Sonnet 28

Iambic meter in each line when done,

Five feet in each is what you have to do.

This line right here must rhyme with number one,

And this line here must rhyme with number two.

Here’s Shakespeare’s style: in every line we strive

To make the stress fall even – see me fix

My message within (now rhyme with line five)

Syllabic structure (time to rhyme with six)

So rigid and defined. BUT here we add

A turn, to change the message slightly. Still

Though fit the verse (this rhyme with nine is bad)

In fourteen lines. (Rhyme with ten. OVERKILL.)

And if tradition you do not now shirk

A catchy rhyming couplet ends your work.

Sonnet 27

It’s funny. Somehow life – this – you – here steals

my Breath entirely the same way. The World

turned, shifted, mountains moved, and I still feel

unchanged. I watched as events were unfurled

around me like a tornado. Whipping

the people – places I knew into shapes

as unfamiliar as softly dripping

water is to the Desert. And the grapes

seemed sweeter – they said. And the sunsets more

Vivid – they said. But riding in the eye

of the Hurricane did nothing for

me. I thought the Storm would change me, that I

would grow some too. I’m still here. Standing tall.

Yet with no growth I feel absurdly small.

Sonnet 26

Acidic drelles coats the tongues that rear

Progaftly when the witching hour begins.

No man alive has dreamed of gandralins

Without a krot of bishen. When they hear

The slocken snies of faylon in their zeer,

They think it naught but forbivs hiding hins

Away for jantsty. This why the gandralins

So sly, do wopple in the wiskit. Peer

Closely at the lun of tret and you may

Catch them yagging. But listen not my son

To the rhythm in the zanty, for they

That do will find it true all eftengun

Is rasten. This is why mothers say:

“Avoid the slatchy wyrs, prasg is no fun.”

Sonnet 25

The summer swallow’s flight is sporadic,

A stress-fueled dance of survival. Each twist

And turn a testament to the nomadic

Nature of the avian. His wings will list

To the right or left, revealing not the place

Of his birth. Instead the beast fools all its foes

With his wild swoops and random swerves. His base

Color, blue, like the sky, hides him from those

Who might bring him harm. He blends with the air,

A streak of wind fighting to stay alive.

But his frenzied style makes his life short, there

Is no hope of rest. For each dip, each dive

Leads him towards the end. He tricks all of them

Who want his death, but the greatest fool is him.

Sonnet 24

My weak and heavy-lidded eyes are caked

With the dirt and dust of memories, drawn

From years of broken promises. The flakes

Of hardship, pain, and lies rubbed out at dawn

When I waken and stretch myself up toward

Heaven. But no potential is found waiting

As the sun rises. Circles round eyes bored

And beaten forecast the non-abating

Hopelessness that rises with me and the sun.

I know each day brings equal pain, the same

Trials, tests, and tortures. When life is done

May I then rest, free from failure, hurt, and blame?

I every morning, every day despise,

Yet I still somehow find strength enough to rise.

Sonnet 23

To stand alone atop the world, feeling

The Gale’s shriek pass mightily round

The Earth holding feet steady. Appealing

To my own mind, soul, body, to heed the sound

Of the voice beating violently within

The injured vessel of my chest. Ignoring

All words and whispers that brew inside men

Who dream of nothing but my failure. More

Important than the doubters are the Hands

Holding me up. The Tempest tries to knock

My body to the ground, not letting me stand.

But I am held up high by stead-fast rock.

It is not easy to forget the Wind’s wrath,

Only Solid Stone keeps me on my path.

Sonnet 22

Underneath the bough of the cherry tree

The lover waited mutely for the sun

To set behind the far-off mountain. One

Elusive nightingale sang sweet, silv’ry

Riffs, and the breeze blew gently, warning the

Drowsy dandy that the night waits for none.

Even though the darkness comes, he’ll not run

Carelessly toward the dawn, for that would be

A travesty; to lose this perfect moment.

Dusk brings bliss and softened hearts, the peace of

Evening breaks down reservation. And

Now, with the scent of blossoms so fragrant

Caressing his cheek, he is able to stand,

Eyes on the horizon, awaiting his love.

Sonnet 21

Adonis turns his head and strikes down foes.

The blue princes of our heart’s content lost

And slain by a god far greater who knows

Vividly what true beauty is and the cost

Of living as a marble statue. His haughty

Gaze falls on our contentment; our castles

In the sky breached by this white knight, our faulty

Defenses brought down, our love put in shackles;

And all this merely at a glimpse of his face.

Athena seared a man’s eyes with her hand,

Erasing his vision. The last sight to grace

His mind: her bare body, burned on like a brand.

Look not at beauty, treat radiance with fear,

If seduced you risk losing all you hold dear.

Sonnet 20

Worthiness may be found now I’ve tasted

The sunlight’s warm embrace. Return

Me to my former self, bring back wasted

Hours. Since the block was cleared away I’ve learned

The value of vulnerability.

How wonderful to feel their glances void

Of any unwanted fear or pity.

So many things that used to be enjoyed

Were laid to rest by walls of depression.

But now at last I’m free to move once more,

I pray I don’t disvalue this lesson:

Remember what it feels like to adore

The life you’re living. Happiness arrives

When doubters let meekness into their lives.

I’ve been out for a while…

Sorry about that guys, but I’ve had an interesting couple of months, and a lot of writer’s block :/

Making a comeback though! I can still get to 100 :)