Angsts, Agitations and Animals: 8 Sonnets

At the end of February, I decided that March would be the month I attempted one of my writing goals from The List:

027. Write 1 sonnet per day for 1 month

This is the most challenging of my writing goals - more challenging than haiku, or flash fiction, or short stories of 1000+ words!

Sonnets have so many rules with regards their form, and whilst pretty much every sonnet I studied in school was a love poem, I decided to throw that out of the window this month and write sonnets on all kinds of subjects (though I guess I ought to try writing something affectionate at some point!)

Today I'm sharing my first 8 sonnets of the month. Some are serious, some are ridiculous, and the last one is pushing it a little.

So here goes.

Survivor to the Fog

On this merciless shore of stones and sighs,

Where the wreckers shine their deceitful light

And await the spoils amidst dying cries,

You are deathly fog on this stormy night.

When darkness lifts her curtain to the gloom,

And when the sun to heaven makes her climb,

Her feeble glow reveals this frozen tomb--

You are the ice of endless wintertime.

Yet others walk upon this untamed shore,

To seek survivors of this fog and ice

And reach out to those in a state so poor:

You are but the patter of fleeing mice

For though your blindfold may once more descend,

All fog lifts, all ice melts at winter's end.

 (Bad day? Low mood? POETRY.)

Ain't Nobody Got Time For That

Heark ye all! That young fellow doth approach!

In verdant splendour upon a fine wheel

Oh how we curse for the subject to broach:

What driveth this boy and what is his deal?

And here dwells a fellow with wide-eyed gaze

His coat as pale and soft as summer sand

He sayeth much good, very boy, amaze!

As his worshippers await close to hand.

Though many more have passed along this way

A humble few remain in mem'ries strong

And though no heed to logic do they pay

So many more are yet to pass along

Should time escape ye all or so it seems

Remember this: these fellows are but memes.

 (Yes, I wrote a sonnet about dat boi and doge)

Please Wipe the Drum After Washing Horse Towels

The splash and splatter of red upon green:

Such stains unsightly I wish'd to vanish

With purpose did I grasp her coat unclean,

And knelt, to find a sight I would banish!

For as into the silver drum I look'd

My gaze was met by inscrutable hair

An animal stench left my senses shook'd:

And I asked, had horses also been there?

Oh foolish woman! What do you expect

But a drum full of hairs and equine stench

For should man's grimy laundry go uncheck'd

What more could result but a nagging wench?

And so, for man to escape this stern mien

I ask: please clean the damn washing machine.

(When you go to wash some clothes and find the above conditions so you write a passive-aggressive poem about it...)

On Cleaning the Kitchen

How grand and gleaming is this firm expanse,

And how noble yet stringent that perfume!

When through but common use and pure mischance,

Upon that surface fair was grime abloom.

How bright the fabrics with their fine-stitched hem

That skims across this smooth and shining stone,

And soft, like a butterfly on a stem

To rest--and in a moment she has flown.

But how long shall this bright beauty remain?

Unsullied by the grime of everyday

How long 'til life's dust falls upon this plain

To prompt harsh utterances of dismay?

Although today the battle has been won,

Housework begun will always come undone.

(The dust. The DUST!)

Tired

Oh how still and stagnant this summer's haze,

Caught before the slow dawning threat of night,

And weary, yearning for those clear spring days,

When flowers flourished into visions bright.

In airless rooms doth this summer linger,

Witless and stifled in this time-worn cell,

And no dreams 'neath heavy clouds malinger,

For time seems stopp'd, yet life does time impel.

This torpid summer still has far to go,

Has yet to sigh and bow to autumn's reign,

Will never witness sheets of winter's snow,

Marred as it is by springtime's hurricane.

This mortal coil weeps for all that is lost

These eyes see no future--but at what cost?

(Tiredness does not a good mood make)
 

Catnapping

Wily, that murderess and soft her tread

So soft the gaze that has seen so much death

Gentle her nails that have enemies bled

As closer she creeps with calmness of breath

How green her eyes as she nears with a smile

And raven her hair gleams within the light

She cares not if these sheets she will defile

Her target found she is full of delight

But how easy to forgive future mess

When her body is so relaxed and warm!

And lethargic these hands that do caress

Her gently-rumbling and snuggled up form

Many joys hath the world I'll give you that

But nowt compares to napping with a cat

 (I was feeling tired and unwell, so I took a nap and the cat napped with me)

Casting Out

Oh most foul and odious of creatures!

Make haste and be gone from this darkened cell!

Gloom may obscure your malicious features,

But your presence is a most dreadful spell.

A thick-growing sea threat come into land:

Your breath invades every heart with cold doubt

Blinding the eyes to this sunny grassland

Choking all thought that you may be cast out.

So be gone, oh foul creature of despair!

Let the daylight shine radiant once more!

Should brief be your repose unto your lair

Know a battle awaits outside your door.

For stealthily tho' you try to outwit

None easy shall fall, no one shall submit.

On Forgetting a Great Opening Line

Shit! I found the perfect opening line!

But was distracted therefore I forgot

That first line for this modest verse of mine

(I must admit this happens quite a lot).

How grand that line was and so poetic!

With clever words I would have summoned forth

An image of such striking aesthetic

Alas I stood and lost those words henceforth.

But there is the simplest of solutions

To save me from this wrinkle-giving frown:

To stop future verbal destitution.

I swear to God next time I'll write it down.

(I say this with intentions good and yet

I know I will still god damn well forget!)

(I actually did forget. This was meant to be a sonnet about a cat sleeping in today's glorious spring sunshine)

So that's the first few sonnets done! It's a challenge to write them when I'm tired, which usually happens when I'm busy or have been out for the day. But I've managed so far! Am finding another challenge in what to write them about, sometimes. Hence the poem about internet memes and forgetting the opening line!

8 down, 23 to go!