My Best Sonnets
Created | Updated Jan 28, 2002
Paul H.'s Best Sonnets
Sonnet #1: Strange rabbit
The rabbits on the lawn have run away
As I approached my door with key in hand.
There was one, though, who simply chose to stay.
I felt unease, 'twas hard to understand.
My heart beat faster--could this one be ill?
Could I be bitten, catch a dread disease?
The creature threatened not, but stayed quite still.
The only sound came from some languid bees.
The doorway rattled as I turned the key,
And soon I reached the safety of my home.
The other rabbits frolicked on the lea.
The one who stayed betrayed no trace of foam.
So, was the rabbit more than usually tame,
Or rabid, earning pity more than blame?
Sonnet #2: Traveling to work:
The milkweed shakes a bit as I brush by.
A goldfinch leaves the chicory shrub in haste.
I am, as usual, late. Wish I could fly!
No need to check my watch, no time to waste.
My car is speckled white with pigeon crap,
But cleaning it must wait till after five.
It's good I know my way without a map,
And better there's a mere two miles to drive.
The marsh with purple loosestrife gleams at right,
and on my left I see the shopping mall.
Then there's the square, with its odd traffic light.
I get to work, but not on time at all.
A meeting's soon to start, but can't begin
Till those--later than I!--come sailing in.
Sonnet #3: Relaxing by the river
A cloud of blue-grey smoke, a sooty grill;
The father, flipping burgers, dripping sweat;
A son, selecting flattish rocks at will,
suggests a skipping contest for a bet.
A cloth upon the picnic table's spread,
As mother from the picnic basket takes
Potato salad, pickles, rolls, and bread,
Some apples, cookies, napkins, forks, and cakes.
A plopping sound arrives from river's edge,
To indicate that *someone's* skipping stones.
"Oh, boys!" the mother hollers, "keep your pledge:
Do not fall in!" Above, a deerfly drones.
At last, the meat is cooked, or charred at least,
And all enjoy a pleasant summer feast.
Sonnet #4: In honor of cheesecake
Now, let the fauns and nymphs of field and lake
Come forth with ripened fruit and freshest cream.
We call them, in our kitchens here to make
A mighty cheescake, every Muse's dream.
And let the Musehome's portals open wide,
The better for the cheese* to enter in:
Six thousand gallons of it, says our guide,
One of vanilla, 2 cups cinnamon.
Two thousand pounds of sugar last we'll pour.
Mix all together, top with mounds of fruit.
This vast confection! Who could ask for more?
To each let Bacchus serve a slice to suit.
The Muses sit entranced before their feast.
Nought finer has been served to Muse or beast.
Sonnet #5: Breakfast outside in the sun
"The patio has such a lovely view,"
The mother said, "of pines and sand and sea.
The sun is out. The sky is cobalt blue.
Come out and have your breakfast here with me."
The others yawned. The father buttered toast.
The sister poured some coffee in a cup.
The mother turned her gaze upon the coast,
And wondered why the son was not yet up.
The father spooned some eggs into his plate,
And joined his wife outside. The sun was bright.
The daughter said, "My brother sleeps so late!"
"The coffee's cold," said mother. "Serves him right!"
There was no sound but seagulls in the sky,
As clouds and herons gently floated by
Sonnet #6: Waiting for a train in a busy station
A little child has red and blue balloons.
A man in khakis smokes a cigarette.
A gypsy girl displays her tattooed moons.
The train is due; there's no sign of it yet.
A college student drains her coffee cup,
Then goes for more; she whistles a refrain.
A man in gray with cell phone dials up
To tell his boss "There seems to be no train."
The child is getty edgy, stomps her feet.
The man in khaki smiles and tells a joke.
A rumbling sound is heard across the street.
Then, somewhere in the distance, puffs of smoke,
And down the track a train comes into view,
As passengers begin to form a queue.
Sonnet #7: In a restaurant with tropical décor
A fountain gurgles softly by the door,
As cockatoos sit sleeping on their roost.
A potted palm is anchored to the floor.
Canaries in a cage ask to be loosed.
She gazes at her menu, thinks a while,
Then looks around--where has the waiter gone?
He sees her, hurries over, gives a smile.
She says, "I'll have the 'Shrimp Soup Mallezon.'"
The waiter bows ad leaves. A parrot squawks.
A python dozes on a mural wall.
From somewhere comes the chiming of some clocks.
The food arrives-it took no time at all.
The soup is hot and steaming, thick, just right.
