08 Feb 2017 – Sonnet
You’d think these sonnets, senryu, hymns, and songs
amount to nothing more than horrid farts
good friends ignore – as friends do slights and wrongs –
these smelly fumes expelled, this bleeding heart
a moral flaw, these crude and broken lines
the cost of doing business with my soul.
“He’s harmless, really, though a wee bit blind,
but all his rhyming really leaves me cold!”
What shall I do? Continue spewing free,
keep giving voice each time the Muse eats beans?
Each day my finger lingers near the key
that wipes away all words, and so sets free
a world that really doesn’t want to hear.
Why not throw wide the window – let this clear?