The cello's arc. The slide of the trombone.
Violas gliding like a fleet of ships
Toward paradise. A bari saxophone
Describing the intentions of your hips

In stealthy tones beneath the clarinet.
The strings are not enough. We need the horns
To do your virtues justice. Beading sweat
On the conductor's brow. You have been warned:

Two hands are not enough. To orchestrate
The piece I'll need a hundred eager pairs.
But have no doubt: you'll keep your proper place.
I tell you this: I promise you first chair

And solos leading into tympani
In this and every secret symphony.

Tags: monday fourteen, poetry, sonnets

Just put up. Grab a shovel and begin.
I'm sure you have a chisel or an axe
Or just a properly proportioned chin.
Whatever, man. I'm counting on impact,

Or influence. At least comic relief.
You can't compile? Sweep the fucking store.
Supply the pretzel bags. Supply the grease.
Your services are needed at the forge,

Whatever instrument you bring to bear.
Design it out, or build it, or intone
The words that animate this science fair.
Volcanoes aren't tough. Just sculpt the cone

And I'll supply the soda and the wine.
Stand back and watch the elements combine.

Tags: monday fourteen, poetry, sonnets

Take all of me. Why not take all of me?
Take all of me: eight score, and several more,
And change (a pound or two, or 50p).
Pick up the hoop. It's time to work the core.

I stumble as I walk. I'm slightly flush
And everything is spinning like a top.
A pot of creme, a reverential hush
From end to end throughout the pastry shop

Until I've found perfection in a cup
And matched you ounce for ounce (and several pints).
We'll stuff their gobs and shut the bastards up.
Our challenges are similar in kind.

Propel the melody. It's time to dance.
Eight weeks from now, I'll fit into my pants.

Tags: monday fourteen, poetry, sonnets

Go. Light a candle. Solemnly proceed
Along the aisle. Sweet prometheus
Stole just a bauble. Later came the seed,
And liberation. Ride the abacus

Down Chestnut Street to Main and come to State,
And plant yourself behind the oaken bar.
Employment is an article of faith
In images. We haven't starved so far.

That might be just an aberration. Taste
The fruits that others gather while ye may.
Debug. Refactor. Analyze and trace
And watch the portrait. Witness Seymour Cray

Grown old in spite of Dijkstra, Knuth and Moore.
There's room for doubt. Enjoy your perfect pour.

Tags: monday fourteen, poetry, sonnets

I toldja I was trouble. 9am
Keeps sliding by the wayside. Keep your job,
We'll need it for the cover charges. When
And what and where... consume it to the cob

And let the others snuffle after that.
They get the fallen tassels. You get this.
You take el luchador down to the mat.
There's photographic evidence. You sit

Where no one else can ride. Do not disturb
Until the second workshop. Keep their hands
Where you can see them. Out here in the burbs
We don't leave the hotel. I give commands

And, answering, you chuckle to yourself.
You share the interest. But you keep the wealth.

Tags: monday fourteen, poetry, sonnets

Black bottom cupcakes. Danish. Gluten free
Banana muffins. Chocolate chip pecan
Banana muffins full of energy
And antioxidants. Coffee? C'est bon.

Big tipper, don't go easy on the pear
Banana muffins. Have yourself a stack.
Banana muffins bring it on. Compare
The coffee anywhere, then come on back

To papa, shaking imperceptibly.
Banana muffins are your bicycle.
Banana muffins launched successfully
In seven major markets. Feel the pull,

Do not deny yourself. Muffins unbound!
A sea of cinnamon! The world is round!

Tags: monday fourteen, poetry, sonnets

Don't eat that shit, it's full of hydrogen
In really nasty forms you can't pronounce.
Just step back from the counter. Count to ten
And just stay hungry. Every muscled ounce

Is locked and loaded, ready to deploy.
Don't look at me. That's how it has to be.
There is no calm delight, no easy joy.
You have to prep for every ecstasy,

Rehearse for every pleasure. Train yourself
Until you wink without a hint of strain.
It's not as if we do this for our health.
No sacrifice, no life. No pain, no gain.

Don't eat that. That's not good for you at all.
Don't look at me. I haven't got the balls.

Tags: monday fourteen, poetry, sonnets

Our man-Jack works just one week in a year
And socks don't buy themselves. The sort with toes
And braille barber stripes. We're full of beer
And firm intentions. When a goddess goes

I do admit to watching her, of course.
I grant I have no scruples in the dark.
We never spoke of vows. The realm of tort
Is where we lie, and where we make our mark.

You have the carriage, and the skill to drive,
And every other pagan quality.
So drive on, driver. Keep this thing alive.
There's more to love than tame morality.

The other ninety-nine were child's play.
But this is mine. So give me cause to stay.

Tags: monday fourteen, poetry, sonnets

The people of the island greeted them
With open arms and kept an eyeball cocked
For trouble. Pour the beer and mend the hem,
But keep the basement storerooms tightly locked.

The captain's here, the frigging captain's here
With some attractive nuisance by her side
Inspiring worship, ecstasy and fear.
Keep tankards coming. Keep her well supplied

And maybe she'll go hunting somewhere else.
The bride and groom are terrors of the sea.
It's best we do the pillaging ourselves.
Yo ho and matzeltov! From dusk till three

The islanders will celebrate and shout.
But no one breathes until they sail out.

Tags: monday fourteen, poetry, sonnets

It's not the wings that scare me. It's the air.
The elements don't love me anymore.
The atoms raise their eyebrows and they stare.
It's technically permissible, but poor

In social graces. Protons must be asked,
And neutrons should be courted patiently.
Electrons might come first, or both, or last
But you should see them as they wish to be,

As individuals. It's not a shock
That they don't cotton kindly to abuse.
The carpet wicks them slowly to the sock,
The naked doorknob sets the buggers loose

In one bright flash and puts you in your place.
There's magic here. Respect it. Touch the face.

Tags: monday fourteen, poetry, sonnets