Here is where I'll post sonnets submitted by email to me:
*
Dear sonnet you speak only admiration
I love for your poetic sensation
I love you, you are music to my ears
inspire hopes of adventure of new years.
Every word, every line, every rare rhyme
you tell us to love life, and it's climb
you tell us to live you tell us to give
you disguise all life's lies and all mischief.
Your not so clear, you are not so forward
but I navigate you like a chess board
I solve your riddles, I know your kings fate
maneuver through many pawns and then check mate.
You think your clever, my love for you is true
Your story id forever, that's why I read you.
The pot fills with water all to the top
**
Shall I compare thee to a burning sun
You shine as light as I have ever be held
For your red and brown hair slicked into a bun
Your skin shines as bright as a light beam from a weld
Too short to spy a round every and all courts
Your hands rough chipped and picked always
Thy smile posed and distribing of sorts
Eyes so very small you are unable to gaze
Hair so curled up you so frighten me
Freckles and dots cover thou unique face
Laugh so loud booming and heard in the sea
Teeth chipped and missing oh where did they place
Jenny King you are a special weird girl
But we love you and you look like a squirrel
***
The pot fills with water all to the top
I turn off the faucet and let it boil
the water boils and the bubbles pop
I let it boil and I check the book
I begin to add the oats one each time
they float on top then slowly sink under
I add a secret just a hint of lime
the small oats cook, the bubbles then thunder
the water goes and the oats get thicker
I get out red bowls and one percent milk
pour the oats in a basket of wicker
pour in milk that appears as white silk
I eat the whole bowl and Two more 'till dawn
I have eaten it all and now it's gone
****
Sir Stoll has a stoll stash, on which he grew,
The beard has a name his name is stash,
He shaves thy beard until it’s a nub, he threw,
Thy beard grew back and jumped into thy hairy trash,
Stash has a life the one he gave to thee,
The stash had a bro he needed to know who?,
His bro was a sole, on which he grew thee,
The stash was shocked and fell right off thee,
Then one day when sir stowell ran away,
He got the razor that he bought that soon cut it away,
The razor got sharp and he pulled it right down,
The hair ran off his chinny chin chin to the ground,
So stoll had no stash his life was now empty,
He knew that his stash would be back again, someday.
