Month: September 2015

#30Days30Sonnets

Vigor

  • by kwirb

VIGOR

There are times when your strength is not measured
by a set of skills or the ability to distill pain;
perhaps, in surviving the moments less-treasured,
your courage is the result of your limits sustained.

Brusquely, no. Abruptly, your threshold falters
– a breaking point shatters over its own edge –
and as you gather your bearings, absolution saunters
over and offers a choice or two from your ledge.

You accept his lifeless hand in exchange for a prayer,
for yourself, the faithless, and powerless to a God up high;
or, you use his strength to emerge, but only to his lair,
where you’d follow absolution to an unforgiving goodbye.

Our mortality, humble and relentless, must forego our egos
for our tenacity’s constant vigor is the vitality of credos.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets
September 21st 2015.

#30Days30Sonnets

Savage Me

  • by kwirb

SAVAGE ME

It attempted to skitter away from my mother’s grasp
with its claws agape it, naturally, yearned freedom.
To another such as it did it with precision clasp,
intent on, by chance, escaping to its fantasy Eden.

But it simply did not have the required speed,
just a destination, certainly, in mind to be traveled;
and, although it didn’t necessarily cry or bleed,
I’m sure it knew that its insides were to be unraveled.

It could not, nor would I, withstand being tortured,
having been boiled to a crimson doom blush of red.
If only I craved the garden offerings in the orchard;
Surely, harvesting never caused greens to have bled?

Pleading for its survival was its only endeavor.
In fairness, it was the most delicious lobster. Ever.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets
September 20th 2015.

Another late submission (2am!) Just got back from Maine… And I thought of this while my mother boiled the lobster. There’s something pathetically whimsical and probably morbid in writing a sonnet about animal torture. But, how else does one cook lobster? 

#30Days30Sonnets

Interstellar Adventure

  • by kwirb

INTERSTELLAR ADVENTURE

Join me on the starry road to my heavenly nebula
where the vivid colors explode into stars and constellations;
where all darkness illuminates from the sunburnt plethora
of dreams conceived through painless triangulations.

But the sights of splendor do little to achieve nirvana
when the atmosphere sings in harmony, deafening;
it’s rippling vibrations of melodious, positive karma
bountifully assuage our desolate souls’ leavening.

Our caged organs undulating in rhythmic mimicking
of a pulsating tempo (our combined seismic energies, perhaps?).
These potent musical promises invite the sights, riveting,
overwhelming our senses into its inevitably satisfied collapse.

Though my tuneful stardust’s allure may tempt you to forego reality,
for now, ever so fleetingly, we can embrace its sentimentality.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets
September 19th, 2015

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#30Days30Sonnets

Longevity

  • by kwirb

LONGEVITY

In life, we search for grander purposes
and a complimenting half to make us whole;
from wordless adventures to endless circuses,
they fill the lonely voids within our soul.

But not all of us, by chance, are lucky
to find another with whom to share our toils;
to trudge the pathways that increase in difficulty
and, eventually, reap the rewards of our spoils.

They say that we shouldn’t need to try too hard
to find that someone who renders us complete.
Yet, somehow, through kismet and little regard,
we’re meant to accomplish this ostensible feat.

Proudly, I can attest to this trying “impossibility”;
Halves can remain whole beyond the expected longevity.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets
September 18th 2015.

Dedicated to my parents, on their 38th wedding anniversary!

#30Days30Sonnets

An Open Sonnet For Ignoramus

  • by kwirb

AN OPEN SONNET FOR IGNORAMUS

They walk among us – Ignoramus – as shimmers.
Frightfully,  they awake, oblivious to its hosts.
With their gleaming eyes that glow dimmer,
they consume in breaths, among us as ghosts.

Growling sheepishly with their fiendish smiles,
laughing therein, where there is no laughter.
With their pompously petty excuses running miles,
laps around our grave – Ignoramus – happy, thereafter.

And perhaps my thoughts, though morbid be,
Are mere assumptions born from lucid pain.
But when shimmers solidify to blind my family,
It quickly tips my scales from sane to bane.

