What it is

June 2010: In a desperate attempt to stave off senility, the monkey began writing a poem a day. By summer's end he'd begun to run out of versified political rants and philosophical bloviations. Then he hit on the improbable idea of writing micro fiction in the form of Elizabethan sonnets. Eureka. The birth of the "Sonnets From Other Lives" series. Two hundred plus lives later, he's still at it.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

1
Sonnets From Other Lives: Meg

You never called, so what was I to think?
(The cat clock's tick-tock eyes scan right left right.)
I opened up some wine I'd bought to drink
along with you and Fred Astaire tonight
then left another message. What's the use?
(I'm thinking Ginger doth protest too much.)
I imagine you’re rehearsing your excuse.
So how the hell did I end up as such
a cliché? Rapunzel in her flat
waiting just to buzz Prince Dick inside,
'til finally she's reduced to hoarding cats
like some Dickensian rejected bride.
The merlot’s asking-- Notice how it feels
like your life is dancing backwards in high heels?
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