Midtown Purlieu

March 21st.

"There are no small parts only small actors."

Is a phrase not to say in wrist watch shops

For there the small acts are the chief factors

For the proper fitting of time keeping props

And time better kept aids the digestion

When attempting peristalsis at noon.

Yes, staying on schedule is the question

Or your next toilet woe may be to soon!

Of course good company with time must be kept

Especially when publically dining,

But I'm sure your guests are all quite adept

At the most benevolently gay opining

     Amid all of their familial chews

     Hoping the check won't be shocking news. 

March 17th

The green in the grass was lightning bright

As the sunlight steamed the rain off the roof

And the plum tree blooms were blindingly white

Under clouds most apt for opera bouffe!

Then all went dim by a cold Celtic cloud

That seemed to state "Just hold your horses"

"It's premature for spring to be proud

When for two days more winter still enforces!"

So tonight I raise a glass to the sky

To salute the calendar's authority

And also to toast St. Patrick on high

But don't ask me which has the seniority!

     Then tonight's last toast, as my wits deaden,

     Will be well wishes for...The Family Shedden! 

March 17th

In the bawdy times of legendary gods

The Celtic folks first sampled the taste

Of a drink that met with approving nods

Brewed from things otherwise considered waste

Like the cast off grains only horses chewed

And they thought "Why should that beast be favored

When it's food with yeast might be steamed or stewed

To form fine nectars splendidly flavored?"

So they set up shop with big pots and vats

And experimented with the newborn juice

With a lot of tasting in between spats

And in quantities vast enough to sluice.

     Eventually they concocted green beer

     Always best served... with midnight sonnet cheer!

H.M.S.* Peerless

(Her Majesty's Sonneteer)*

March 14th

By boldly scanning poetic frontiers

Nocturnal bards are ever playful

For that's the way to beat trolls and sneers

Be they by the barrel or the tray full!

Sometimes it's tough to boost downtrodden moods

When avalanched by nihilistic bots

Or Cossacks with anarchist attitudes

Instead of hale and hearty English thoughts.

But the Queen's language of superlatives,

So terrific for warships and boners,

Will always trounce... party pooperlatives

And all of their lamentable owners

     Who cannot fathom the cryptic career

     Of the GRANDIOSE...Midnight Sonneteer! 

Run like the wind

March 13th

When all the gods in the heavens, films and books

Abandon all our selfish human ears

And we judge ourselves by our apish looks

Do not be shocked when greatness disappears

Deprived of their inspired psychic lust.

But I'll make do with Zephyr's pristine wind

Since the force of it is something I still trust

As a thing those forlorn gods did not rescind.

So here's an ode to those still fleet of foot

Who make the most of a glorious day.

Sometimes, just finding where a foot gets put

IS... the requisite success to make our way.

     The gods must have known this was all we needed,

     Fresh air, and a pathway unimpeded!


March 10th

Now ides march quickly past the newborn blooms

As trees respire with a more lusty flow

And scots look forward to more scotch brooms

For plants, like rockets, are now all systems go!

Now the sky gets beat by the bees and geese

And with their anxious birdbrain cousin ducks

They navigate for their flocks increase

By following the muse of magnetic flux.

Now crescent Luna surveys the morning mist

With eyes pocked by eternal desires

That she be made mortal once more and kissed

Among the sprouting brambles and briars

     That make the Earth the envy of a sky 

     Full of jealous globes of barren radii.

February 28th

Come, February, just let yourself go!

Let roaring March rekindle the Earth

With wind fortified by more solar glow.

The hemisphere anticipates...mirth!

Nimbostratus nights now start to seem weird

And I fear the next time I see blue skies

That they as well will possess a gray beard

And also give only melancholy sighs.

THAT... will not serve for the launching of kites

Or the altitude gain of heady blooms

Which will not be had on long winter nights

As we incarcerate in dimly lit rooms

     Waiting for the lion and lambs advance

     To mend cabin fever with fresh gallivants!

For the Bookplates

February 16th

A signal purpose in collecting tomes

Is to transform mere brains into a mind

Whereby rude dwellings become homes

In which great thought and virtue you will find.

And though all the marks upon their pages

Are not necessarily so divine,

It will please both I and subsequent sages

If you would gently treat each graceful spine.

If, perchance, their titles don't show it

This library belongs to an artist

And her connubial nighttime poet

Who vainly thinks his verse the smartest.

     So if we have a book that you revere

     Just ask Charlotte or... her Midnight Sonneteer!

Valentine's Day

Tonight, glamourous love will go unsmirched

Stoked by Cupid's invisible arrows

That rain like rays so cosmically unperched

That they even blast though our marrows.

Perhaps therewith Helios lends a hand

And in such fashion rekindles desire

For even mortal love will not be bland

If powered with celestial fire!

To mortal marrow from a stellar core

Methinks such love to be of a power

To be anything but a dreadful bore 

Or biohazard that's tough to scour.

