The Mezunian

Die Positivität ist das Opium des Volkes, aber der Spott ist das Opium der Verrückten

October Friday 13 Sonnet

Accompanying music

Lemon drops on milky clouds

bound this wistful field above

pewter lakes — ¡but wait! ¡Look now!

¿How’d this specter enter such

verdant film now ill, when it

wasn’t there before. Before I

eat my harvest, fix on this

ray of sunlight staged for sore eyes.

Superstitions won’t sway trees;

what a day to buy tea leaves —

October Friday 13.

Posted in Metered, Mezunian Sonnet, Poetry

Royal Purple Sky Sonnet

Saw outside a lonely time

shadow firs are teasing me

breezily. Their scents make pine

every time all kinds, seasoning.

Under skies as pure as opal,

bright night dimmed by grim surroundings,

worse by wind, won’t hush, but yodels.

Houses still for nature’s crowning.

For my birthday, I would like

tons of air a year for life —

swear to heart won’t waste this time.

Posted in Metered, Mezunian Sonnet, Poetry

Gasoline Winter Sonnet

with the scent o’ berries, too;

smudged on smoky sidewalk chalk.

Chalk it up to moonlit blues,

choking me up harshly soft.

Chatter dead is better than dead

silence wand’ring wolfen streets on

urban hills that never bend &

shatters into icy neon.

Moonlight full o’ foggy capes,

follow me through thin-black japes’

scarecrow boughs that ease me blank.

Posted in Metered, Mezunian Sonnet, Poetry

Hearth Factory Sonnet

Note: I was going to “celebrate” Marxmas by posting an article wherein I shit on Marxism & it’s stupid “Dictatorship of the Proletariat” bullshit, ’cause, as predicted, 2015 was a bad year, & that’s what you do on years without a warm future. But I’m sick to death o’ politics (& don’t have the time to revise it to coherency), so enjoy this superior, relaxing sonnet ‘stead.

Accompanying music.

I can feel your yellow heart

piping spice in frozen nights,

where your sturdy metal starts

bending in such smoke so tight,

snuggled up with razor noise,

which is where the fireworks bloom,

showing off your rusty toys,

like your gurgling cauldron plume.

Though I rest in cotton caves,

your gears’ll never wane,

even when I’m in my grave.

Posted in Metered, Mezunian Sonnet, Poetry

Peppermint Pink Sonnet

Accompanying music.

Light that leads me through the blizzard,

white in flakes, such snuggled blankets.

Tangy sugar never withers,

though this season never bakes it,

only baked so long ago,

you remind me o’ soft bread,

warm tan crescents made o’ snow.

Noses itch in strong, fresh scents.

Red lights warn you: stop & breathe,

drown the death in breakfast tea,

touch the crystals on the leaves.

Posted in Metered, Mezunian Sonnet, Poetry

Far-Off Train Whistle Sonnet

Accompanying music.

Viewed through blinds, your smoky scents

with your rattling tracks & wheels

passes straight through my brain stem

with the rusty steel that peels

scraps & bolts & coal-black fire,

painted muddy brown & red.

Midnight chugged without a tire

& a million-meter bed.

Sure your ghosts are sure cliché,

floating in their dirty rags;

I’ll ride nightmares any day.

Posted in Metered, Mezunian Sonnet, Poetry

Patchy Sonnet

Crumple all my papers under

bellies hungry for a scratch;

feel & hear your dormant thunder

while you ready paws to snatch

jackets trying to pass by.

But I know you always flee

from the wall-clung fly-fast lights,

even though just made by CDs.

Playing poker, you beat me;

now I need to pay the fee:

scratch your chin eternally.

Posted in Metered, Mezunian Sonnet, Poetry


To all the

chewy chocolate that’s

‘tween my teeth,

to the tears

o’ stormy clouds both

sour & sweet,

to early

evenings’ smeared lemon

restless lights,

to bus wheels’

jingling thunder-struck

keys on kites,

to flapping

jackets that make the

cool winds warm,

to clapping

firs both ecstatic

& forlorn,

to the tea

& coffee scorching

cherry leaves,

to the bats

that flap their purple


to night planes

giving me a wink

as they pass,

to sluggish

November lunchtime’s

foggy mask,

to the wood

spiders chillin’ on

the drywall,

to skylarks

shrinking into blues

without calls,

to pop-up

ghosts drenched darkly with

neon green,

to buttered

toast drenched starkly in


to the gift

that mixes the moon

& the sun,

to the warm

opposites present

within the

light that’s only bright surrounded

by so many crevices so

dark. Don’t not be gloomy: fountains

freeze next year still always missed, though,

still when I watch shadow pines

brushing far away I find

like I almost like to pine

death’s demise

shaped like fallen maple twigs.

Autumn’s cut so thin.

Hope I get to ‘gain begin…

Posted in Haiku, Senryu y amigos, Metered, Mezunian Sonnet, Poetry

Shroomy Sonnet

Accompanying music.

Heralding the rainy fall,

spotted aliens, you bring

color to this misty pall,

dancing, happy, moldy springs,

mixing well with jungle drops

that humidifies the air

elsewise empty. E’en when not

eating you, you taste o’ pears.

Bounce me to the magic kingdom,

teach me songs so I can sing them—

all that sugar till we ring done.

Posted in Metered, Mezunian Sonnet, Poetry

Firry Sonnet

Accompanying music.

Forest firs, please, don’t you ever stop

being bed-headed in the sniffling

wind; squeeze out your fur the shower-fed drops

rainbow in the sun & just as tickling.

Both in heat & chill, your bark, it barks

with emboss & bevel, home to so

many worms & birds in many parks,

wake in sun & moon—in both you glow.

But some happy stories become tragic,

for the fir was cut down from its vantage—

disadvantages of too much magic.

Posted in Metered, Mezunian Sonnet, Poetry