1052 - Monsoon gone soon?

The dark monsoon season soon seems endless
The dark mongoose is loose about this house
The dark mongrel smells terrible, noseless
The dark monkey sees nothing; he is wise
The dark shadows grow; groaning phantoms rouse
The dark madhouse lets loose all its MPs
The dark padlock shuts in my sluttish mouse
The dark sad dock, empty but for the breeze
The dark late afternoon and evening freeze
The dark gate swings; blackbird sings my distress
The dark mate, vanished; panic, self-abuse
The dark fate waits for an end to journeys
The dark sonnet, on its fourteen-line verse
The dark swan on its sunless river cruise
Wed 22 July 2009

1050 - Stranded

Oh ye of little faith, fear not I’ve gone
I’m merely cut off from the internet
BT won’t take over my landline phone
Till Friday evening; till then I can’t get
My new broadband provider changed from shit
Pipex to O2, who should be better
And, next week, when I do, I shall post yet
More sonnets on my site, and update a
Networking site or two, to have greater
Coverage and include the things I’ve done
In the last month or two, such as a set
Of new songs. It’s quite good that I’ll get a
New email address: less junk mail will come
Yes! I’ll be back soon, so, my friends, don’t fret!
Mon 20 July 2009

1046 - Blur

It’s all a blur, you see - I can’t recall
It appears I forgot my diary
This isn’t acceptable, not at all
No - I’ve been writing diaries for three
Years now, and I’ve hardly missed a day. The
Daily Sonnet carries on its sweet way
And nothing must stop it; nothing must be
Allowed to obstruct this construction. They
Might not approve; they might stand in its way
But I don’t care. The sonnets go on, all
Oblivious to my pissedness or to the
Perception that I rely on one they
Think is my only friend. No - I stand tall!
Quality will triumph. Eventually
Thur 16 July 2009

1035 - Tennis sonnet

A quick sonnet, because it’s two-thirty
In the morning, and I’ve since gone to bed
But as I lay there, I thought suddenly,
Hey! I’ve not done a sonnet! Oh my God!
And so, here it is, written at great speed…
Played tennis in the early afternoon
Slowly improving, though I still can’t beat
Louis, who remains determined to ruin
My feeble attempts to compete, but soon
I’ll at least win a set. Then, on TV
I watched Federer beat Roddick, who led
But threw away the second set. Immune
To nerves, the Swiss player made history:
Fifteen Grand Slams! And now, it’s back to bed
Sun 5 July 2009

1030 - 24 hours in Salford and Bolton

Last night Andy came round with Soundforge 5
We picked up Rachel en route to Bolton
The writers’ group met, consisting of five
Sat out the back of the Hen & Chickens
One exercise: to draw inspiration
From one of Gary’s books, brought in a bag
My book was ‘Death’s Eye’ (the explanation
For yesterday’s sonnet). I mustn’t brag
But I worked hard today. It was a drag
How the rain fell. Thought I wouldn’t survive
The walk home; thought I’d end up all sodden
My office wear reduced to soaking rags
But I borrowed an umbrella at five-
Past five, and walked home under its protection
Tue 30 June 2009

1000 - Land of a thousand sonnets

This is the land of a thousand sonnets
Okay, some are crap, but nobody knows…
It’s all relative; who’s to say that it’s
Good or bad? Subjective terms fell and rose
So only I decide what comes and goes
Sometimes I rhyme what’s in the news; others
What’s in my life, or out of it; the throes
Of death began suckling mother’s
Bottled milk teats, so these treats of short verse
Are designed to encapsulate the shits
That come my way, and the infrequent rose,
Sweet-smelling, between the cradle and hearse
I’m sounding like a pupil of Beckett’s
Without the claps, but with all the same woes
Sun 31 May 2009

981 - Through the office window

Perfect blue sky, or perfect nothingness
Pretty green trees wave goodbye, short-lived man
A spire points up into the blue: confess
Your sins, or sizzle in the frying-pan!
Happy in the moment, kids whoop and run
Let out of nursery for some fresh air
Happy that adults carry their burden
Of their own future burdens, unaware
Traffic, in ant-like lines, crawls off somewhere
This mortal snapshot, its lifespan far less
Than photos, paintings or images on
The internet, is preserved here with care
Sharing this feature with Shakespeare's sonnets
Outliving the source from where it began
Tue 12 May 2009

