It is finally out!
OMG, 2.5 years since it was accepted for publication!
But Sonnet Station is finally available for preorder
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A. Gee has been playing with words since he was little, but has only been talked into sharing. Check them out:
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Expecting her performance to be thrilling,
spectators filled with existential dread,
an itsy-bitsy drops down from the ceiling.
adrift on a translucent, silver thread.Does her appearance fill your mind with terror,
mouth opened in a stifled, silent scream?
Will you attempt to swat her? Will you spare her,
allow her to continue with her scheme?At times I think myself that itsy-bitsy,
befuddled by a menacing new broom,
and swatted as my summoner admits he
cannot exist if I am in the room.But other times I’m caught up in your web.
And you’re the spider, watching my life ebb. -
I haven’t found my star-crossed lovers,
nor any Copperfields or Twists.
The prince who finally discovers
the world cares not if he exists
has not yet made his grand appearance,
Still, seized with dogged perseverance,
I vie to call him to the page.
Pen down, I channel hope and rage
into the thankless sheet of paper.Try as I might, though, words won’t flow,
and what at first appears to glow
disintegrates to ash and vapor,
mild echoes of another’s dream.Why bother? Cannot write like him.
-
It is the season of the witch,
and my pen feels a certain itch:to capture vampire turning bats
and unfamiliar black cats
emerging from cold, dusty rooms
behind them, witches on their brooms
fly to a coven by the moon.They’ll dance their dance and sing their tune
while scarecrows come to life and wake,
the monsters creep out from the lake,
the jack-o-lanterns smile, no teeth
but something stirs way down beneath
as coffins open, gravestones twitch…It is the season of the witch.
-
Wraiths and ghosts will debate
and no matter the cost
and no matter how late
“Who’s the ghost with the most?”
It will always come down
to the one with the sheets
from soft silk — like a gown,
and when this spectre greets
them, and scares them to death
with its whimper and wail
other ghosts catch their breath,
and then ask: They’re on sale,
these magnificent clothes?
But the ghost with the most
swears all matters of oaths
and proceeds then, to boast
that the costume is new
like a burial wreath
and then gives them a view
of what lies underneath
Then they see that indeed
the sheets cover but air
They agree, with some speed:
It was quite a scare! -
If eyes are windows to the soul
and walls have ears,
the fridge’s a magnet to control
your hopes and fears,
the kitchen sink is all that’s been
willing or otherwise, thrown in,
there is considerable proof
the attic longs for a new roof,
the monster in the basement —
a rug that needs replacement
Though some might disapprove…I think it’s time to move.
-
Pause for a moment. Reexamine
whether you merely exist,
the cause of neither feast nor famine,
so unremarkable a beast
that the philosophers cite you
to prove, as expectations shrink,
that while the inverse may be true
I am does not imply I think -
A snake appears content to slither
unlike the dolphin and the whale,
though if you bother asking either
the tale is rather of the tail:
for cetaceans, an appendage
and thus a portion, a percentage
of the entire body’s length,
although the source of all its strength.
But for the snake? A harder question:
Where does snake end, and tail begin?
Without a rattle or a fin,
it’s hard to know, but a suggestion
to help the skeptic get it right:Start from the end that doesn’t bite.
-
image generated by author prompt to GPT
The forest reddens; it can’t help but blush,
a maiden shyly starting to undress,
clothes falling on a carpet, soft and plush,
her lips to form a breathless, bashful yes.And soon it stands stark naked, who’d have thunk it,
as northern winds extend their bearish hug,
and cloak it in a sparkling white blanket,
each cozy limb enshrouded, safe and snug,to sleep until the sounds of warmer weather,
awaken it: a pastoral motif
performed by preening lovebirds of a feather,
embraced by budding branches as they leaf,each sprout to dress its eager, ready bosom.
It is among them that I found this blossom. -
An acorn snaps and cracks beneath my sandal,
the sound ignored by flower-munching deer.
The driveway is a messy, shameless scandal
of leaves and acorns; not a spot is clear.My neighbor waves. She has a new leaf blower,
electric, from the sound of it, but still…
Ugh, wish I had a real gas one to show her,
Wait till she gets that new electric bill.Across the street, their skeleton is bigger.
It looks as if it climbed out of a bog,
and chuckles with a ridiculing snigger
whenever I walk by to walk the dog.I’ll show them who’s the real country bumpkin.
We’re going to have to get a bigger pumpkin.