Three Sonnets

1. Stella Maris

OK, I’m ready to write a sonnet now,
but I want to do it on my own sole power,
not put the shovel backwards on the plow,
nor flood the choke and kill the lawn mower.

Asian beetle hordes, since we last checked!—
we pick ‘em off and drown ‘em in detergent—
remembering when you went and wrecked
the motor boat—when June bugs were emergent,

their exoskeletons cracking underfoot.
You learn, in singing, you must skip a beat—
how your heart throbs when you’re thrilled to the root
and you have that special hop in your feet.

It’s now you’re most thankful for your mother’s love,
bright star looking down on you from heaven above.

2. Love and Light

Peace, the only way we can persist these days—
some of us remaining in absentia—those
who have found so many, many ways
to save ourselves. While Jesus rose

from the dead, where duties
deterred him for two bits.
He decided not to go hard on the tutsi-fruitsies,
but never failed to give a yard of shit.

Jesus did not abandon himself to death,
instead, he harrowed hell, is what I heard.
And he could play the guitar like the ringin’ a bell,
so we all now just accept him at His Word.

We’ll take our places on that other shore
where we’ll live in love and light forevermore.

3. Whatever

Whatever seems final will one day be reset.
Give up your moanin’—in that great tomorrow,
we’ll finally know that we’ve seen nothing yet
and we’ll forget our bellyaches and sorrows.

Whatever looks big will be shrunk down
to the size of a cleaned, frozen, packaged shrimp,
a mincing melancholy midget clown—
so if you’re wearing shackles try not to limp,

but march courageously into the fray
(think about how strong iron makes your thighs)—
You have far more to crow about than cry,
if you can trust your tired muscles’s lies.

Damn the blue algae! Full speed ahead!
You might be crazy, but you’re sure not dead!