New Page!

Hello, all.

I've added a Daily Sonnets page to the ol' blog (hit that link at the top to see it in all it's glory). As I've said before, this has been a project for some time. But I didn't want to burden my (loyal, limited, obligated) audience with poems. Poems are like children, I think, in that other people don't really want yours, but love their own with an unending fire.

I went and learned how to add a new page, so as to keep it nice and visually separate from my main posts. Since it will be daily, with a handy excuse or an obligatory sonnet, I didn't want to drown the other content.

So, enjoy if you wish. Ignore if you want. I just love to pretend that there's an audience out there, and nothing is more enjoyable than performance.

Thanks for reading.

A Poem for your Patience

Okay, our internets have been broken, and Time Warner has taken 1.5 weeks to fix them. So far. I'm not holding out any hope that they're actually fixed. Thus far, two different brigades of cable techs (technical term) have replaced a total of 3 junctions, replacing a splitter with a barrel (one-to-one) fitting, a splitter with a "better" splitter, and a barrel with a new barrel.

We'll see.

But I know I've promised original content, so I'll send you this one from work (it's really quite slow today). Since late January, I've decided to write a sonnet every day (with varying degrees of luck and/or persistence). The goal is twofold:

1) Follow through on something long term; and 

2) Learn to think in the sonnet form (iambic pentameter).

Like the late, great Billy S, I don't title my sonnets. Sometimes, please allow me a little bit of writerly pretension. I paid for it, after all.

Here you go:

22 March 2012, Thursday

The pop and fizz of new ideas was

An understanding past the brink of one

Belief in childish wants of past-ing fuzz

And broken bleached duress offending scum.

To take and use the broken views of some

And stake a view on someone’s use of form

Will breach and blow the violence sowed by gun

Or sleeping slow and leaving low deforms.

The time is passing hot and heavy still

As sleeping eyelids flitting up reveal

The action of the dreaming mind’s berill

And from yourself your luscious lines you steal.

    The blood of all the things that I’ve done wrong

    Will fill the riverbanks of coming dawn.

This nonsense poem is basically me leading up to plagiarizing myself from an earlier poem that was a type of sonnet that I did during my MFA studies.

Please comment in iambic pentameter or haiku.