     So for every flare the sun has flung

     A lover, by Cupid's darts, has been stung.


The Commons

February 6th

Trailers to the south and tract houses north

We're lucky Sifton has a park here at all

For open skies are where I sally forth

And those cannot be had at Vancouver Mall

But that good fortune ends when nature calls

While strolling in parks with no water closets.

None! No porcelain bowls with lily white stalls

Where dudes might leave urinary deposits!

Oh it's true the mall has such facilities

And a park loo would burden taxations

But I cannot bear old shopper debilities

And their relentless food court toilet laxations.

     So from excess coffee I vow to abstain

     Or more than the gray skies of Sifton will drain!  

The Grotesquery

February 3rd

Fear, I hear, is a terrible thing

And the cornerstone of a coward.

Yet to the vine of forethought it will cling

For a future lattice safely bowered.

Therewith wild nature is uniformed

And risk is rendered nugatory

So pleasures instead of dangers are normed

Which makes existence more hunky dory.

Reason MUST be fear's administrator,

As an actuarial conundrum

Is akin to a modern encore

Of reductio ad absurdum

     Which helps us forestall those grotesque extremes

     That convert republics into regimes.

Hush yourself

January 24th

Mired in perpetual outrage

The mind of convention is conceited

For rage is not the way of the sage

But just a brain, of decency, depleted.

Oh we are all very dysfunctional

But I hesitate to call it sin

When it is work just to be punctual

About when our labors begin,

And it is easy to lapse into thinking

That ours is the only duress

Or that the apocalypse is brinking

Because a dude walked by... wearing a dress.

     So, please do not speak of cultural wars

     It only confirms us as bigotry's whores.

On DisCUSSion

January 22nd

Honest fellows hate a minced oath

And when I hear one I am winced.

It smacks of truth speciously quoth

And on that note I am convinced.

But like a miner's dynamite

The detonations need some thought

Since explosions can be a fright

And overuse means overwrought.

Still, when sentences get stale

Just mix in uncommon cussing

And you will spy without fail

Some feeble egos... nonplussing.

Brand New Monarchies

January 22nd 

Of the rich the poor should be suspicious

Since we remember from old afflictions

That too much cash makes them injudicious

And prone to corruptions and addictions.

Evil hides behind tradition's shield

And unchecked influence leads to bad things

Which is why old Yankees took the field

To tell the world that... we don't need kings!

Yet now we're told to kiss the rich man's ass

And that any sort of foment is treason.

But sometimes when the boss is ungodly crass

That fomented voice... is the voice of reason!

     Yes, once, the marching deplorables were free.

     Now, "You're fired" by a spoiled debauchee. 

Hooves of Glory

January 14th

My thought today coursed with Apollo's disk

Though I strode only on an asphalt path

Since it's altitude offered lower risk

From airless space and Newtonian math.

It's best if poets remain well grounded

And surely the gods with that will agree

For mortal pride they say is unfounded

And gods must be worshipped from a bent knee. 

Yet I was given feet on which to trod

And old knees do not bend so readily

Nor will they charge like a solar god

Borne by atomic hooves beating steadily.

     Still, might not a poet with some pride dare

     When illuminated by so bold a glare?

Saint Midnight and the Dragon

January 5th

As folly goes I think mine not so bad

When channeled into an honest display.

Oh it had been by a dull aegis clad

Which was an inhibition of dismay.

But now it sparkles like some brand new plate

That treats me to a giggle and a laugh

And is now the kind of charming trait

A chap relies on for an epitaph.

Of course those lines need not be for me,

Buoyed now by invisible armor

Whose weightless cheer has set my folly free

To be it's own rust free harmless charmer

     In a universe where epitaphs laugh

     Because dreadfulness has been chopped in half.

The Elysium Limbo

January 1st. 11:48 p.m.

Now Apollo's sky by Luna is gilt

With a surplus of actinic tribute.

That's how Urania's temples are built

To please that muse of galactic repute.

Only like beams have the requisite span

For architecture of aethereal rank.

Someday mortals may be in on the plan

But we will have to think more like Max Planck!

Meanwhile, certain terrestrial apes

Will jot down their uncaged thoughts of the night

About how well the vault of heaven drapes

When the full Wolf Moon makes the night so bright

     Next to where the Dogstar and Orion plods.

     Tread they heaven, or the graveyard of the gods?

Carpe diem!

January 1st.

The newborn year scintillated my eyes

And in doing so begged that I rove the park.

Well why would I deny such a prize

After spending too much time in the dark?

Then the light my eyes refined from the scene

Spirited my carcass out the front door

With a robustly caffeinated careen

That declared all indoor places a bore!

The teasing welkin soon felt my embrace

As I gazed on Apollo's chariot.

It's fresh caress on my wintery face

made me happy enough to marry it!

     Then Apollo told this midnight sonneteer,

     "Why seize a day when you can have the whole year!"