963 - Still playing the game

963, if you put a 1 in front
Was the year of my birth. Is that so bad?
It’s a long time ago, that’s true, I can’t
Deny it, but I’ve lived all that time, had
A long innings already, bat and pad
I’ve hit the ball a few times, missed others
But to be called up at all makes me glad
Thank you, team captain, oh my captain, yes
Once alive, grown up, sheltered, fed, success
Then becomes our obsession, and the hunt
For love, which alone stops us being sad
And empty, even if we’ve got the rest
963rd sonnet, want
To know if I’ve found the grail, full of blood
Fri 24 Apr 2009

733 - It was two years ago yesterday

Yesterday’s second anniversary
Of this odd enterprise I’m engaged in
Was not marked in my sonnet diary
What an unforgivable omission
Truth is, I was too keen on completion
Of yesterday’s sonnet while it was quiet
My office colleagues all out in the rain
At a union meeting, their disquiet
Being about the low pay offer. Wet
And noisy they’d return soon, so I’d be
Best off writing about, well, anything
I wrote about jazz and all that. Forget
Two years of sonnets? How could I? Easy
I just did, but now I’m remembering
Sat 6 Sep 2008

700 - Licensed to quill

James Bond reversed, not by some evil guy
Who ties him up, points a gun at his head
And then, inexplicably, lets him try
To escape, which he does; villain instead
Biting the dust soon after. No. I said
James Bond reversed, meaning by my good self
In using the number 700
Apparently, blogging’s good for the health
Publishing thoughts on a virtual bookshelf
Permits your internal conflict to fly
Somewhere out there where it is detected
Deflecting stress, defusing it by stealth
So I urge you, for your own sake, to try
It’s cheaper than the gym, James. So to bed
Mon 4 Aug 2008

696 - Never rest

What shall I write tonight? I’ll think on it
And when I’ve had some thoughts I’ll let you know
But what I write must fit in a sonnet
As snugly as a booted foot in snow
Five feet, ten syllables per line, must flow
Or must it? I could stray off-piste, it’s true
Experiment, live dangerously, though
Like sonnets, I prefer to stay with you
Astonishingly, though our lips turn blue
It’s comforting and so I won’t shun it
Until all feeling’s gone, not just the glow
We felt at base camp when the climb was new
The view at this height, nearing the summit
Is some sight to behold, though cold winds blow
Thur 31 July 2008

681 - Sonnet workshop

This is an experimental sonnet
There’s nothing in my head so I’ll just write
Workshop-style, until something pops in it
Or maybe I’ll just write and write, not quite
Sure of what it’s about; finish in spite
Of nothing to say. A good game to play
Well here I am, halfway through; still no sight
Of any slight meaning. They get away
With this in other art forms, so I say
Why not in this one? Why not pit my wit
(That’s singular. Not ‘wits,’ I’m not that bright)
Against the lack of muse? When music plays
It’s mainly sound; the words just have to fit
Into the structure, like I’ve done tonight…
Wed 16 July 2008

646 - Hey Atlas

I’m home from poetry group, it’s half-past ten
And guess what? I’ve this damn sonnet to write
Each day of my life I’ll have this burden
Like Atlas but not Jude, who wasn’t quite
As keen to keep the world at the same height
Sure, my shoulders ache and my back is bent
From daily duty, sonnetary weight
But shift that globe from side to side, invent
New positions for holding, heaven-sent
Chances to view American, Asian,
African landscapes underneath a white
Cloud cover, close up, clandestinely rent
By borders, orders, sordid deeds of men
Describe in fourteen lines, then rest the night
Wed 11 June 2008

