5 Anime Sonnets (and Two Random Others)

It's the end of the month, and with it I bring my final seven sonnets for a goal on The List:

027. Write 1 sonnet per day for 1 month

Honestly it's a relief to finish these. Sonnet-writing is not as fun as I seem to remember. Nor as easy.
Originally I'd planned to do something fun for this last week and write sonnets about anime, but the first and last ones here...aren't. But they're still kind of light-hearted and silly...

Daylight Savings Messes Up My Body Clock (And My Brain)

Alas, I planned to write of anime,

Of characters fictional and adored,

Yet as I sat down to my great dismay,

My brain did refuse and my thoughts all snored.

Tis folly to write with a mind like this,

With a head so clouded by cotton wool,

All quick-witted phrases have gone amiss--

My mind is no longer a sharpened tool.

Yet this foolish errand I shall not yield,

For on the morrow I will try again,

In hope that my thoughts do fly far afield,

To write wittily with digital pen.

Today there is something to place the blame:

Daylight Savings is its infernal name.

(This happens every damn year, and it always takes a good week for me to get used to everything being an hour different...)
 

An Egg By Any Other Name Could Not Be Beat

Do you see the great unbeatable Egg?

Wrapped up in his spandex suit of yellow,

Red gloves and boots on each strong fist and leg,

With his white cape he's a superb fellow!

See at his side the serious Toaster,

Young, that cyborg disciple of metal,

Admired is he: a boy of the poster,

His verbosity does the Egg nettle.

Yet together this duo save the earth,

(Albeit the Toaster often gets wreck'd)

Such heroes as these are of immense worth,

As monsters defeated, the sales are check'd.

For the best bargains are found before lunch,

So the Egg beats the monster with one punch.

(A sonnet about One Punch Man, because it's ridiculous and I love it)

24 Hours and the Sky: 8 Sonnets

Here I am again with more sonnets! This set of 8 is based around the sky and times of day.

Sun

A warm soul is he of many faces

Limpid and pale on a chill winter's morn

Yet when the spring comes how fast he races

To summon the daffodils from the lawn

And summer's image is so hot and bright

His broad beam inviting a sleepy trance

How golden he turns in the autumn light

As leaves of all colours take up their dance

But oft does he hide in a shroud of grey

Dull in his journey from dawn until dusk

Sometimes he burns those who walk at midday

Sparing no saint nor thief nor soul at busk

This giver of life fickle in his ways

Is predictable in his yearly phase

Moon

Ancient yet youthful is her form so pale,

Sometime rotund and sometime slight as fae,

As thru' the night's velvet skies doth she sail,

To aid the trav'ller who has lost his way.

On winter nights she wears rings of all shades,

A halo remains in spring's coolest air,

In summer she late arrives in the glades,

And autumn's harvest sees her smile so rare.

Yet some nights she shyly hides behind clouds,

Or turns her dark back to the weary soul,

And lamplight must govern the nightly crowds,

For darkness is friend only to the mole.

Again thru' the sky this pale lady rides,

This lighter of ways, mistress of the tides.

Stars

At moonrise in countless number you'll see

Kings and Queens of such marvellous brightness

Fine jewels in each patch of night velvety

Distant monarchs each with their own lightness

How far they are from our homeland humble

Yet strong enough that we know each by name

And even should one form take a tumble

We know its path: can calculate its aim

Tho' with each sunrise these royals do fade

Obscured behind the daytime's lightened skies

After the sun has made his grand parade

They reappear to soothe our weary eyes

Eternal bodies so noble and bright

Those Lords and Ladies of infinite night

Seasons and Sweet Things

Continuing on from last week's post about my month-long sonnet-writing challenge, here are the next eight!

Too Tired to Think of a Topic

Oft are there times in life when effort fails,

When the siren song of sleep is too great

And still falls the wind from the mind's white sails.

Whether the hour be early or too late,

Hard is the journey when the currents freeze,

And thought's great ship is trapped on oceans grey

As all on board await the wakeful breeze--

Yet drowsily long for the end of day.

But some may resist the lure of pillows

From time to time when oceans rise and fall,

And in fresh gusts of wind the sail billows,

And thoughts fly free amidst the seabird's call.

When sails fall and this vessel longs to sleep,

The answer is to concentrate, breathe deep.

(Because I was too tired to think of a topic)

Spring

Gentle her footsteps that herald warm light,

And quiet the sighs that rustle fresh leaves,

And tho' in her wake bloom flowers so bright,

That breath can turn cold and howl 'round the eaves.

For sometimes through meadows sweet she will rage,

And force newborn lives to shudder and hide,

Heavy her tears soak the travelling sage,

And spoils fragile blooms at winter's graveside.

Though often is her temperament harsh,

With her kind light are warmer days proclaimed,

For new life grows upon the cruellest marsh,

Under the care of that nature untamed.

So when the wind howls and rain blots the sky,

Know it is she who makes blooms multiply.

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)