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Tag: #BookofForms

Throw Me Something: terzanelle

Just throw me an emoji, mister, if you like my song.
It only took me years to learn and drove my parents nuts,
because it didn’t start so sweet – that happened after long

and tiresome exercise until, somewhere deep in my guts,
I figured out just how to train my blistered fingers right.
It only took me years to learn and drove my parents nuts.

Along the way I learned the way to keep a tempo tight.
Despite being self-centered, I began to listen well,
and figured out just how to train my blistered fingers right.

It was not easy work, in fact, sometimes it was sheer hell,
imagining a world where art and commerce got along.
Despite being self-centered, I began to listen well,

and managed, in my own small way, to sing my simple songs.
I tried to find connections with those people who might hear,
imagining a world where art and commerce got along.

At some point, only recently, the point became more clear:
just throw me an emoji, mister, if you like my song.
I try to find connections with those people who might hear.
Just throw me an emoji, mister, if you like my song.

10 JUL 2025

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Ignorance <> Bliss: sonnet (terza rima)

If ignorance is bliss, why are so few
of us enraptured by our current state,
imagining so much left us to do

and in a worried struggle with our fate?
That does not seem so blissful or serene.
We try, but often miscommunicate

and fail to share with others what we mean.
This leaves us in the dark, and quite alone,
afraid that our own shadows are obscene.

It does no good to live life like a stone.
The human spirit cries to become more,
to grow and learn beyond mere flesh and bone.

If ignorance is merely our cocoon,
we must try metamorphosis – and soon.

09 Jul 2025


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The Diamond Sutra: sonnet (Spencerian)

What is an unexcelled and perfect light,
and who would recognize that state as such?
To judge it by comparison’s not right,
and once you’re past that point, there’s just not much

to measure with. No real yardstick or crutch
would be of too much use out there, beyond
the realm of seeing, hearing, and of touch.
How could you catch a ripple in that pond?

Quite honestly, too many saints are fond
of these imaginary turns of phrase.
The truth is out there past such simple bonds,
quite empty of both struggle and malaise.

Enlightenment? What do you hope to see?
Once there is no more seeking, you are free.

09 JUL 2025

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The End of the World: sonnet (English)

Perhaps the world will end tomorrow night.
With so few sane in charge, that would make sense.
Besides, if the Cassandras have it right,
it’s way past time for sitting on the fence,

pretending that our waking up at last
can make a whit of difference to the tide.
What opportunity we had has surely passed.
Our only hope is to survive the ride.

And if the planet stops its steady spin,
it may be just what Mother Nature needs.
Once it’s called as a game no one can win,
who cares for a scorecard none can read?

If everything is ending, what’s the fuss?
There’s no more worry for the two of us.

08 JUL 2025

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A Soul in Cement: sonnet (sonetto rispetto)

I will not live my whole life just to spite
one more imagined evil at my door,
some cloud determined to block out my light,
or leave my spirit destitute. No more.
Why be a tool for either left or right,
when a binary choice is still piss-poor?
You’re always wrong when you pick just one side,
and where you end depends on how you ride.

The truth that can be shown in white or black
is just one more illusion, just a trick
that gives you hope for something permanent.
Reality is change. Stop holding back.
Your life is not cement that will grow thick
and make your purpose more self-evident.

08 JUL 2025

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The Ears Have It: sonnet (envelope)

Watch the eyes. It’s said they never lie,
and yet so much deception starts with seeing,
building illusions that soon end up being
so real to us we never question why
we do the things we do, and act as though
there is so little choice but wait to die,
imagining some future by-and-by
when life no longer simply tells us no.

Instead, we should rely more on the ears,
for what we hear brings in the world to us,
and even in an echo of a thing
its essence can be understood quite clear.
Behind all the cacophony and fuss,
there is a song we can all learn to sing.

08 Jul 2025

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The Fire Game: sonnet (Italian)

The fire may turn to embers as we age,
its bright hot essence slowly turned to ash.
Our brave ideals disintegrate so fast,
and our youth’s passion melts to smoldering rage.
Perhaps that’s how we see beyond the cage
that we dismissed back then as balderdash,
imagining our noble, rebel clash
as more than just a temporary stage.

Now, hard against the wall, we find the flame
a gentler reminder of those days
when not to burn at both ends was a shame,
and looking out into the growing haze
we see there is no scoring in this game,
no matter which position someone plays.

08 Jul 2025

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