A Sonnet upon Sonnetry

Some have argued that no one writes a sonnet 
perfect in metrics, rhythm and in rhyme, 
but these first three lines have duely outdone it. 
Here’s thus, a fruitful quatrain in no time. 

And with ten more hard lines to go, I worry 
about the fourty-five iambs not yet slain. 
Yet I proceed to the next territory 
and I make up a second sound quatrain. 

So far so good, I scribble my ninth line. 
My worries fairly and wearily shorten, 
as I bounce on the final quatrain’s seat. 
This leaves me two more lines to quarantine. 

Now check my syllables– each line’s five feet, 
count lines how you’ll, I warrant there’s fourteen.

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Our Chemistry

They say opposite charges do attract;
our love is proof. Our atoms interact
as in the chloride of Sodium. I am
the sodium- brawny, tall, of precise gram,
whereas, you are a lighter chlorine gas
in human form– a disproportional mass.
You’re like the Bunsen burner, and I Sodium,
I melt when I see you– like heavy opium,
you’d not be just a phase I’m passing through.
I’d trust you, thereby not keep an ion you.
Hell with calenders, you’d mark your periods
on a periodic table. No row void.
You’d be the base, titrated in joint
against my acid- we’d meet at the end point.
We’d say ‘I do’ as does an acid says
to its alkali, and proceed to the phase
where our salt inherits my eyes; your lips,
& vapourise away the dilution in drips.
We’d live together as crystals of rocks
that not death, even, saps such strong-held blocks.
You’d be Nitrogen molecules, and I
an atom of Oxygen, and we’d ally
to an undying laughter, hap and mirth,
to live against the miseries of the earth.

Sonnet: The Modern Poet Laments

Thou thinkest that this generation lacks
the purity & form of fallen Bards?
We sucketh. Thou art right. We play the cards
but stab the rules. We are as loose and lax
as diarrhoea. We apologise.
We shall discard our paragraphs and lines
of arguments & premises sublime,
& proceed to employ “methinks’ & ‘thys’,
because this is the fifteenth century.
May we submit to archaism now?
Très bien. When cliche shall besiege thy brow..
& move a little down to blind thy eye..

Forgive me, extempore gods of rhyme,
but I shall rhyme in the language of my time.

We Hate You (Animals Make a Collaboration Song)

You squeeze my scrotum for your milk,
you yet call me the bovine ilk–
& that’s only the best
among your painful jest:
you force me into leathered silk.

You give me shelter, take me to marts,
fill my bowl with bony parts.
But to anull it all,
you slant against the wall,
& spray me with your garlic farts.

Chorus:
We hate you, we hate you,
we hate your brain & curvy brow.
We hate you, swear we do,
we hate you’s all we say for now.

You call me slither, you slitter more.
You say I feel nothing in my core.
But you are the heartless,
the wild. You are the mess
between the thighs of your messy whore.

You tag me King, yet have me tamed,
‘majestic’ is reference to my name.
But the truth be said,
you bump off my head
& use the belittling word ‘game’.

Chorus:
We hate you, we hate you,
we hate your brain & curvy brow.
We hate you, swear we do,
we hate you’s all we say for now.