Sonnets Here, In-House

"Don't mention politics!" a man exclaims.
He really means that I, and only I
Have to stay quiet when I hear a lie,
While he says anything he likes. These games

Have been increasing through my manhood years.
The favored, pampered in-crowd isn't blocked
From rigging the debate. So I'm not shocked,
Nor do I feel defeated by their jeers.

It's easy for the cheaters to pretend
That they have won a smashing victory,
When they enjoy a near monopoly
On being heard. But this is not the end.

Not only is there judgment at the last,
But even now, I don't think I'm outclassed.


 
The latest sonnet on this page (blue lettering) has become relevant again. Today Facebook proved again how blatantly it plays favorites. I have had people on Facebook make obscene personal attacks on me without facing any penalty at all; but Facebook decided today to dig up a very old post of mine and pretend it was shocking.

My post said that racism was bad. Golly, I sure was horrible to say that. On just that basis, they are harassing me with a 24-hour ban.

I dug up the Sonnets thread intending to write a new sonnet specially mocking Facebook as it deserves to be mocked. I had forgotten that I already HAD a poem here about the same unfairness. So look at it again. I have to get to choir practice shortly.
 
Thanks for your "Don't Mention Politics" sonnet. There is grave danger when censorship standards are based on whoever is most vocal as opposed to being anchored to moral absolutes.
 
Hello, Benisse! Ten months later, the same dishonesty still is afoot, so I am sticking a thumb in its hypocritical eye once again.



Pop culture, in its shallowness of late,
Insists that sin begins and ends with “hate.”
Those who speak thus refuse to explicate
Why only they can rightly point out “hate.”

So folks with sense have to interpolate
What grounds those others claim when charging “hate.”
If we don’t loudly praise and celebrate
Abnormal habits, we’re accused of “hate.”

If we’re not willing to exterminate
An unborn baby, we’re accused of “hate.”
If we don’t want a ruthless Caliphate
To rule our country, we’re accused of “hate.”

The frivolous pretense of seeing “hate”
Is meant to silence logical debate.
 
H-arm no one, except those who disagree with you?
A-llow freedom of expression, except for those who insist
T-hat moral absolutes, accountability and God exist?
E-nough of engineered twists on Hate! Up with eternal Love and Truth!
 
That made an excellent "sequel" to my sonnet. I'm not sure if you intended this, but your acrostic use of the word "hate" seems to fit with a fact which I know by experience to be true:

In society today, the people who are most likely to accuse others of "hate" ARE THEMSELVES full of hate, which they project onto anyone who speaks truth which they don't want to hear.
 
Since Writing Club is so sadly under-used, our faithful remnant may have completely forgotten how accepting I am of OTHER PEOPLE posting poems on my sonnet thread, INCLUDING poems which aren't strictly sonnets.

Thus, if anyone has a poem boiling up inside, you could post it here.
 
By Aslan, my birthday WILL be noted, even if I have to do it myself!

My body loves to play malicious tricks.
My hands both suffer from arthritic tics.
My partly-blind right eye requires a fix.
Occasionally, gout will join the mix.

Before I even reached age sixty-six,
An age which many link to country hicks,
My worthless flesh already played these tricks.
No doubt, it soon will get in other licks.

Forget all thought of any sort of chicks;
I scarcely can remember having kicks.
My vital parts are turning dry as bricks.
I'm not impressed with my Route 66.

If not for Jesus, I would curse my fate;
But some day, Heaven's health will compensate.
 
Why Smile?

Aging ain't for the fainthearted nohow!
So bummed; the New Normal with "Ows"
Can be welcome as bills overdue.

And yet it's like Braces-- but on my whole life,
straight'ning my soul through strife.
So I smile; for my hope is in You.
 
Benisse said:
Aging ain't for the fainthearted nohow!
So bummed; the New Normal with "Ows"
Can be welcome as bills overdue.

And yet it's like Braces-- but on my whole life,
straight'ning my soul through strife.
So I smile; for my hope is in You.
Click to expand...

That cheered me up. Another thing cheering me up is that "Mrs. Gil-Galad Took," a.k.a. Vanessa Mannee of the Netherlands, remembers me fondly, as I do her. (She-- like you, Benisse --is among my Facebook friends.)

 
Back on board after almost a full year!

