Monthly Archives: July 2018

Sonnet #253

Beloved daughter of the beast in question,

Has no words to speak to how her parents met

In fact, I’ve never heard it spoken, yet

How mother was tricked, held against her intentions

Until the monster’s mask was shaken free

By their great wrestling and shouting matches –

She speaks so highly of her father, she latches

to his great work, his great kindom in the trees

When asked about the curse, she says we are all

born with original sin upon us, let us move on

From such tedious subjects as the sins we share all

done in the name of, and let the servants’ son

in to serve us tea. Beloved son of candelabras

He was born inherited to serve, and to sing a little opera

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Sonnet #252

Let’s say we walk away from Omelas

Out into these wide wilder fields

Where the bracken chokes the grass

And the clustered trees scratch not heal

Let’s say we live among the trash

That floats into the mangroves from the city

Construct our lone utopias, gather, lash,

what sticks we have to lean-to in the trees

Let’s say the seasons come, it’s cold

Let’s say we know the starving time is here

Let’s say Omelas in plenty casts it’s hold

In trash we gather to eat and scare the bears

Did we walk far enough, Ursula? Is this enough?

When we are wilder creatures, lean and rough?

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Sonnet #251

The vine is handed down from masters,
The methods are more modern, digital tools
An electric range, clean sugar, free of bone…

Wait until the halfturned grape, grackles’ laughter
In the leaves, then pick them tart like fools
To soon to eat, too soon for wine, leave none
Behind. Okay, let’s clean them up, for starters
Knock the spiders out of them, be not cruel
They are good friends, help them back home

And they’ll help the vine next year, the clusters
Must be gleaned, of rot and ruin and insectivores
At last crush, mill and now we’re finally at step one

measure out the sweetness, start the fire, pure the jars
The work more the vine’s, not ours: a sun, long green arms

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