Fountain of Recycled Youth
I visited the beaches of California
and made a discovery.
The people there are works of art
whose youth never fades.
Curious to know
what could preserve them,
I stepped into the ocean.
It sneezed.
A wave rushed over my bare feet,
swirling fine sand and fragments of seashells
about my ankles.
That wave also carried seconds,
minutes,
tiny portions of time
that flopped on the beach, struggling
like misguided baby turtles
to reach dry land.
After the rush,
the world stopped.
The sand settled.
The water became clear and still.
Then,
just as it had come,
the wave reversed its motion,
raking up the sand and shells
like autumn leaves,
sweeping them back into the crushing mouth
of the churning surf.
With them flowed the time.
The moments tried to grasp the shifting mud,
but the wet beast sucked them in
and grinded them to pieces.
I saw it happen again,
again,
again.
I felt the cycle of the ocean
and made my discovery:
The beaches of California are places
where youth and beauty live forever because
just as the ocean rolls in with age,
it sucks that time back out
and indefinitely regurgitates the same three seconds.
Sonnet 21
I’m sitting here—and have been for some time,
just staring at my monitor in doubt—
upon this chair, and thinking of a rhyme
to somehow get my swelling feelings out.
I see you in my mind, and could describe
your every feature, but that wouldn’t do.
Such writing has been done a hundred times,
and still it wouldn’t grasp my thoughts of you.
But I can’t stop, or I’ll become moody.
Besides, how could I waste this crucial hour
while somewhere far away, your rich beauty
continues like an ever-blooming flower?
See, there I go again with imagery!
Another verse, another tragedy…
“You Know I’m Kidding”
Hello, best friend, it’s been a while
since I have seen that stupid smile.
Your teeth are stained, your breath is rank.
Please, won’t you close that smelly tank?
Have you put on a few more pounds?
I know how awful this must sound,
but honey, you can’t wear those jeans;
If you bend down, you’ll rip the seams.
Your hair looks kind of strange today,
in an “I’m trying to look ugly” way.
You should have taken one look more
before you walked out your front door.
So guess what Jenny did with Dean?
That’s more action than you’ve seen.
Oh, now you have something to say?
Well, tell it to me another day;
No matter what, it can’t be great
it’s not like you had a hot date
or ever think important thoughts.
I think it’s best if I just talk.
Hey, where did you go buy those shoes?
Oh, that place is yesterday’s news.
The fashions there are so uncool.
I can’t believe you wore those to school!
Oh, there’s my boyfriend walking past,
and don’t you have to go to class?
Don’t mope; you’re ugly when you sigh.
I’ll see you later, best friend! Bye!
Sonnet 3
Of all your traits the human eye may see
or ear discern, there’s one that I love best.
Your flowing chocolate hair, your blushing cheek,
your soft and sloping skin my fingers test,
your angel voice that sugar-sweets the air,
your eyes like topaz burning true with love,
how when your deep affection you declare,
you quick the soul and so enrapture blood -
these all are parts of you, and thousands more.
But none of these is that of which I speak,
for there is one whose beauty rises o’er,
a beauty that oft comes upon your cheek.
When come I into view, to stay awhile
or simply for a moment’s time, you smile.
