199 – Dear Sonnet

Poem number 199
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Dear Sonnet
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Your beauty is iambic, dear Sonnet
Syllabic pairs with ev’ry second stressed.
For love, no other form could upon it
Bear such a weight of meaning so expressed.
And those romantics of poetic bent
With heads bowed and swanfeather quill afire
Choose none other to smoulder their intent
Through four quatrains of such heartfelt desire.
And when, at last, their allotted twelve lines
Of alternating rhyme have been inscribed
The lover has one more sweet gift that shines
With love. A final couplet then imbibed.
Fourteen lines that show us your beauty, aye
Dear Sonnet, lens to every poet’s eye.

384 – The 64th Poem

Poem number 384
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The 64th Poem
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I find your looks abhorrent
You have rheumy, weakling eyes
Your nose is twisted, offset
And your mouth is as a fly’s
Your breath, I fear, disgusts me
It bears remnants of the grave
As indeed does all your body
And your nostrils need a shave
Did your mother oft’ neglect you
Did you never learn to clean
I find little to commend you
You’re a sight I wish unseen
There is nothing in your countenance
To bright a rain filled day
You have nothing more to offer
Than to simply go away
So begone, and take your pimples
And your skin so slimy, slack
I shall rinse my eyes once you have left
And pray you don’t come back.