She says, "I must come back another night."
Sonnet #8: Sunday in the park with a friend
Come for a walk! Let's take a stroll
In Pangles Park*, where daisies smile,
And lemon lilies tall cajole
The nose. Then let us rest awhile
Beneath the shade of copper beech,
Admiring old General Sneevus,
Well-prepared to give a speech,
But if he did, well, who'd believe us?
Then, in the fountain let us wade.
Goldfish dart to 'scape our feet.
Distant music's being played
From the bandstand down the street.
Hick'ry smoke wafts through the air,
Whispering, "We've got food to share."
Sonnet #9: Flowering vines on an arbor
The tufts of moss grow here and there between
The cobblestones that line the garden path,
And overhead the arbor arch is green
As we go forth to see Diana's bath.
Bright dots of red announce the roses' reign,
While purple trumpets sing clematis' praise.
And, here and there, the morning glories gain
The upper hand, to seek the bright sun's rays.
The honeysuckle's gone, the lilacs too.
No more do iris queens sit on their throne.
Petunias, humble, blink in red and blue,
And lemon lilies more than hold their own.
We stop a moment in the arbor's shade,
Then off we go, refreshed, to happ'ly wade.
Sonnet #10: The storm
Where once the friendly sky was calm and blue,
Now scudding clouds stampede in fitful pique.
And flower beds, once brilliant in their hue,
Now cringe in darkest shadow, pale and meek.
A wind so strong it rattles ancient trees,
and spatters rain at random to and fro,
is met with rumbling thunder. One foresees
the shocking brilliance of the lightning's glow.
The lashing rain its anger must release.
No possible resistance can it meet.
But soon the drops grow fewer, then they cease.
The sky is blue again. The air is sweet.
A rainbow weaves its magic in the sky,
as distant fleeing clouds wave their goodbye.
Sonnet #11: Modern art
Small heads on large round bodies, playing tag.
A clutch of orbs in mid-air, playing house.
Some jagged lines upon a dirty rag.
A creature, part banana, part gray mouse.
Which picture for my wall? What should I buy?
Whatever did that artist mean to say?
Is that potato skiing through a pie,
Or is it just a snowman baling hay?
The seascapes mingle sandy tans with greens.
Then there are garden florals, never cheap.
The brightly hued abstracts might fit my means,
But are they really art, and are they deep?
The gallery is closing for the day,
But there are others open down the way.
Sonnet #12: Waiting in line in the supermarket
I filled my cart in seven minutes flat,
But who knows when I'll get to the cashier?
Ahead, I hear the bawling of a brat.
The scanner's slow, or so it would appear.
I'm fourth in line, and patron number one
Has just one item--but the price is wrong!
The supervisor comes to help, but none
Of her solutions moves the line along.
The next one passes smoothly through, until
It's time to pay. She searches through her purse.
She's only got one hundred dollar bill.
It's not allowed. She starts to rant and curse.
Much later, I'm at home. As I unpack,
I see I've missed some things, and must go back.
Sonnet #13: The things I like the best
A walk along the river after dark,
While all around me, crickets serenade.
The virtuoso singing of a lark.
A piano bar where jazz is being played.
The smell of spruce that tells me: mountains near.
Some frozen yogurt further down the road.
A mountain stream that hurries, cool and clear;
It whispers: "Come and wade; put down your load."
In Autumn, choosing pumpkins in a field,
Then nibbling apple crisp with pumpkin pie.
The gold and crimson leaves stand out, revealed
Against the clear blue background of the sky.
In summer's wretched heat, in winter's ice,
It helps to know that some of life is nice.
TALE OF A HAUNTED TEA STAND
There was a haunted tea stand
In fair Balwiniti land,
where 42 quite spooky ghosts
Acted as most proper hosts.
They poured the tea from silver pots
With sugar, milk, and lemon--lots!
Their tablecloths were smooth as silk,
And yet they served no chocolate milk!
So all the ghosts were rounded up,
and told just how to mix it up,
so next time when you pay a call,
Enjoy your chocolate milk. Don't stall.
They served this treat to Dragonfly,
Who happened to be passing by.
One sip produced such ecstacy
That Dragonfly appeared to be
Transported up beyond Cloud 9,
And stayed there almost by design.
The other Muses also sipped,
And upward they, too, quickly zipped.
For chocolate milk's a splendid potion,
Meriting such strong devotion!
ODE TO A TOFFEE APPLE
Oh, toffee apple, hanging on that tree,
As near perfection as you'll ever be,
There's naught can match you in my grocer's aisle.
