A Bunch of Sonnets

A bunch of Sonnets
by Ryan Livingston

• Sonnet #Something-Or-Other
• Sonnet #279,486,430… etc
• Sonnet #3
• Sonnet #4

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Sonnet #Something-Or-Other

How’s this for a kick in the pants:
For two months now
I’ve waited for the chance
To introduce myself
To a woman I’ve seen.
Two months?
Is that how long its been?
Yes, I’m afraid so.
And look at the waste of time it was.
Because I got the opportunity
And after an awkward pause
I find she was a louse.
She was on enough cocaine
To kill a house.

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Sonnet #279,486,430… etc.

Pardon me madam,
Did I say something wrong?
Are we on the same page,
The same chord of the song?
What could I do,
I was nervous that night.
I fumbled for words
But they didn’t come out right.
You took it the wrong way,
The opposite of was meant.
As for me,
Sleepless nights were spent.
And now I know not what to do,
Because, madam, I still love you.

This was first published on www.poetry.com.

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Sonnet #3

A bitter man sits in his chair.
He screams and he raves
And he pulls out his hair.
Why he behaves
This way is not known.
A car wreck? A stroke?
The game that was blown?
None of these the doctor spoke.
He’s twenty, without a friend on this sphere.
Fate is against him, his plans are dashed.
His mind is full of confusion and fear.
To put it simply, his will is smashed.
And you dare ask what the problem is?
If you were he, you’d have depression like his.

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Sonnet #4

I see a field
It cannot hide.
The blades of grass
And petals bide.
It cannot move,
Nor drift away.
It’s good to know
It’s here to stay.
What else is there
That’s good to see?
Amongst it all
Beneath a tree…
You are the one
When said and done.

This was first published in The Pavan, the St. Peter’s College literarry journal.

A Dog Of Panic

A Dog of Panic
by Ray Macula

Upon the day, a Dog of Panic
Crossed my way.
A bearer of Havoc he was,
He did say.
And with him first the Blight did come,
To rot out the teeth of everyone.
Second, came on quite the affliction,
Which could not be treated with the strongest prescription,
Soon followed by an increased conscription,
For the need for war became quite the addiction.
And as all these things transpired,
I asked why our land’s doom was desired.
To me he did say:
“Twas Havoc who let slip this Dog of Panic
And together we shall increase your loss,
As it was deemed by the Great Boss Chaos.”
“To what end shall these means justify?”
Was my only reply.
“End? No end, Squire. But before you ask, ‘why does this happen to me’
Know that all is merely a function of entropy.”
He responded with glee.
“Today it is you who will be ploughed under”
He went on
“Tomorrow your neighbor will fear the thunder.
The cycle goes on and none are spared, thus is The Way
And the Universe does not care.”
“The end then for me, The Universe
Does not weep with sorrow or dance with glee?”
Was the next question to come from me.
“To these both the answer is ‘no.’
It shall merely bestow,
New life, new challenges
To the next ones to grow.”
Said he the Servant of Havoc.
Then the sea he did cross
To find the next place to serve Chaos.

Death in the Valley of the Ants

Death in the Valley of the Ants
by Ray Macula

There is a valley of rock and sand,
Arid and dusty is this land.
From towers of dirt do they emanate,
For the Royal’s Command do they emigrate.
Their name is ‘Legion’ for they are many,
Of one mind from worker to sentry.
In the Deep and Dark the Royal commands,
For food they travel to distant lands.
Neither wing, nor speed, nor branch, nor rock,
Will impede this ravenous stock.
Upon the Dead they do feed,
For a meal this easy,
Is sure to please,
And their bellies they’ll not need to squeeze.
But in the Kingdom there lands an unfortunate,
“Food!” commands the Royal, and so they eviscerate.
Arms and legs are torn apart,
As well as all the other body parts.
The Dark of the Depths beckons for more,
And this fresh meat they’ll not bother to store.

I Am Azrael, Bringer of Doom

I Am Azrael, Bringer of Doom
by Ray Macula

By the Holy Imam I am called, “Azrael.”
A servant of humanity of the Highest Order,
For the broken and worn down I finalize their slaughter.
I am the friend of the new,
For I keep the world vibrant and healthy for you.
I have nothing but compassion for the old and the sick,
As I try to eliminate their pain relatively quick.
Speak not of me malice or of hate,
I simply am here to remove the dead weight.
I wish no thank, I bear no wrath, don’t bother to resist,
Simply try to understand that you’re no longer fit to exist.
Your time has passed, you can move on at last.

In a year you’ll be forgotten by all
save me, your buddy, Mr. Death Deliverer of Souls.
And to those I haven’t met,
do not fret.
I’ll be seeing you soon,
For I am Azrael Bringer of Doom.

A Lemming’s Sorrow

A Lemming’s Sorrow
by Ryan Livingston

What happens to a lemming when not treated right?
What causes a lemming to be filled with fright?
What is it’s worry, what is its woe?
Why does it call to its mates in fields farmers sow?
What possesses fifty of its friends
To run to the end
Of a cliff and into the sea?
What could this beast’s problems be?
What would cause it to no longer want to roam?
Maybe it was something that occurred at home?

Triumph

Triumph
by Ryan Livingston

The sun shined brightly on them.
His shield glistened, near.
He loved her and she loved him,
But his duty called.
Her tears stained his white tunic.

Then the sky grew din.
Rain flowed and the sea darkened.
Evil boat took him,
And its dark break waved at her.
She cannot see him.
She loved him and he loved her.

Night fell very quickly.
Tomorrow they would attack,
The fifth troop and him
But that was not important
She was far away
He missed her and she missed him.

She held his picture
Near to her still beating heart.
She longs for the day
That he will return to her.
Weeks pass without him.
She loves him and he loves her.

Victory at Chal.
Triumph in the Devil’s Gulf.
The front is now clear.
So what, she is no where near.
The brigands, they charge.
So must he, with sword in fist.

A pain fills her gut
It lingers, aching badly.

A carriage draws near,
A black cart with a black horse.
A man approaches.
At once she opens the door.
It was not her love.

He presents he with a box.
A cracked sword and shield
Lie atop a dark red cloth.
She cries, it’s her love’s tunic.
The man opens the carriage door.
On crutch her love comes,
His stomach bandaged.
He loves her and she loves him.

War is a strong force
It destroys everything.
A man’s devotion
And woman’s undying love
Will overtake war.