The Mezunian

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

seaside autumn sunset sonnet

Accompanying music:

by the colacolored waves

whispering their swaying sounds

sun this sunday early lays

’pon its waterbed o’ clouds

blanketing these cooing gales

mintsweet firs to kill the chills

counting ships those reekcreep snails

sail its walls o’ frosty hills

days descend like paper sheets

yellowing synced with leaves whose trees

shiver black with tea & seas

Posted in Metered, Mezunian Sonnet, Photos, Pictures, Poetry

summer october sonnet

Accompanying music:

fall the goldsoft resin treasures

crispbrown jalapeño chips

palm o’ palmates blushing gestures

roughhewn arms flick wrists in wind

cloudridden icarus my sun

casting lines to warmcool lakes

under gusts from sparrows’ lungs

sleeping ’way the shrinking days

wake from drunken summers sober

finding helios’ reign’s over

leave streets red for black october

Posted in Metered, Mezunian Sonnet, Poetry

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

Smoky Sonnet

Accompanying music

Sweet or spicy, ¿who can scent

brimstone watercolor flooding

buckets brimmed of pavement meant

bent below the toes of bloody

skullcap shrooms in dusty noon —

{ guess I best bring out the broom } —

tombs so late & all so soon,

cheering chilly autumn gloom?

Colored gray won’t keep me sober;

drink before the season’s over —

To you ghosts, let’s toast October.

Posted in 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