Tag Archives: Poetry

382

Posted on March 2, 2018 by urbansonnets

Literary people don’t like sonnets I’m like, fuck that, this is motherfucking music, this shit is deeper than poems, but it’s poetry too, *************** They say its reminiscent of high school well, my *****, I went to a high school … Continue reading →

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381

Posted on February 14, 2018 by urbansonnets

I like sonnets because they’re musical A student gave me a bogus hall pass I function as a muse and/or a fool There is no rhyme or reason in a class Social or Spanish, space shrinks in this school Students … Continue reading →

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380

Posted on February 13, 2018 by urbansonnets

I really almost die inside my sleep where the whiteness of squall and sea prevail as a gust of gulls swooped down and wassail in the salty air through which my thoughts leap. I crash in waves escorted by seaweed, … Continue reading →

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379

Posted on January 4, 2018 by urbansonnets

Q: What does a king do on a snow day? A: Reign, beloved! What’s today’s mathematics? Understanding. Days with no dramatics but plenty of flair as our fears allay. I place more importance in the new day than in a … Continue reading →

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378

Posted on January 1, 2018 by urbansonnets

I saw a man caress his father’s fate in a bar last week where raccoons did roam freely on fences while my wife did gloam about how men consume before they sate. I don’t know, I saw him almost fall … Continue reading →

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377

Posted on January 1, 2018 by urbansonnets

Over him there sits a pall, resting dense despite the sun and sand of the tropics. He looks at the sea through clouded optics despite his tan skin, his body is tense. Kids throwing footballs near the wooden fence that … Continue reading →

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376

Posted on December 11, 2017 by urbansonnets

Why spend all your time laboring over labor? Slaving away in your dark mind you forget you were once like the plover, spanning continents in patterns undefined. What happened to that flight? You took cover in a warm, sticky place, … Continue reading →

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375

Posted on December 11, 2017 by urbansonnets

The stack of paper eternally grips my entire neck as I revise papers and I decline as my spirit tapers while beeswax falls as each candle drips on the bottle it is in. Purple strips of wax stretch themselves like … Continue reading →

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374

Posted on December 4, 2017 by urbansonnets

An open mind is what the body seeks. Embodied wisdom is the truest form of life in nature’s panoramic swarm full of living things. My skin sweats and leaks as I jog around the track. My mind streaks back to … Continue reading →

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373

Posted on November 25, 2017 by urbansonnets

A bright water ring on a black ash sky, stained gray by the twilight and streaked by cloud, guides me as I move away from the crowd which might make me suffer or make me die. The air is moist, … Continue reading →

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