Sonnettics

I met my Angel at a race today
We ran together, simply side by side
I know she could have gone another way
I know I could have too; I could have died
But I survived the accident to run
I’m blessed to have this Angel run with me
Like plants that grow are blessed to have the Sun
My Angel knows I’m lucky, just to be
She thought she’d be the last to hold my hand
That time she found me, broken by the way
This life is not the life that I had planned
But c’est la vie, I’m here with her today
We get to run together; we are blessed
She isn’t just an angel, she’s the best.

About

Written mostly in the morning as I thought about the half marathon I would be running with a woman who first saw me two years ago, right after my accident, It was a good healing/growth day for both of us. I call her “my Angel” because she held me as I lay nearly dead by the side of the road, but I only mean “Angel” as a metaphor for the good person she is, and what she did for me. I realize she is just a person/mother/wife/sister who is trying to live a good life. She continued her compassion for me today during the race by getting me water and stuff at the aid stations, Thanks, Angel!

Let’s lift a pint to Patrick on his day
Let others kiss the Blarney Stone for luck
Like shamrocks, it’s become a bit cliché:
Saint Patrick’s day with clovers, run amok
No leprechaun deserves to be debased
By being caught in bad commercial art
Such travesty deserves to be erased
True rainbow gold is hidden in the heart
The Emerald Isle is more than green or gold
Saint Patrick’s Day does more than just enthrall
Let’s celebrate the Irish, young and old
Let’s celebrate the saintliness of all
Come lift a pint and greet the day with “Cheers!”
Let’s celebrate Saint Patrick’s day for years.

It’s warm. The moon illuminates the clouds.
Our jump is set for midnight, so we rest.
As silently as if we’d taken vows,
We wait. Each time we wait it’s like a test.
It’s like a test of patience, not of nerves,
With backs pressed up against the rigger’s shed;
One box is filled with mains, one with reserves.
We wait, clichéd, as patient as the dead.
In time we mount the mains upon our backs.
In time we strap reserves across our chests.
Inside the bird it’s harder to relax,
Because it’s warm and we are tightly pressed.
And still the moon illuminates the sky.
And still we’re waiting silently to die.

Today I’m “Mellow Johnny” on my Felt
The wind is at my back; my legs are strong
If rides are cards, I like the hand I’m dealt
If power’s music, I can sing that song!

It isn’t just a jersey on my back
This maillot jaune declares my ride’s intent
If wind’s the peleton, then I’ll attack
If power’s money, nothing has been spent!

I’ve saved it all, like gold within a bank
My maillot jaune’s a golden, yellow vault
My Felt succumbs to every pedal crank
The gears I crank are bigger by default!

It’s not about the bike; my engine knows
I ride wherever “Mellow Johnny” goes.

About

I wrote this one in honor of Lance Armstrong, aka Mellow Johnny. Whenever I wear my yellow jersey, I think of riding with Lance. He has been one of my inspirations for my own “come-back.”
If a cancer survivor can win the Tour de France, then a guy like me can overcome a TBI and come back to run a sub-3 at Boston and do a sub-10 at Kona!

Spring forward from your sleep and dreamy state
It’s time for daylight savings time to start
Don’t set your clock back or you will be late!
Remember to “Spring forward” and be smart!

In Fall, we’ll all “Fall back” to sleep and dreams
But now we need to wake, and rise and shine
As antiquated as this action seems
It’s habit-forming, friendly, and benign

Ben Franklin is the man the man attacks
The man who’d rather sleep and dream instead
He said it would save Paris on their wax
And keep their candle lights from going dead!

So don’t forget to set your clock ahead
And please be kind to every sleepy-head!

Daylight Savings Time for 2012 begins next week, Sunday, March 11th, at 2:00 a.m. and ends Sunday, November 4th, at 2:00am.

An extra day makes leap year extra long
Okay, it’s just a day and days are short
(at least it makes a pleasant little song)
An extra day for laughter, love, or sport!

I’d like an extra day in every year
I guess I’ll have to do with one in four
It isn’t worth the effort of a tear
(I don’t believe that’s what my tears are for!)

But little songs and tears and extra days
Fit nicely in my sweet sonnettic sight
So thank you, Leap Year. You deserve my praise
For giving me an extra day to write!

Earth’s orbit hasn’t changed; it’s just leap year
The 29th of Febuary’s here

Surreal is like a sonnet without rhyme
Or digging in the trash and finding gold
When blank-verse marks the edges of the moon
Surreal becomes the fastest way back home

Such little songs of poetry may bloom
Like flowers in a field of desert mud
Or finding life in death beneath a rock
Such insects carve their tunnels for their queen

To rhyme without surreal capacity
Enlist the graves of pigeons and of ghosts
Transparent or translucent clouds conform
With paradox, dichotomy, and truth

Surreal is like a couplet found in time
That gives a sonnet just a final word.

I tried to rest, but couldn’t stand the noise
The noise upstairs kept everyone awake
I know it was just active, little boys
But all their noise was more than I could take!

I know that little boys are just fun-size
I know there’s better things that I can eat
But waking carnivores is never wise
When all you are to them is noisy meat!

Just dip them in some batter, add some spice
The noise kids make does little to their taste
A dash of salt makes everything quite nice
Then put them in the oven; let them baste!

So kids, beware when Gramma says you’re sweet
You may be small, but still you’re good to eat!

George Washington deserves more than a day
Virginia was his home before most states
Became the country Washington would say
Deserves respect without prolonged debates

Regardless of the holiday we forge
On some day, late in winter, or in spring
To celebrate our Union’s Father, George
Let’s gather round Old Glory and let’s sing

Let freedom always ring from sea to sea
Let liberty and life be our pursuits
Such happiness belongs to you and me
George Washington ensured our tree had roots

A day which we, his countrymen, revere
Reminds us of the peace he brought, each year.

This is the tune I am working into this sonnet:(emilie)
—-
Within your eyes I see awaiting dreams;
Flow on, flow on into their waiting streams,
On ships of gold that sail into the night,
And drift to shores where everything is bright.

Bright shores of dreams are waiting there for you,
So sleep and may your golden dreams come true.

Within your heart I know the dreams you keep;
Hold on, hold on to them within your sleep.
Your heart of gold will shine forever bright,
And in your dreams will be your guiding light.

Bright shores of dreams are waiting there for you,
So sleep and may your golden dreams come true.

Bright shores where all your golden dreams come true,
So sleep, so sleep, they’re waiting there for you.

Meaning of a shore in a dream.