Posts Tagged ‘Sonnet’

Another Sonnet Except This One Is Genuinely Pointless

November 17 2009

Hockey Rookies 1996

 

Jarome Iginla, Jarome Iginla:

didn’t think you had it in ya.

But you did– you made it happen!

The Big Tree, our first black captain.

 

Sergei Berezin, sacred wing–

his name a mantra– let it ring!

This sniper’s blast, by ray divine,

will find itself inside the twine.

 

Bryan Berard, Rhode Island’s own,

would not have used androsterone

if not for Hossa– rape his corpse!

(Though Todd Bertuzzi needs it worse).

 

But for that year– three princely sticks–

you Kings of Hockey ’96.

 

The Sonnet About Seal That I Wrote While Waiting For The Pixies To Start Playing Pixies Songs (In Front Of Me)

November 13 2009

Olumandius

 

Look upon my scar-ed face, chump, and despair;

second glance, my onyx dome– luminous, denude of hair.

Gaze at my wife, a vision: plump, and thick with child;

Hear my voice, a piercing siren– every note in any style.

 

Picture yourself, if at your best you could dare imagine,

in my place, your throbbing love the size and strength of stallions–

buck, but like the world, come limp at your command.

Johan Riley, at your side; Henry Gunther, right hand man.

 

(Envy all that I’ve achieved, but in it take

a grain of salt. Though blessed I am, no man

would I’ve become, were not for the sake

of the great John Galt)! So thank Ayn Rand

 

who taught us all, there is nothing wrong with greed and might.

Take it from me, Seal Olumide Samuel: Socialism is Kryptonite.

The Afinity Sonnet

November 2 2009

The Afinity Sonnet*

 

A ride from which there is no buck,

Almost every lad has had this wish.
We cheat and scheme and dream and fuck,
But from this track there can be no switch.

 

As surely as bulls and trains may semlessly
be conflated; there exists no escape in every ring
we have created. For death is true and ruthlessly
it jests: on our way out– as when come in– we cling

 

to breasts, recycled tropes we must endure
no longer: parse every eternity cast of finite stuff,
encrypt your histrionic plots and salt the saccharine score
no stronger. False cure for false infinity: redoubt romantic love,

 

redouble strife. In stead make your lot a Multiplicity:
Trouble four Michael Keatons to please, take your wife.
  
 
 
 

*As inspired by the closing couplet of September 28, 2009‘s entry.