Sonnettics

At first we stretched and learned to stand upright
Perhaps because we tried to reach a star
The stars were out of reach, not out of sight
Too bright to be ignored, but oh, so far

To reach the stars we’d need to build a ship
We taught our hands to build the things we’d need
At last we reached the moon, a simple trip
What else would be required to succeed?

Success we found was more than just one word
Complexity of words revealed our plight
To reach the stars we thought was not absurd
And if we couldn’t be there, we would write

And so we write about the place we are
Until one day, we know, we’ll reach a star.

We called out as we exited the range
“No brass! No ammo!” meant the range was clear
To some this declaration might seem strange
But strange or not our sergeant had to hear

Except when we shot LAWs our sergeant said
“Of course there is no brass! It’s fired away!”
“You hit the target; now the target’s dead”
“Now drop and think about the words you say.”

And so we dropped for push-ups at his feet
Except Edgardo, Private Gaud was smart
He didn’t like to exercise in heat
He answered sergeant with poetic art

He called to sergeant as he walked on by
“No rockets in my pockets,” was his cry!

I wear my rank where everyone can see
I wear whatever badges I’m allowed
I’m qualified for several, two or three
My silver wings proclaim me Airborne proud

The patch here on my shoulder is my tribe
My ‘tribe’ is just the unit where I serve
It shows I have a military vibe
It also tells the world that I have verve!

And though it wasn’t issued, still I wear
A patch that shows this isn’t just a game
Reminding me of other folks that care
That patch is me, depicted by my name

My name is me; I’m more than just a tag
Like soldiers fight for more than just a flag.

A cadence, like a sonnet, is a song
Whose words both rise and fall with rhythmic sound
It tells us where the right and left belong
It help us keep our feet on steady ground

Its time is quick or double, never slow
Its lyrics mark our days with tales to tell
At times we sing of places we might go
At times the storyline is crass as hell!

A cadence is the soundtrack to a drill
A cadence helps divert unpleasant thought
With cadences we march up every hill
With memories of every fight we fought

A cadence is a hymn we soldiers call
A rhythmic tale that’s more than rise and fall.

She sings a little song that no one hears
It’s only blood, she sings. It’s only blood
It marks a heart that beats for bloody years
A flower starts from just a little bud

The bud I have is ganja, bloodless green
Sativa flowers as Sativa knows
A song unsung like flowers still unseen
Without a purpose, nothing ever grows

A bloody song, a bloody little song
Unlike the green that grows to counter pain
I never found the place where I belong
Where loss is something more than not to gain

I’ll sing again a quiet little song 
Perhaps you’ll hear it too and sing along.

I have no need to be like Bill, the Bard
I have no need to make my world a stage
I have no need to play the “writer’s card”
I have no need to be an empty page

I need to be ironic with my voice
I need to be The Word and Not The Word
I need to be Them Both by simple choice
I need to be a simpleton, unheard

You must be in the mood to read tonight
You must be more than just a nightly mood
You must be or you must not be too bright
You must be hops that’s waiting to be brewed

No need to be must be the sum of all
No need to be must be how couplets fall.

when god was just a kid he used to lie
he told his mom he flushed when he did not
he hit his little sister, watched her cry
yes, god was quite the wicked  little snot

one time i heard god shot his sister’s cat
he shot it in the butt to make it run
i wonder now why god was such a brat
and why he thought i’d think such things were fun

i guess because he put it in the book
the book he told the world was his great “word”
perhaps we all should take a deeper look
at things like this that magnify “absurd”

so god is who you hope will hear you pray?
he hears you, laughs, then turns and walks away.

If Moxie was a poem it would be
A sonnet like the one before you now
It lends itself to such tenacity
The drink became a word more wow than wow

The excellence required to be known
As one with moxie, like the wow-some drink
Is overhead, where countless birds have flown
Above the clouds that fly, that never sink

So fly with moxie; reach the heights you can
Don’t keep your moxie bottled, let it show
Your moxie is the mark of all you span
Your moxie carries you to where you go

A life with Moxie means you’ve lived it well
Your Moxie is a storied word to tell.