Sonnet XVII

When I was in high school, I loved to write poetry. Sonnets, limericks, haiku, you name it, I did it. Something about the juxtaposition of the rigidity of the writing structure with the creative challenge of expressionistic thought was very appealing to me.

I never said it was good poetry, though. That is why I majored in biology. These days, I limit my poetry to once or twice a year, and I present it with the clear disclaimer that it is bad poetry, which doesn’t make it any better but at least I can prevent you from having to laugh behind my back, since you can do it right along with me.

Since this weekend is of course Valentine’s Day, I have slaved away on a sonnet for you all. Actually, Brody did it. That’s right, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Despite his neutered status, my boy is capable of love and longing and can write poorly penned poem with the best of ’em:

We call this one “Ode to a Gentle Bowl”.

When gentle light doth crown the dawn anew
My fitful dreams recede beneath its brow
Though sleep no surcease from sweet thoughts of you,
A sleepy brain no stranger to my prowl.
My longing for you lashes at my soul,
Weak heart a slave to simple want and need
Consuming you as if an empty hole
Cannot be filled no matter how I feed.
You fair, foul beast! I never get my fill.
A taste but torments, titillates for more.
Your siren song destroys my waning will
Desire dancing through each weakened pore.

Now sleepy, sated, you and I are one
But we’ll begin again with setting sun.