, talk but sensibly.

Please leave, and send us all to joy
You don’t deserve the treatment you employ.
We're worthy, but we rot and wait for beds,
While you take all, while you still do annoy.

It seems that folly and obesity,
Induced by sugars, fats, and dull T.V.
Beat brains and diligence and kindness too -
While purity has left society.

All lazy, stupid, ignorant, and fat.
What pulchritude! I can’t compare with that.

Sonnet XXXVIII

One cannot be enclosed in reveries,
For present life is carried on at break-neck speed.
If one does not proceed, one misses out;
One must be with the norm, or be cast out.

But why? What if I simply want to dream?
Then I suppose I’d have no food or clothes -
The world now won’t pay for philosophy,
Nor poets, who but muse and write for free.

To live – that is, eat, drink, and have a home,
We need to have a practical career.
Though some still value creativity,
Without reward, they give no generosity.

Or if we dream, as poets do all day,
We must be cruel and sell our thoughts to live.

Sonnet XXXIII

The harpsichord is sadly misaligned
As tinny, ugly, strange, and frightening!
But why? Its sound is magical and rare
And sharp and clear, but vibrant by compare.

Of course, dynamics cannot be achieved,
And thus the harpsichord seems dull and old.
But trills become a tremulous delight;
Arpeggios are shimmering and bright.

I think that music for the harpsichord
Should stay performed on its exotic keys.
For taking out the glimmer of its tone
Removes the glitter that it does denote.

And thus I love its timbre and its pow’r
And think its foes but ignorant and dour.