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Sonnet of Pain


Confession time? When I wrote this, I kind of forgot how the structure of a Shakespearean sonnet was supposed to go. It’s ababcdcdefefgg, rather than abbacddceffegg- oops? I think I got it confused with the Petrarchan kind too, abbaabbacdecde. Messy, messy brain. Don’t even get me started on Spenserian sonnets. Jeez. 14 lines, 140 syllables, way too many ways to organize that nonsense.

Sonnet of Pain

Pain in my joints comes and goes like the tide
It swells and jabs at me, icy and burning
There is no relief with seasons changing
No calm sanctuary where I can hide.
A symphony of suffering for me
The rising and falling of storm-tossed waves
No blissful unconsciousness for me saves
From thundering blistering agony.
The crescendo builds, the water rises
Kettledrums in my bones and in my blood
I cannot keep my head above the flood
When all my joints are trapped in vises.
The symphony ends, the waters recede,
But pain never stops as soon as I need.

(C) Bridget Noonan, 2011, 2012.

The transition from autumn to winter was hard here. It went from mild to omg-wtf-it’sfreezing. This came out of that.

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Afternoon in Winter


Afternoon in Winter

Winter: the season for hibernation,
Slowing the heartbeat and metabolism;
A time of early darkness and forgetting.

A torpid season for creatures —
Pudgy black squirrel scrabbles leadenly,
So small when projected against the grim sky.

It seems much easier to forget when
Cold death blankets what lived, and
Ice shrouds windows and walkways.

Now is the time to reflect on the weeks
And the seasons  which have passed me by,
Most of which I would prefer to
Forget.

© Bridget Noonan, 2009, 2012.

This was a weird poem that I had intended to be from the point of view of a tree in the winter, but I cut or changed pretty much all the parts that referenced it, so now I sound like I need a hug.

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Two-fer today!


Sometimes I write things down in my little fat notebook and promptly forget them, because gawd-damn they are depressing. I thought I’d share two of them today!

Untitled #1
Or, whoa did I watch Metropolis (1927 film) that day?

The grime smothers the city
From thousands of pounding feet
And spinning wheels daily
The lives of the workers are bleak
Forever in motion, without rest
No hope of something greater.
The cold bites their fingers
Numb to everything but the
Endless expanse of grey sky, black dirt.
Is there anything more than this,
The vast suffering of faceless drones?

© Bridget Noonan, 2010, 2012.

Untitled #2
Or, apparently I was not happy with humanity

just another pointless lament
listless animalistic stereotype
bored with endless ennui
cloudy of mind, purposeless
a wandering soul searching for
the next thing to live for
and the next and the next
a quest for the newest stimulation
ultimately in vain, because
it too shall becomes tiresome
and the cycle shall repeat and repeat
the quest the resolution and again
why the unsatisfactory quest
just to be doomed to seek, find and lose?

© Bridget Noonan, 2010, 2012.

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