There is a young woman dwelling here in Colorado, for whom Uncle Copperfox has been exerting his G-rated father-like attentions. Her name is Hope; she knows almost nothing about Mister Lewis, but she has the innocence of a Lucy Pevensie.

It is my HOPE and confidence that, unlike a certain other young woman who mattered to me, the young woman here in Colorado will NEVER be forced into an arranged marriage.

Hope is also a well-studied aficionado of all rock, pop and metal music dating back far before her own birth. She and I may get to see Fleetwood Mac in Denver next year-- in which connection, I'm composing this new sonnet which will also appear on Hope's Facebook page.


I heard tonight that Lindsey Buckingham,
Wanting a solo tour, demanded slack.
The other members, though, rose up to slam
The door; now Lindsey's not in Fleetwood Mac.

It's my impression that the man's own pride
Placed him in this humiliating fix.
If he expects the fans to take his side,
I think he'll see them side with Stevie Nicks.

How often prima donnas shoot their feet!
You'd think that Lindsey, well past middle age,
Would realize a sure thing's far more sweet;
Instead, his ego knocked him off the stage.

It will be Stevie, plus Christine McVie,
Who get attention and applause from me.



Previous to the above, I wrote a sonnet about Colorado itself for Hope's benefit, since she wasn't born here.


In Colorado, what we call Front Range
Defines a north-south corridor of ground,
Where eastern foothills meet the rolling plains;
That's where our largest cities all are found.

The southernmost is Pueblo, where it's hot;
Then Colorado Springs, close to Pike's Peak.
Continue north, you'll see that Denver's got
Arenas, theaters-- plenty that's unique.

Detour to Boulder: if you want some tea,
Celestial Seasonings has that to go.
Fort Collins, then. is all that's left to see,
Before Wyoming, with its wealth of snow.

Don't think about Montana-- too far north!
It's Colorado that's my home henceforth.
 
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Further About Miss Hope:



To fans of automated networks, I
Declare that any cloud may have a glitch,
A dark omission, equal to a lie,
As merciless as Jadis the White Witch.

Before I even met my darling Hope,
She had applied for certain forms of help,
Allowing an uprooted girl to cope--
But got no answer, not a single yelp.

Remember, she can't drive. It was for me
To take her to an office and inquire.
We learned that, though approved quite punctually,
She got no notice, not by web or wire.

When robots had left Hope out of the loop,
A human woman let us have the scoop.
 
Ghostly Encounter

Once in a great while, on the anniversary of the defeat of the White Witch or those ultra rare occasions when you can pull right out onto the highway without a long wait, I make an ethereal appearance.

So, like, "Boo!", man. :D
 
Further About Miss Hope Bradshaw, Formerly Of Louisiana

I love it when she talks incessantly,
For it's a sign that she has been set free.
On first acquaintance, I was sad to see
That Hope spoke always with timidity.

The love I show her, clearly rated G,
Has built her confidence up gradually.
Where once she had to bow down silently,
Now daily she enjoys a talking spree.

A local festival of Fay-er-ie
Allowed Hope to do cosplay next to me.
Adults, and children young as two or three,
Enjoyed her sweetness and vivacity.

I hope for Hope a husband there will be,
To help her healing while I live to see.
 
The World's Only Chuck Norris Sonnet!!!

The Arctic Ocean used to be dry land!
(The knowledge of this history is rare.)
Chuck Norris then struck downward with his hand--
And in the south, Antarctica was there!

Chuck Norris is so kindly to dumb beasts
That crocodiles walk tamely in his track.
When in a rodeo old Chuck competes,
He lets the animals ride on his back.

Chuck Norris never asks his wife to cook.
Instead, he'll dig a small hole in the earth,
Insert a recipe torn from a book,
And fully-finished suppers will spring forth.

Chuck Norris has a power so complete,
Lines which run parallel, he'll force to meet!
 
So far, I've never found that any Chuck Norris joke of mine was an EXACT accidental duplicate of someone else's. But having acquired an official Chuck Norris jokebook, I see that someone DID already compose a joke SIMILAR to mine about Chuck forcing a landmass to a different location.

Still, I betcha THIS one was never made up before I did it--


There are five states of matter: particle plasma, gas, liquid, solid, and Chuck Norris.
 
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