Just seeing you's enough to make me smile.
And isn't smiling welcome everywhere?
The sort of thing each soul would wish to share?
A toffee apple smiley would be grand.
The sort of gesture all could understand.
Sonnet #14: Cooking a nice meal for someone you love
A pair of greenish eyes with puzzled mien
looks up. A swishing tail goes forth and back.
I rinse a can of tuna, super lean,
and take a mixing bowl from off the rack.
Some stalks of celery finely do I mince.
My blender takes sliced bread and gives me crumbs.
The cat says "Meow," and makes a few paw-prints.
I add some crabmeat . Now the onion comes.
Some mayonnaise, some Worcestershire, and then
A mixing spoon to stir till all is thick.
A baking pan accepts the mix. Now, when
Will it be cooked? An hour's time, not quick!
Oh, birthday cat, you eat your food with zeal,
as if the finest caviar were your meal!
Sonnet #15: Sonnet: Blizzard of Ash
They were not loved when first to Heav'n they rose
("World's tallest tombstones" someone dubbed them then),
But gained respect from many of their foes,
Though not enough. Before the clock struck ten
That sunny morn, a glinting silver dart
One tower's side with cruel hatred struck.
A ball of fire sprang from out its heart,
And thousands felt the building sway and buck.
A second dart the other tower hit,
Another puff of flame, and from on high
The bodies fell, as droplets from a spit.
The towers crumbled. Thousands, doomed would die.
Like tiny snowflakes, ashes tint with gray
The air, where no more light will shine today.
Sonnet #16: Ode to a Fish-Pond
Sunlight-dappled water ripples softly,
As golden, blue-flecked fish dart here and there.
The shadow of a lily pad drifts oftly
Across a red-crowned monarch's pebbled lair.
Mid glints of silver, minnows flit and hover,
While lazy tadpoles wallow in the muck
A frog hides 'neath its pungent ferny cover
Upon a rock, until it's rudely struck
By errant acorns. SPLASH! It hits the water.
The fish all scatter, head for spots secluded.
A red-and-blue-flecked dragonfly-a squatter-
Surveys the rippled surface, mud-occluded.
The acorns gently bob. The waters clear,
As frog and fish in time will reappear.
Sonnet #1: Strange rabbit
The rabbits on the lawn have run away
As I approached my door with key in hand.
There was one, though, who simply chose to stay.
I felt unease, 'twas hard to understand.
My heart beat faster--could this one be ill?
Could I be bitten, catch a dread disease?
The creature threatened not, but stayed quite still.
The only sound came from some languid bees.
The doorway rattled as I turned the key,
And soon I reached the safety of my home.
The other rabbits frolicked on the lea.
The one who stayed betrayed no trace of foam.
So, was the rabbit more than usually tame,
Or rabid, earning pity more than blame?
Sonnet #2: Traveling to work:
The milkweed shakes a bit as I brush by.
A goldfinch leaves the chicory shrub in haste.
I am, as usual, late. Wish I could fly!
No need to check my watch, no time to waste.
My car is speckled white with pigeon crap,
But cleaning it must wait till after five.
It's good I know my way without a map,
And better there's a mere two miles to drive.
The marsh with purple loosestrife gleams at right,
and on my left I see the shopping mall.
Then there's the square, with its odd traffic light.
I get to work, but not on time at all.
A meeting's soon to start, but can't begin
Till those--later than I!--come sailing in.
Sonnet #3: Relaxing by the river
A cloud of blue-grey smoke, a sooty grill;
The father, flipping burgers, dripping sweat;
A son, selecting flattish rocks at will,
suggests a skipping contest for a bet.
A cloth upon the picnic table's spread,
As mother from the picnic basket takes
Potato salad, pickles, rolls, and bread,
Some apples, cookies, napkins, forks, and cakes.
A plopping sound arrives from river's edge,
To indicate that *someone's* skipping stones.
"Oh, boys!" the mother hollers, "keep your pledge:
Do not fall in!" Above, a deerfly drones.
At last, the meat is cooked, or charred at least,
And all enjoy a pleasant summer feast.
Sonnet #4: In honor of cheesecake
Now, let the fauns and nymphs of field and lake
Come forth with ripened fruit and freshest cream.
We call them, in our kitchens here to make
A mighty cheescake, every Muse's dream.
And let the Musehome's portals open wide,
The better for the cheese* to enter in:
Six thousand gallons of it, says our guide,
One of vanilla, 2 cups cinnamon.
