Brought to you by the S.T.D.*
March 28th 2017 (an address to my critics)
*The Superlative Theatrics Department.
You must read Pope, Poe, Milton and Moliere
Then your nose too may rise up in the air
As you recite your most recent sonnet
Regarding toast with Blue Bonnet on it.
With words most people are a disaster
But my words will prove I am the master.
Your words no one will want to utter
But mine are as smooth as the finest butter.
Your crude thoughts are like margarine slices
Which you use for unspeakable vices
That start with unintelligible rants
And end with your hands deep down in your pants.
Words, like margarine, will seem insincere
Unless buttered by... The Midnight Sonneteer!
March 4th 2016
Ascend, wee daffy dill,
And bloom with plum and crocus!
Drive off the wintry chill
With your vernal hocus pocus!
Blast your horn up towards the sun
And it's brilliance that you mimic.
Prove forever and to everyone
That you're more than just a gimmick!
Show off thy nodding stalk
And lax, nutating leaves.
Around your beauty we will flock
And the glory it achieves!
Yes it's true your charm is brief
And soon your hue will fade.
Time will prove again it's thief
But your cheer has been conveyed
And that I think I'd like to keep
Long after you've gone back to sleep!
Bigshots
December 20th 2017
Leadership! The buzzword perpetual
Worshipped through the patristic eons
By the pallid preconceptual
And all their sadistic peons.
"All hands on deck to swear!'
Say the captains by beatitudes.
Then, by their demeanors you can compare
...antipodean human attitudes.
Actions prove when morality is lost
And ethos quoted more than followed
Are values that may as well be tossed
As less mud wherein the hogs are wallowed.
Leadership! That faithful permission slip
That let's them smugly flop, before they flip.
Observations on Friday the 13th,
March, 2015 at 3:30 a.m.
I gazed into the Jovian disk
As one of Galileo's moons
Drifted into it's glowing form,
Melting like butter into a bisque.
Jove broadcasts crackling tunes
Formed by some lurking plasma storm.
The vastness of space blocks the sound
But many planets make noise.
If you're not able to hear
The heavens as they spin around
With their rotational poise
Then just view them when it is clear.
They pass quickly through the eyepiece
So be sure to pay attention
When compressing your view of space.
Keep your lenses free of piegrease
And scenes of honorable mention
Will wind up in front of your face!
A silent telescopic scene
Produces harmonious thoughts
of Jove's ethereal lightning.
Those distant bolts don't seem so mean,
Just far off electrical knots
That aren't very frightening.
Yet no thunder seems a blunder.
If only outer space had air
To transport Olympic fury.
Plentiful skies rent asunder
By godlike powers without care
I think would be much less dreary.
Or better still...
Some riveted steampunk rockets
Full of comely amazon chicks
On their way to make some pictures.
Some eyes might pop out of sockets
After watching such oddball flicks
Crafted without confining strictures.
Fine interplanetary skies
Can always use some improvement!
Let's bring back that retro space age
Of plentiful saucer supplies
And warp factor powered movement!
You just know it would be all the rage!
October 29th 2015
Tommyrot, or not?
That is the word.
The word that most consider absurd.
Will it rot?
Yea or nay?
Or will it dry out in a day
Leaving only a bloodstained spot?
Will this memento mori stay
Or will you throw this verse away?
Try waking up and having tea
Then with this verse you might agree.
Either way it's better than what Tommy's got.
Lilac Nights
September 2017
A poets best work is done after dark,
That's the most romantic time to think,
And to make a more memorable mark
He needs to use an appropriate ink.
Well, there are many ways to please the muse
But the muse that helps after hours
Prefers that I use more charming hues
Which I think assist with her powers.
With them she gives the gift of glory
And endless beauty from a sea of dreams
That might be fashioned into a story
Composed from that ink's swift flowing streams.
Great fancy and all her marvelous flights
Transpire best on warm lilac nights.
Orbits of Glory
September 27th 2016
Beauty steeps in it's own saucy aether
Mysterious to all but the Muse.
It wafts about as décor to wreathe her
And it serves to amaze and confuse.
If effort is made of both wit and grace
Some clearing may be made through the haze
And reward is had by seeing her face
And the honed thought her fine look conveys.
In her domain we find spheres of greatness
And the orbits of glory they drift in.
Such thinking suffers no sad abateness
From the poet residing in Sifton!
Oh it's a humble suburb, quite boring,
But it gets poetic genius soaring!
A Sonnet for the Solstice
December 20th 2016
Here we are at winter's solstice
Where it's tough to stay warm and dry.
Yet some things from summer I will not miss
Such as the lazy bumble fly,
Or excessive auto exhaust,
Or thorns on blackberry vines
And roadkill, by Goodyear tire embossed,
Whereon that bumble fly dines.
Such scenes on solar hot asphalt
Make summer such a wretched thing
Like that whole humidity gestalt
With it's perspiratory cling!
Yes the best time on calendar or clocks
is either one, or the other, equinox!
The Reason
Great care must be taken, that much is sure,
When communicating with people in verse.
It isn't always a surefire cure
But it's sweeter than a coarse twitter curse.
And since I possess the power of words
I must now set an example of grace
For the earth needs more than technocrat nerds
Or leaders that stain the national face.
They need something more than chaotic thoughts,
Something more than rapid couplets that drone
Or vulgar tunes amped by kilowatts
That no cavalier of old would condone.
So now in the night, it is I they will hear,
The haunting voice of The Midnight Sonneteer!
Half moon beach
July 2014
The pelican shows aquatic grace.
It circles just above the sea
Then drops, and chops a wave with sword like face.
Plunging thus how could it's quarry flee?
It throws itself boldly into the fray,
Beak and webbed feet like a rocket's nose and fins,
The impact marked by splash and spray
Just beyond the surf's sandy, pounding dins.
These sorties take their toll. The beach is plumed!
Their spent feathers are snared by seaweed heaps!
Quills! Cut them just so and ink will be flumed.
A great gift from this place of neapy reaps.
I think the muse controls these great birds
Knowing well that great feathers make great words!
