Sonnettics

The tale of Alice Young is sad but true
‘Twas nearly fifty years before the time
The tales of witches in New England grew
She was the first found guilty of this crime.

Connecticut was where she settled down
A place called Windsor, far from Salem’s port
A simple place to live, a river town
Where witchcraft was a thing they sought to thwart

Poor Alice was accused, then tried and hung
By zealots who accused her of the flu
A scapegoat was the fate of Alice Young
‘Twas all the justice ignorance could do

Three centuries and more* of bells were rung
Before true justice rang for Alice Young.

by Scott Ennis

*Alse Young was formally exonerated on February 6, 2017, by a unanimous vote of the Windsor Town Council.

To love is like the ocean, deep and blue
It’s always there regardless of the tides 
The ebb and flow of love is nothing new
Love’s ocean is where lovers’ faith abides

Our faith in love is true when absolute
When love is absolute, each wave is seen
And every wave thereafter follows suit
Consistently extolling what we mean

To love we must leave similes behind
And we must leave the ocean, deep and blue
Our memories return to heart and mind
Remembering the us of me and you

At last we find the boundless love we sought
And love will be the ocean waves we’ve caught.

She only screams when life gets in her way
The way is hers and only hers alone
As she inhales the blue smoke of the day
A burning bud she calls her very own

But screams unshared are quiet screams at best
They fill the exhalations of the night
As quiet screams their noise is thus expressed
Within the darkened weight of sacred light

The sacred light of ganja fills the breath
Of innocence, parading like a king
It knows the path of life proceeds to death
And god is good who gives us everything

And so she screams to god to smoke a joint
And thus reveals which prophet to anoint.

Inflation means the cost of shit goes up
(Not really “shit,” that’s just a metaphor)
The holy grail becomes a paper cup
And Walmart is a “posh” and “glitzy” store

If money doesn’t matter we’ll be fine
But if it does, I guess we’re really fucked
If money marks a thin, translucent line
We’ll look back on it and we’ll say “that sucked”

Inflation sucks the life from lifeless joy
The same way death betrays what came before
Should money really mean that much? Oh, boy!
Is prostitute a nicer word for whore?

Inflation seems to be the price we pay
For anything that gets in money’s way.

My Susan Blue is waiting at the gate
She’s waiting there to go out for a walk
Her waiting bears the grace of beauty’s fate
A fate of which philosophers will talk

Philosophy of beauty bears the name
Aesthetics, beauty learned is beauty felt
Should Susan Blue go by another name
Her sense would still leave beauty where she dwelt

It’s more than what is felt or seen or heard
Come learn aesthetoception, one more sense
Much more than just the meaning of a word
It waits for you, with Susan, by the fence

My Susan Blue aesthetes her beauty’s grace
She wears it in her hat, her clothes, her face.