The Weekly Sonnet

Bronze statue of a man holding a crown

The conclusion of a literary experiment

‘Twas born of tumult, toil, troubled times
This dreary den of literary hubris.
Disgruntled poet’s voice was wrought with rhymes
And barbs, an arrow not inclined to miss
Its target. Skewering the bard became
A grand adventure. Clever quips disguised
As metered iambs–sonnets all the same–
Deceived the academics who surmised
My penmanship sincere. So what recourse
Remains? The Weekly Sonnet’s point is through,
Its hapless victims felled without remorse,
And all experiments conducted due.
I needn’t obfuscate my thoughts again;
Sincerity hereafter guides my pen.

Lamentation of the Black Knight

Antique chess pieces on a wooden board

Defeating your nemesis too easily has its drawbacks

“Too kind a death was death for whited knight.
The world’s a cruel, heartless place for those
Who shun the yoke of chivalry and light—
That breed of man who seeks a villain’s clothes.
Too swift in judgment, righteousness defames,
And all would claim their hearts have often said:
‘No whiter is the man than black he blames.
A golden crown is worth its weight in lead.’
If words were free and justice truly blind,
No shadow cast could threaten honor’s name
Where white was black and black was undefined.
A hero is a villain all the same.
Though whited knight was no more right than left,
Too swift in vengeance renders me bereft.”