These faulty souls bring out my actions worst;
You’ll beg my pardon, as my family always comes first.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets
On a road trip! Sorry it’s late…

#30Days30Sonnets

Fleetingly Momentous

  • by kwirb

FLEETINGLY MOMENTOUS

In gems of fleeting moments – our present –
feats and convolutions tick and intertwine;
a galaxy in eons of twinkling evanescence
transcends the zeal of matter, space, and time.

Echoes of clouds as breathy mists in chasms,
taunt a celestial elegance baiting the abyss;
persistence, impetuous, awoken by flailing spasms,
overcoming flitting thoughts of losses missed.

I comprehend these sounds, – so familiar –
the laughter and adventures that led to them.
a stellar love heard in almost whispers,
a clever, gaudy brilliance from pebble to gem.

Heaven must exist, else where do prayers go?
These memories engulf me, eviscerating woe.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets
September 16th 2015.

Dedicated to Heather and her family, today especially.

#30Days30Sonnets

RED WINE

  • by kwirb

RED WINE

They swirled as one in slaps of supernal viscosity,
in an ominously sealed capsule with little disclosure.
Her neck was slender, a tempting generosity,
while his shoulders sloped into their disparaged exposure.

They fought a floating balance, colliding from bottle to glass,
as they minded considerate servings of their munificent candor;
they deftly consumed towards its bottomless crimson crevasse.
Thru vociferous labels enraptured, their drowning heeds meandered.

In fixed hushes mixed with their tumbling, scraping feet’s heel,
they began to murmur, rumbling in hint-surrounded undertones;
Not-so-suddenly, they’d revealed what they’d meant to conceal.
Merriment ensued, furthered by cyclones of delicate covers blown.

In their unwrapping another cap and unraveling of more twine;
they had sought the blissful stillness lurking in their red wine.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets
September 16th 2015.

Thanks, Shannon. Couldn’t think of a topic. I hope I did it justice, lol.

#30Days30Sonnets

Tales

  • by kwirb

TALES

I want to share dainty little tales with you,
Or scantily tell you over quaint little stories;
(about how love is painless and always true)
how villains can win and bask in their glories.

Would you find it heartbreaking and unbelievable?
Or maybe believable, yet morally questionable?
Perhaps filled with far too many goals, unachievable?
Or foolish characters making choices, unacceptable?

Eventually, I can promise you a lesson or two,
alongside a tragic hero, who is unsung and spent;
a plot twist here and there a leery subplot through
which the story tumbles down its predictable descent.

Perhaps, with you, I do not need to share these tales.
Since, in hindsight, it wreaks of you in familiar details.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets
September 14th 2015.

#30Days30Sonnets

Superstitious

  • by kwirb

SUPERSTITIOUS

There are old superstitions that often mislead
into believing the improbable truth; and it’s somehow
pliable yet sturdy in form, from then until now.
It is from these menial things that we formulate creeds.

But when proof prevails and truths concede,
there is something strangely poetic that it can allow
leeway from our vagueness’ blur to our furrowed brow.
It is a stampede of misleading feathery feats, indeed.

Extract the feats of one way beliefs and decoys of joy,
from skies full of jagged stars, points of moot,
wayward truth; Recall it’s guffaw heard in silence.

Reminisce in these altered personas that we employ
to cope with jolting doubts afloat in this cloudy truth;
Timelessly barking at your useless, defiant misguidance.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets
September 13th 2015

#30Days30Sonnets

Recycled Me

  • by kwirb

RECYCLED ME

Who is this me that one claims to be?
Is it the I or the eye of my begging’s cry?
Freely fleeing from the gleefully escaped me?
Or that I try to be sly in defining what’s “my”?

Where does it end or can I only tend to blend
in being unique and seeking better technique
while bending? Descending into an ultimate dead end;
this antique is a streak of tweaking’s weak.

Will I still grow or even find my soul
in this mess of stress and quests for less?
Or undergo buckling beneath turbulent flow
that suppresses the recesses of what I’d digress?

Am I less archetypal in this final cycle?
Or a less recycled, final (spiteful) title?

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets
September 12th 2015.