I Cannot find a rhythm in the day


4.12 I cannot find the rhythm in the day (A sonnet)

I cannot find a rhythm in the day
As gentle fingers probe along my skin
To coax the rotting problem on its way
I cannot stand outside and reach within.
A tiny discontented grain of thought
As light as finches dancing on a bough
Is traipsing through where it should not
And leaving little cracks along the brow.
Now blood does not move merry in the vein
Pulsing angrily beneath the eyes
My fingertips work circles, but in vain
Then defeated reach out for supplies.
When headaches think they’ve just secured the win
That the is the time to take the aspirin.



I can hear the busker approach across the sand
I’ve heard his tinkering from up the hill
And prayed he was luncheon entertainment only.
Sadly, he parks next to our umbrella
And starts to sing
Bienvenue, bienvenue
Bienvenue a Guinee

I want to be lulled to rest by the crashing incoming tide
Not by an improvisational musician
Bienvenue a Guinee
Bienvenue a la plage

It’s not an unpleasant sound, the guitar
Metal picks suspended over a gourd-like belly
Bienvenue a la plage
La plage est jolie-eh-eh

But it’s tin whistle plinking
Plink, plunk, plink, plunk
Bienvenue Monsier
Bienvenue Madame

I sit up abruptly and shove money at him
It disappears instantly and slyly into that big-bellied instrument
Merci, merci Madame
Bienvenue, bienvenue….

NaPoWriMo Strikes…Again!


It’s that time of the year again – it’s National Poetry Writing Month! And luckily, this year I’ve remembered that I do NaPoWriMo every year.

For the next 30 days, I will endeavor to put up a new poem every day. On days when this gets away from me – either because I’m reclining in the heat of a luxurious bed, or because I’ve been called to the mountaintops – I will post the necessary make-up poems as soon as possible.

So without further fanfare…Shall we write?

<strong>Day 1: A Poor Beginning (A Sonnet)</strong>

I’ll christen paper with this pen of mine
Or click the proper electronic links
I’ll edit out the words which do not rhyme
And iron out mistakes and awkward kinks

For what do I endeavor to unfold?
What hopes of mine do I intend to find?
A writer seeks to leave no truth untold
Even those that lurk within their mind

I pray the words from this my feeble brain
The crude and crumbly edges of this noise
That from my witless rambling you will gain
A speck of strength to speak with your own voice.

I’ll write a month of poems grand and dire
In hopes a better poet gets inspired!

Small Realizations: A Sonnet


Dappled sunlight white and yellow fell
Upon my couch with pillows orange and blue,
And I resplendent in this cozy spell
Thought lightly about life and what I do.
I am one who crossed the great wide sea,
Who lives a life away from what is known.
I shrugged off comfort and complacency
And left for foreign shores and foreign towns.
In truth I did not give these musings strength
(A Sunday morning is best spent in rest)
I sent them off with tea until at length
One tiny thought sat heavy in my chest:
How have I crossed the world and lived by chance
Yet never once have I been asked to dance?

No joke! I was just sitting there, on my couch, thinking about nothing in particular, when it occurred to me that I have never been asked to dance.


I think I was asked to dance when I was in seventh grade? SEVENTH. GRADE. Oh my God, what happened? I make light of it in this sonnet, but that is ridiculous!

Disconnect: A Sonnet


Apparently I am on a sonnet kick lately. Like my haiku kick earlier this year, but with more paired rhymes! This one is about the danger of having everything at your fingertips.


I will not blame you for your great malaise.

I understand your boredom with the world

For what new sights could occupy your days?

What banner could want to go unfurl?

Is not the globe encompassed by your screen?

Are not all facts quite easily accessed?

No war outside, just gentle plastic sheen –

It must be hard to be so unimpressed!

Don’t dare to look beyond the moon at night;

The stars will stir in you an old desire.

And do not walk the world with eyes to bright,

Lest the mountains tempt you ever higher.

When all the Earth by mouse does lie uncovered,

Passion lies in wait to be discovered!

Brunch Sonnet


A Sonnet about Brunch

(Because poets get hungry for fancy mid-morning meals)

Do not deny me my sweet Benedict-

On muffin toasted with a slice of ham.

Nor keep from me the fruit bowl freshly picked-

I must consume while still in the a.m.!

A bloody Mary at the table place

And fill the plate with creamy béchamel!

Let crumbs of croissant gently dust my face

Give me a sampling of the jams as well.

Slice the cantaloupe so thin and sweet

Bring me the juice, the cheese, and rich honey

I will take all the pastries and the meat

But portions at the peak of modesty

You never will from brunch avert my ways

For I will eat until the hollandaise!

~Day 30!~


Day 30: The Timed Sonnet

(This sonnet is going to be written without allowing myself pause to edit or think of better words. While I am going to let myself fix things that affect meter, I will use the first rhyme that comes into my head.)
Time limit: 5 minutes (roughly – don’t have a clock nearby)


I’m playing fast and loose with word and rhyme.
There’s much too much to say when all is said.
As long as I am mindful of the time,
I think I’ll keep the beat and stay ahead.
The tricky thing when trying to be coy,
Or thinking from the backside of your pants,
Like ancient warriors equine hid in Troy,
Is how to keep the lead while in the dance.
It’s trusting gut and intuition true,
A swordsman never doubts his blade will hit.
Likewise when writing you must trust in you,
And certainly you’ll come up with some wit.
And if you fail your end is not complete.
Your savior is the blessed key “delete.”

Hmm… Ok, “backside of the pants” was “seat of your pants.” I’m not so keen on “you must trust in you,” nor the whole “say when all is said.”

But I think there’s some truth in trusting your gut and just letting your brain go with it – I allowed myself to be a little ridiculous and grammatically strained, and came up with something that at least has an optimistic message.