New Blog!

Last year I embarked upon an ill fated resolution to write one sonnet a day for a year. As you know gentle readers, it did not last. But I am trying again! Not every day, it's hard to do that and also have a life, but at least a few times week.
So, here is a new blog. The Sonnet Blog, just for them. I am calling it thus so that I have no excuse to post anything but sonnets there. So it begins, expect regular updates, I certainly will.
If you feel so inclined do please follow here:
http://crazycurlysonnets.blogspot.com/

LXIII Billy Collins life

I life were like a Billy Collins poem,
There'd always be that certain turn of phrase,
That--by the time all of the lines were done--
Would leave the reader poignantly amazed.
Those scraps that hungry tempests love to toss,
Would all be folded into drawers and shelves,
And only fuss from time to time the loss
Of wilder pulses where they once had dwelled.
The highs and lows of passions crushed or crashed
With all their jagged edges on the strand,
Would already have smoothed where they were dashed
Into the wind that blows the other sands.
    Life would just say the things it had to say,
    Then leave us aching, in a gente way.

The Snow Queen Dreams She Has A Heart

I could call you Kai,
Or I could call you Snow, just as easily.
It's cryogenics
That makes your lips blue,
That makes my hands seem warm,
A somnambulance of frost and white bees swarming.
Is it really freedom if I give you a choice?
If I call you Gerda,
Or Reindeer?
If I keep you in summer always, or always winter?
In the south, or the north, of the world.
I could give you all the pieces,
Each unique as a tear or a rose,
Each one the same.
It isn't really language, love.

National Poetry Month and Off the Wagon

Well it seems I can't keep any sort of set schedule or theme on this thing but hey, it's National Poetry Month! And in celebration I will attempt to keep on truckin at random.

LXII

"When you are old and grey and full of sleep,"
That's a great line I wish belonged to me,
"Your eyes had once, and of there shadows deep",
Is lovely there as well, if can't you see,
I feel entirely cowed by the great lot,
Of all the wondrous words that predate mine,
Always putting them down quite on the spot,
And nearly always running out of time.
There are so many phrases in my head,
That have been used by better smiths before,
Who forge much better wit, catharsis, dread,
And are set down for glory evermore.
    Though they are wonderful I must complain,
     Of all the poets lodged within my brain.
   

LXI there few things better better than sleeping in

There are few things that rival sleeping in,
There is no better physic for the mood,
Only a few things cause an equal grin,
Most of them are X-rated or a food.
Even if you can't sleep past a late hour,
Just lounging there works wonders for the soul,
The curtains block out all the new day's glowers,
While snuggled up agains the morning's cold.
And yes, X-rated things would be preferred,
Better than simply stretching with a yawn,
But really, owning both sides of the bed,
Is not always a thing to be frowned.
    A morning free does not often come cheap,
    Just knowing your alam will never beep.

LX worst.sonnet.ever.

This one's a cop-out, I apologize.

Scissors cuts paper, paper covers rock.

(These are the real rules, I would not tell lies)

Rock crushes scissors, lizard poisons Spock.

Spock breaks scissors, they lizard then behead,

(You must watch your opponent for weakness.)

Lizard eats paper, (I long for for my bead,

But strategy cannot include weakness.)

Paper disproves Spock, Spock the rock makes poof,

(But vaporize is what it really does,

These are the rules, watch Big Bang, it has proof)

Rock crushes scissors, as it always has.

   I played this game so this poem could get done,

   There were better ideas but fatigue won.