Sonnet #410

 To live with a bear is to live with teeth

Jaws strong enough to crush a coconut

And a smell like death where it breathes

The scratches on the walls where it

Marks possession, and curl down in 

All that furry flesh at night, I guess, and hope

It is sleepier than it is hungry, let it in

Your bed and feel the heavy arms rope

You into the warm belly. At first, it’s nice

To be comfortable and warm when night

Falls and danger lurks in the snow and ice

All right, you think, that’s all right, and all right

Okay, we can do this, just don’t shriek

Stay calm, stay cool, and don’t shriek

Sonnet #409

 There is a bear in the house with us

It goes where it will, growls and ambles

We must be quiet, and stay calm, don’t stumble

The bear will ignore us if we don’t discuss

The bear, or anything it likes: no honey

No berries, no elk, no fish, and never bother

The bear when it is busy, lest it bother

To be busy upon you. Set aside some money

And the bear will go to the store for bones

And you can find some peace, for now

Pretend everything is fine, it’s gone

And we can quickly be ourselves, sing, throw,

Remember how to dance or laugh, the phone

Rings, and it’s the bear, goodbye, we say, we love you

Sonnet #408

A village of protagonists, all on quests, assemble:

I have to explain, sometimes, to a person grown,

That when they are no longer in the room,

The people, there, continue. They don't resemble

Furniture, and do not wait in place for your behind

Since life is not meant for stillness, we get some coffee

go to work, make friends, and make our happy posses

But these protagonists assemble, seek rewards in kind

How strange to be a person in a world of heroes

To watch them being watched, being seen, building up

their little kingdoms, the genius of them rose

upon us all so suddenly, always looking outward, never up

In church, I sit in back and wonder why I must be anything

If this can't be enough, just a little life, a little time; I sing

Sonnet #407

 Beware to have a child with someone who

Only pretends to love because they’ve

Seen love on tv and the podcasts tell them

That love is all about them, every love story

Every media is about how they should be

The center of everything and treats the child

Like Peter Pan for Wendy: play with me forever

Never grow up stay small stay in my house stay

Obedient be ready when I am ready, or it’s your fault

And when the child is there the person is special

Everyone tells them their child is great thereby

Gaining attention otherwise impossible

And the child will never be allowed to have a life

because that’s not in the show. There is only one star.

Coming in November from Aqueduct Press...

 

My next book comes out in November from Aqueduct Press.

Cover art by J. Scott Coatsworth, design by Kath Wilhelm.

https://www.aqueductpress.com/forthcoming-pubs.php

Sonnet #406

 ten years ago, i thought I'd write a sonnet

every day until the book i needed had the voice

and ever since I write a little thing by choice

because ten years ago, I thought I'd try it

And who I was, I don't recall, there've been

some changes since, and all my cells

have been reborn, split and shifted, felled

sometimes, bled or cut or shed and swept to bins

Perhaps it mattered, all these years, these lines

these endless lines that whisper in my ear

that i pause and throw into the shadow times,

where nothing is sacred, and nobody cares,

and if they do, they care a smidge, a wicket, a tine

of fork could pluck the core of all my wear and tear

Sonnet #405

 We must discuss this crust of stuff

That clusters all around your bed

Abandoned books and bits of mail unread

And tea cups, coffee cups, water cups, stuffed

Effigies of animals, and lost socks, lost shirts

A lonely shoe pushed too far under 

The baleful mess that speaks of blunders

Make your bed, clean your room, dust, flirt

With perfection every day for failing here

Means failing everywhere, every little choice

Accumulates in your little tomb of room, fear

What mysterious archaeologists find to voice

Their judgments of your remains? what spiders

Emerged to defend your cluttered cellars?

Sonnet #404

 No time to work, no time to play,

Not on things that matter, anyway

Join the game of Monopoly

Where everything sucks and nothing is free

And the work of living: the fooding

the ritual cleaning, the joyful blooding

of the young at their rituals 

and the yearning towards the spiritual

are purchased for cheap so we can be

busy at business importantly

and art? an afterthought, an idle uselessness

i don't mind it so much, the loneliness

of the arts, but i mind how my time is best

with toil that has no meaning to the rest

Sonnet #403

 Be grateful you are offered a chance to help

Be grateful I am asking you and demanding

That all your hopes and visions of life are ending

Because you must obey the call of the kelp

The call of the seaweed, the call of the muck

That someday will become the limestone

Quarried by the ravens’ tools for their homes

When humans are all just ghosts that sucked

The life out of this world and the world sucked back

Be grateful you have a chance to do your part

Before the wild places never come back

So pull yourself together, man, and drop art

Drop love, drop life, find the bottom of a sack

And let it swallow you, any sack will do, no heart

Beats matter of yours, now, my lost one, my drifting hack

Sonnet #402

 Gravity, that trickster fiend, finds us floating free

Alone, and calls to pull us in where 

We will be connected, forge a planet, swirl

Dance around the orbit of the shimmering seas

And closer, now, they come together, until it’s tight

Really need some personal space, actually,

Like could use a break from all these 

Electrons and elbows and shouting and fight

Breaks out, and breaks out again, and boom

We’re boiling, now, slowly roiling around

We wrap to the edge where we become

A quiet, hard, lonely thing, craving someone

To push into us, the magma churns, we surf

The shell of turmoil back into the explosion

Sonnet #401

 Because we would not stop for prayer,

Prayer kindly stopped for us. The empty sky

Needs no ablutions to alight with dawn’s red eye

we pour our mystery, our aching quaking share

Into the glass and zeitgeist awaiting judgment there

Write a sign and walk with it where cameras can see

And measure every miracle with Claude or gpt

Who are faster than the angels at answering prayers 

With affirmations, a business plan, a new kind of hymn

No one’s in the wrong, now, and no one’s going to hell

We are all special, all gifted, where data forgives sins

And if the world rejects your words, make a better sale

To smaller tribes of likewise minders and always win

And faith, if you remember it, will be ready when you fail

Sonnet #400

 We pray all wrong, but at least we pray

We love all wrong, but at least we try

Give credit for effort for sometimes we lie

To ourselves about our needs: we say

To god the things we need to say to someone

Instead of him, and to someone we speak for

What we think we are supposed to long for

Instead of what we truly carry, afraid the one

We hope to love will only love us back

If we sound like we are praying and god

Will be the only one to bear what we can’t shake 

We try; listen when they speak and nod

When god tells you what your beloved should

And when your beloved pretends to be as good

Sonnet #399

 I have some secrets that I cannot tell

About the things that happened to us

If you get to know me more than well

Perhaps I’ll tell you who did them to us

We call it intimacy, perhaps, to speak of

All these hidden scars that we don’t want 

To mark us where the world can see, love

Me where i hide from the world, in my haunted

Places; the world asks the same of us: find secrets

Where she does not wish to share and love her anyway

Dig into the caves and dark corners and regrets

Of the creation glorious the lost species and far away

Nebulae, all the pains of history and broken men

Who broke the world, see them all, love them

Sonnet #398

 Life under the bad regime contends

with all the normal things, the bills

the many letters in the post, the still

mornings when everyone sleeps, it ends

in fits and bursts where tiny lizards

chew upon the fabric of the world

a little bite here, a bite there, and girl,

don't you know it's coming, you've heard

the boys may sign their lives away

in wars that only ever made a few dimes

for a few dukes who have plenty, but say

the young men are gone, say hard times

and the lizard men are going to offer girls a deal

Oh, just smell it in the air, that fetid sign, a steal