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Doom Sonnets #53-55 September 22, 2009

Posted by frostwolftfirerose in Uncategorized.
Tags: , , , ,

I’ve been counseled by a force much larger than me that these will be the last Doom Sonnets for awhile.  Perhaps there will be a need for another volume?  I’m not sure, but I’m going to have 55 Doom Sonnets and 24 other poems to create a sort of “Poetic Tarot” for these times. 

I know that 55 + 24 = 79, which means there’s an extra card.  I have started to create a tarot card for myself, a major trump XXIII.  And that’s part of who I am, really.  Senor Quirqui!  Anyway, without further adieu…

#53 (Petrarchan)

What sort of world do we wish will emerge?
And what are you willing to sacrifice
so your yearned for dream might materialize?
These are the strong questions which must needs urge
us each one inventory ourselves, purge
from our environments unneeded ties
shackling us, these planted percepts unwise
for our continued existence.  Disgorge
such vEmpire thoughts!  Get down to tasks at hand!
Do you know your neighbors’ names, much less trust
them?  What skills has your heart desired to learn?
To grow your food, have access to rich land?
These are the essential foci, the true must
haves to stoke inner flames, keep them a-burn.


#54 (Petrarchan)

Blood.  Both oxygenated, anemic
sing out the call.  Hear his bellow?  Green Man’s
hollering to us “Are you done yet, clans
of sheltered fraidy-cats?  Epidemic
of woes, grief hurricanes in bulimic
waves crest overhead.  Experts’ feeble plans
combust balsa quick ahead of black swans
resistant to inorganic chemic
manipulations.  Yes, I know you well
enough.  The time to turn your heads soilwards
falls nigh, like night’s quick blade at dusk.  Your veins
and arteries crave my wisdom.  Ring bell
to call forth your relations all, come towards
your tribes now forming. See?  I broke your chains!”


#55 (“Inverse Petrarchan” – sestet first, then octavo!)

 Autumn Equinox, Mabon leaves brighter
colors, with light’s gradual darkening
kindles wistful blaze inside.  Somehow fits
this should be day to round this volume, slighter
than what others would create.  Guardian
cosmic, larger than I, guides poet’s wits
to end these sonnets “doomy” with a twist.
Upending expected formats proudly
serves larger purpose well, for roundly
rejecting current patterns, smashing fist
into brittle structures rend’ring them grist
healthy mills to renew ancient paths, loudly
if it must be loud. Test these true, soundly.
Perhaps our faery brethren will ’gain coalesce…




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