609 - Sonnet sea

I’m almost drowning in a sonnet sea
My head is spinning and needs oxygen
Been transferring them all to this site, see,
And now I’m bloody sick of seeing them
But each one individually’s my friend
A relic of each day that I’ve lived through
Since September ’06, and though days end
A record of each one’s there to review
And what more do we have than our own view
In that blink of an eye, mortality
So, as with old photos, let’s look again
At how we felt, for memories are few,
Distorted, simplified, mere fantasy
But we can rely on what we wrote then
Mon 5 May 2008

599 - Lines to mine

Hey children! When I’m dead, will you read these?
Will you rethink the thoughts that I once had,
Then shaped into this finished form? Entries
Of emotion, observation, sad, glad,
On global websites and on paper (had
From the office). Will it really matter,
When I am dissolved, that I had not made
The grade, or taken holidays to where
Others have flown with BA, Ryanair,
And droned on about to my envious ears?
Will it matter that I was quite so bad
At living up to my promise? Unfair
Was life to me, and you maybe, but please
Look after these. Feel glad rather than sad.
Fri 25 Apr 2008

598 - In aYork hotel bedroom

In York again for a tax conference
Sudden rain shower, hid in a café
The work done, I relax; well, in a sense,
Because there’s still some work of sonnetary
Nature to do that can’t be shirked. Here’s me
Sat on the edge of this large hotel bed,
Writing on hotel pad these pencilly
Remarks that pad out what is to be said
In my diary, this one that’s later fed
Into the internet. While I’ve still sense,
Before the drinks begin, I must first say
My fourteen lines (at least not a hundred).
I shall return after maybe immense
Amounts of booze and grub…well, hopefully.
Thur 24 Apr 2008

593 - Saturday night party for one

I’ve played guitar along to 90s hits,
And Cockney Rebel, Bloc Party, Dionne,
With Brakspear’s Triple Beer and cigarettes.
I even played Yes ‘Going For The One.’
Stopped when Brian Wilson covers came on,
Because I had to write tonight’s sonnet
Before tonight’s Match of the Day came on.
Yes, I want to enjoy the football. Let’s
Watch Derby beaten by West Ham. No bets
Placed today, true, but even so, well, it’s
Great to see what Paul Jewell says. It’s fun
Watching him squirm in interviews. I’ll get
Some food together, and then I will sit
On the sofa till bedtime comes along…
Sat 19 Apr 2008

552 - Biscuit box blues

Today I’ve the tools needed to create:
Laptop (though printer’s broke), guitar and mike,
Keyboard, and despite the disordered state
Of this room, and being rudely sung awake
By Saint Paddy’s day songs (that takes the Mike)
A week early, and too early o’clock,
Making me tired; yes, despite this, I’d like
To write and then make music; maybe look
At some old sonnets for lyrics. A box
Of biscuits might work for a drum. I hate
The downstairs DIY guy; now to make
His life bad too. This man don’t give a fuck.
So first, off to the shops, mustn’t be late:
That box waits there for me to come and take.
Sun 9 Mar 2008

550 - Meaning what?

The meaning of life - is it 42?
According to Douglas Adams, it is,
But I disagree. Reader, so should you -
The number 5 to me has far more fizz!
These interstellar sonnet five fifties,
Sprinkled with magic space dust, may reveal
After millennia of careful studies,
The key to all secrets, the real real deal.
Meanwhile, look through your porthole, and just feel
That universal vibe. Enjoy the view,
The stillness of rotating galaxies,
The stillness of your thoughts. Then grab the wheel
And put your foot down, or you won't get to
Doug's planet, Earth, for several centuries.
Fri 7 Mar 2008

517 - Sonnet diary sonnet

The sonnet’s the thing! I’ve been into it
For something like seventeen months or more
Upon it you can hang anecdotes, wit,
Have fun with it - an excellent amour.
The sum total of fourteen lines is your
Guideline, and you can use rhymes if you want.
Myself, I use this scheme, but it’s not law:
ABAB BCBC in front
Then CABC brings you to the hunt
For a fine defining final couplet
Formed from AB. A busy day in store?
Maybe you’re tired, aggressive, bored or blunt?
There’s still time to write a daily sonnet,
Inspired or messy, poured out from your core.
Sun 3 Feb 2008