Two thousand pounds of sugar last we'll pour.
Mix all together, top with mounds of fruit.
This vast confection! Who could ask for more?
To each let Bacchus serve a slice to suit.
The Muses sit entranced before their feast.
Nought finer has been served to Muse or beast.
Sonnet #5: Breakfast outside in the sun
"The patio has such a lovely view,"
The mother said, "of pines and sand and sea.
The sun is out. The sky is cobalt blue.
Come out and have your breakfast here with me."
The others yawned. The father buttered toast.
The sister poured some coffee in a cup.
The mother turned her gaze upon the coast,
And wondered why the son was not yet up.
The father spooned some eggs into his plate,
And joined his wife outside. The sun was bright.
The daughter said, "My brother sleeps so late!"
"The coffee's cold," said mother. "Serves him right!"
There was no sound but seagulls in the sky,
As clouds and herons gently floated by
Sonnet #6: Waiting for a train in a busy station
A little child has red and blue balloons.
A man in khakis smokes a cigarette.
A gypsy girl displays her tattooed moons.
The train is due; there's no sign of it yet.
A college student drains her coffee cup,
Then goes for more; she whistles a refrain.
A man in gray with cell phone dials up
To tell his boss "There seems to be no train."
The child is getty edgy, stomps her feet.
The man in khaki smiles and tells a joke.
A rumbling sound is heard across the street.
Then, somewhere in the distance, puffs of smoke,
And down the track a train comes into view,
As passengers begin to form a queue.
Sonnet #7: In a restaurant with tropical décor
A fountain gurgles softly by the door,
As cockatoos sit sleeping on their roost.
A potted palm is anchored to the floor.
Canaries in a cage ask to be loosed.
She gazes at her menu, thinks a while,
Then looks around--where has the waiter gone?
He sees her, hurries over, gives a smile.
She says, "I'll have the 'Shrimp Soup Mallezon.'"
The waiter bows ad leaves. A parrot squawks.
A python dozes on a mural wall.
From somewhere comes the chiming of some clocks.
The food arrives-it took no time at all.
The soup is hot and steaming, thick, just right.
She says, "I must come back another night."
Sonnet #8: Sunday in the park with a friend
Come for a walk! Let's take a stroll
In Pangles Park*, where daisies smile,
And lemon lilies tall cajole
The nose. Then let us rest awhile
Beneath the shade of copper beech,
Admiring old General Sneevus,
Well-prepared to give a speech,
But if he did, well, who'd believe us?
Then, in the fountain let us wade.
Goldfish dart to 'scape our feet.
Distant music's being played
From the bandstand down the street.
Hick'ry smoke wafts through the air,
Whispering, "We've got food to share."
Sonnet #9: Flowering vines on an arbor
The tufts of moss grow here and there between
The cobblestones that line the garden path,
And overhead the arbor arch is green
As we go forth to see Diana's bath.
Bright dots of red announce the roses' reign,
While purple trumpets sing clematis' praise.
And, here and there, the morning glories gain
The upper hand, to seek the bright sun's rays.
The honeysuckle's gone, the lilacs too.
No more do iris queens sit on their throne.
Petunias, humble, blink in red and blue,
And lemon lilies more than hold their own.
We stop a moment in the arbor's shade,
Then off we go, refreshed, to happ'ly wade.
Sonnet #10: The storm
Where once the friendly sky was calm and blue,
Now scudding clouds stampede in fitful pique.
And flower beds, once brilliant in their hue,
Now cringe in darkest shadow, pale and meek.
A wind so strong it rattles ancient trees,
and spatters rain at random to and fro,
is met with rumbling thunder. One foresees
the shocking brilliance of the lightning's glow.
The lashing rain its anger must release.
No possible resistance can it meet.
But soon the drops grow fewer, then they cease.
The sky is blue again. The air is sweet.
A rainbow weaves its magic in the sky,
as distant fleeing clouds wave their goodbye.
Sonnet #11: Modern art
Small heads on large round bodies, playing tag.
A clutch of orbs in mid-air, playing house.
Some jagged lines upon a dirty rag.
A creature, part banana, part gray mouse.
Which picture for my wall? What should I buy?
Whatever did that artist mean to say?
Is that potato skiing through a pie,
Or is it just a snowman baling hay?
The seascapes mingle sandy tans with greens.
Then there are garden florals, never cheap.
