Sonnets

Note: These sonnets were inspired greatly by multi-syllabic and internal rhyme- loving poets, especially hip hop artist MF Doom and Edgar Allan Poe. You will note themes from both of these artists appear in the sonnets below.




While I stumbled in a night, dark and dreary,
With only streetlights and my thoughts for company,
And only deserted lots that could hear me,
As an edgeless shot brought me agony.

I walked forward, though little I could really see,
The edgeless sword aching inside of me,
But then I walked backwards, towards the sea.
Erasing the imprint of what I had been.

I went backwards now, away from the night,
So dreary and dark, a meaningless question mark,
Away from the devils and fright,
That lay out there, grinning in the dark.

So I escaped my night, dark and dreary,
And now here I ponder; weak, but not yet weary.



There's a clown dancing on Bourbon Street,
Painting the town red, drinking herself to sleep,
Falling into beds drenched in Orleans heat,
She screams silently; you won't hear a peep.

I knew this clown before it found it's mask,
I gave it a pound of flesh from my chest,
I never got a ducket in return, I never asked,
For much from it, and you know the rest.

Last night I saw it, in a stumbling dance,
On the right of a corner in Larraways Bend,
She fell from flight into a hopeless trance,
She fell one more time, and that was the end.

Sometimes I think I may have been that clown,
Hoping, wishing, staining my town,

But I let that clown die on Bourbon Street,
Covered in New Orlean's heat.

Dan: Free Verse

Dan is the nicest man you'll ever meet.
He smiles in the rain.
He finds sunlight in the shadows.
He is a friend to the merchant and the poor alike.
Dan turns his cheek even when the blood streams from it,
and pools on the ground like an offence against God.
For if someone were to hit Dan,
Then a Devil they must be.

Dan is short, and wears a baseball cap on his head like the top of a watchtower,
Gazing out at a grey sea of concrete and broken glass around him.
At night, he stumbles around,
Led by only his own personal light.
His skin is old, and worn, wrinkled like leather and tougher then it too,
But his hands are soft to the touch,
Because they've never held a weapon.
Dan doesn't have enemies, but sometimes does not have friends.
But even the blackest soul that meets him in the night,
Wishes him no harm.
For even a Devil doesn't step on a wallflower.

I met Dan on a morning that was neither sunny nor frosted with cloud,
There was no rain, but the air was still heavy.
He stood at a street corner, smiling at something no one could see.
Approaching me of his own vocation as I stood with a friend.
In 30 seconds, he knew me.
In a minute,  I would have considered us friends.
In two minutes, I admired him,
But that was all I would see of Dan.

Dan is homeless.
Dan never stops moving,
Like a rock rolling down a mellow hill,
Only the hill never ends,
So the rock just goes down, forever.
Gathering momentum as it goes,
And eventually crushing trees and rocks beneath it.
In the end, it was Dan's own weight that brought him down.
That anchor inside him.
That chained his mind to the bottom of an empty sea,
With only itself for company.

Dan didn't know when he became "ill",
All he knew was that he wasn't "right".
Maybe he just didn't see what other people saw,
Or maybe they just didn't really see him.
But Dan had a problem with seeing that no living optometrist,
With all their degrees and knowledge,
Could ever really grasp.

Four hours after I saw him, Dan shot up again.
I didn't see him do it and I didn't hear about it from anyone,
But I can tell you from the scars on his wrist that after he saw me,
He lasted no longer than four hours.
I can picture the veins on his arm,
And that dark needle going into them.
It haunts me.
That needle is killing Dan, taking away the "good" part of him,
And leaving only the "ill" part behind.

Dan might be dead right now.
I looked for him one day,
Among the addicts and the trash and the concrete frames,
But his picture is lost somewhere in there.
The shredder.

But Dan is still the nicest man you'll ever meet.
Because if anything, he chooses to not see what he can't understand.
Because if anything, his shadow eclipses ours,
And because if anything, he's just a photograph in my pocket that can't hurt me anymore than he could.

Somewhat Witty Limericks

There once was a man from Nantucket,
Who was lugging a heavy old bucket,
He heaved, and heaved,
And grieved, and grieved,
And finally said "Oh, fuck it!"

There was was a boy from a land,
And land covered in sand,
Twas even his food!
I don't mean to be rude;
But it really was quite bland.

There was was a lass from Japan,
Who met a young lad named Sam,
But when they went to the shed,
And later to bed,
It turned out she was a man!

There once was a lad named Peter,
Who was quite the odd little eater,
He could only devour
What was organic and sour,
And smelled like a joint of reefer.

There once was a man from Atlanta,
With a gun shaped like a banana
He shot at a ape,
Of formidable shape,
And that's how he killed Santa.