Sonnet AR15

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;

The sonnet’s recitation’s just begun
And forty rounds have flown; some friends are dead.
If hairs be wires— gunman fires still;
The students feel the first frisson of fright
As down the hall the bullets fly and kill–
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from
each victim reeks
And music hath a far more pleasing sound
Than gilded lead that smacks the flesh it seeks.
My mistress drowns in blood upon the ground.
And yet, by heaven,
mass shootings are rare;
To ban poor, blameless guns would not be fair.


‘Twere Well It Were Done Quickly

It’s been a week, I know, but take a breath.
Just three more days remain ’til dusty death!
If you’re depressed about the mess
The country’s in, take heart: It’s less
Than Scotland suffered under King Macbeth!

Sonnet 45

My president is nothing like the sun:
He’s far from bright, though shadows does he cast;
If truth is beauty, he’s an ugly one;
If beards be lies, he wears out razors fast.
I have seen some whom I with pride called chief,
But all the Sins he’s so monopolized
That one who would offend must be a thief;
If there be Pride to spare, I’d be surprised.
I need not read his tweets, for well I know
That talking heads will tell me what I’ve missed;
I grant I’ve never seen a tyrant go
Without a push; ergo, I shall resist.
I don’t despair for where my country went;
I know it’s there, behind my president.