The brightly hued abstracts might fit my means,
But are they really art, and are they deep?
The gallery is closing for the day,
But there are others open down the way.
Sonnet #12: Waiting in line in the supermarket
I filled my cart in seven minutes flat,
But who knows when I'll get to the cashier?
Ahead, I hear the bawling of a brat.
The scanner's slow, or so it would appear.
I'm fourth in line, and patron number one
Has just one item--but the price is wrong!
The supervisor comes to help, but none
Of her solutions moves the line along.
The next one passes smoothly through, until
It's time to pay. She searches through her purse.
She's only got one hundred dollar bill.
It's not allowed. She starts to rant and curse.
Much later, I'm at home. As I unpack,
I see I've missed some things, and must go back.
Sonnet #13: The things I like the best
A walk along the river after dark,
While all around me, crickets serenade.
The virtuoso singing of a lark.
A piano bar where jazz is being played.
The smell of spruce that tells me: mountains near.
Some frozen yogurt further down the road.
A mountain stream that hurries, cool and clear;
It whispers: "Come and wade; put down your load."
In Autumn, choosing pumpkins in a field,
Then nibbling apple crisp with pumpkin pie.
The gold and crimson leaves stand out, revealed
Against the clear blue background of the sky.
In summer's wretched heat, in winter's ice,
It helps to know that some of life is nice.
TALE OF A HAUNTED TEA STAND
There was a haunted tea stand
In fair Balwiniti land,
where 42 quite spooky ghosts
Acted as most proper hosts.
They poured the tea from silver pots
With sugar, milk, and lemon--lots!
Their tablecloths were smooth as silk,
And yet they served no chocolate milk!
So all the ghosts were rounded up,
and told just how to mix it up,
so next time when you pay a call,
Enjoy your chocolate milk. Don't stall.
They served this treat to Dragonfly,
Who happened to be passing by.
One sip produced such ecstacy
That Dragonfly appeared to be
Transported up beyond Cloud 9,
And stayed there almost by design.
The other Muses also sipped,
And upward they, too, quickly zipped.
For chocolate milk's a splendid potion,
Meriting such strong devotion!
ODE TO A TOFFEE APPLE
Oh, toffee apple, hanging on that tree,
As near perfection as you'll ever be,
There's naught can match you in my grocer's aisle.
Just seeing you's enough to make me smile.
And isn't smiling welcome everywhere?
The sort of thing each soul would wish to share?
A toffee apple smiley would be grand.
The sort of gesture all could understand.
Sonnet #14: Cooking a nice meal for someone you love
A pair of greenish eyes with puzzled mien
looks up. A swishing tail goes forth and back.
I rinse a can of tuna, super lean,
and take a mixing bowl from off the rack.
Some stalks of celery finely do I mince.
My blender takes sliced bread and gives me crumbs.
The cat says "Meow," and makes a few paw-prints.
I add some crabmeat . Now the onion comes.
Some mayonnaise, some Worcestershire, and then
A mixing spoon to stir till all is thick.
A baking pan accepts the mix. Now, when
Will it be cooked? An hour's time, not quick!
Oh, birthday cat, you eat your food with zeal,
as if the finest caviar were your meal!
Sonnet #15: Sonnet: Blizzard of Ash
They were not loved when first to Heav'n they rose
("World's tallest tombstones" someone dubbed them then),
But gained respect from many of their foes,
Though not enough. Before the clock struck ten
That sunny morn, a glinting silver dart
One tower's side with cruel hatred struck.
A ball of fire sprang from out its heart,
And thousands felt the building sway and buck.
A second dart the other tower hit,
Another puff of flame, and from on high
The bodies fell, as droplets from a spit.
The towers crumbled. Thousands, doomed would die.
Like tiny snowflakes, ashes tint with gray
The air, where no more light will shine today.
Sonnet #16: Ode to a Fish-Pond
Sunlight-dappled water ripples softly,
As golden, blue-flecked fish dart here and there.
The shadow of a lily pad drifts oftly
Across a red-crowned monarch's pebbled lair.
Mid glints of silver, minnows flit and hover,
While lazy tadpoles wallow in the muck
A frog hides 'neath its pungent ferny cover
Upon a rock, until it's rudely struck
By errant acorns. SPLASH! It hits the water.
The fish all scatter, head for spots secluded.
A red-and-blue-flecked dragonfly-a squatter-
Surveys the rippled surface, mud-occluded.
The acorns gently bob. The waters clear,
As frog and fish in time will reappear.
