‘Iambic pentameter is a bore’
Say those without a single shred of wit
Though I’ll admit, perhaps it’s a bit more
Effort than what appears the worth of it
Tag: iambic pentameter
Another’s charms
I have more love than I could ever use
From she who holds me tightly in her arms
Ask me again and e’er it’s her I’ll choose
I’ll care not for another’s grace and charms
Parting book
If ever I should leave this blackened Earth
Do not despair, but to the heavens look
The brightest blues are my e’er-smiling mirth
On grandest clouds are writ my parting book
A walk at night
I went out walking with a pen in hand
And found that all the Earth is stories told
I quickly listened, and these stories penned
Deep into night’s embrace of silent cold
Nary a thought
I had not oft questioned my earthly path
Until I found the road came to an end—
Not just an end, a cliff before me then—
No way to turn but back to what I knew
And question then did I all that I knew
The birds, the skies, my God, the very ground
Each thing that once was sure I’ve questioned since
My path was found to end with nar’ a thought
An open letter to my dog
Frustration piles on empty pittances
Some promise of an easy fix is made
Yet never will you know what silence is
Without knowing to calm when you’re afraid
You howl and yip, destroying all you can
You pull apart the things we’ve built for you
If only I could know the prior man
Who did neglect you and make you so blue
I can’t make any promises you’ll hear
Or rather that you’d ever understand
But for a moment lend to me your ear
And know these heart-writ words that I have penned:
You soon will know that from you I won’t leave
That this time, love is permanent and true
And to my arms you’ll your sweet self so heave
Knowing at once and e’er that I love you.
Sonnet 10
‘Tis said a man can walk his life alone—
That others form a not unwelcome part
But one that is unneeded for his heart—
That by himself he can his talents hone.
This grand and spurious fallacy is e’er
About when talks of “manliness” occur
When men take truth and right and them inter
‘Til more convenient truths take to the air.
Forever’t seems we struggle ‘gainst such thought
Some misbegotten, fruitless, mad ideals
That seem so deaf to reasonéd appeals;
With peril reason’d words are ever fraught.
For ‘til the day can come when reason wins,
Men will be filled with barb’rous, “manly” sins.
