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Poems On / About SONNET  2/26/2015 11:56:42 PM
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  197.     

A Sonnet on an unknown rascal

A Sonnet on an unknown rascal
-Ramesh Iyengar
( The dormitory room experience of a school teacher)

You the one, who often here stalks
By cursed hand doth loudly knocks
All the night in intervals, quick, short
Bangs the door, cause fright at heart
Not a moment lets me have my peace.
Can’t study, write, work or sleep with ease
Rush I in post-haste quick to the door
Lo! gone is he, from sight ran away far.
Rascal’s face unknown, name know I not
Yet, curses for his downfall, let him rot.
You, the one, if thee build a house
Or in thy fair maid’s sweet embrace
May you by all means lose erection
For, in this poet’s words, is there no correction.

- Ramesh Iyengar
 
Ramesh Iyengar

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  198.     

my grandads sonnet

My Grandads
Sonnet

Your pipe was like the Smokey no mans land
You always knew when the battles were won
Always singing to your favourite band
Now quick get a hanky cause you are gone
Driving everyone round like a taxi would
You loved to go golfing every Sunday
You would always help us whenever you could
When you were in a good mood we’d go hooray
Always a granddad and always a friend
You were very smart and sometimes funny
Nana would always drive your mind round the bend
Saying will you fix that for me honey?
I will miss your smile, laugh and glasses
And will think of you more as time passes
 
cherry lollipop

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  199.     

september rain

September Rain (sonnet)


Most days, on my way to the bar or grocery shop,
I walk past an old man who sits in the shade of
an oak, on a creaky sofa that has lost its place in
the lounge. I usually stop and talk to him, he can’t
remember me from one day to the next, tells me
the same story about his parents, and where he
grew up; Portugal of yore. He isn’t here today, only
the mantle, he wraps around himself when there
is a chill in the air, is flung on the old sofa; a zephyr
whispers that he will not be back. “Will I be that old?
I ask the waning sun. I sit on a sofa on the terrace,
a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, scan the sky,
in the vale where I live and my parents too lived,
we wait for September rain.
 
oskar hansen

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  200.     

Inside Out

sonnet #12
inside out


i was indifferent to my being,
used myself as just a thing, a stranger;
me, a species of the genus “caring”,
my own guardian, a deranged lone ranger!

told i must see from the inside, myself,
to know how I appeared from the outside;
must learn to feel at one with this good “self”,
not estranged and cut off, blown off-side!

if i related to you as that self,
oh dear! God help you! i was truly stuffed!
but i learned to care for that guy, myself,
damn! doing so, the caring became shared!

now i have friends who think me worth knowing,
and we’ve sown seeds that will keep us growing.
 
Derrick Hubert Schnabel

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