Four Doom Sonnets

Doom Sonnet #1

Is it too late? What sort of time do we
have? Implosions of finance and weather
coalesce around us all. Some won’t see
this Titanic we the blind sail, dither
themselves into a most-contented doom.
To breathe acceptance into disaster?
Could this be folly, as these crises loom,
sprout up and overtake this one faster,
that one slower? But what choice do we have?
The source from which all our answers emerge–
It may not seem like much. The merest salve,
as tsunamis nature and artifice converge.
I remember. We’re in this together.
Even as all ’round us loses tether.

Doom Sonnet #2

“Go live in a cave, if that’s how you feel!”
The line reverb’rates in my cerebral
chambers still, where thoughts collect and unreel.
My lover’s words caught my surprise febrile.
Of course I need not for him to subscribe
to my eagerly terminal viewpoint.
Artifice World’s behaviors serve diatribe
enough. All I need do, wait to ‘noint
the proper situation and sever
the deathly cords that would bind and strangle
we young seedlings shooting up clever
midst crack and crevice ‘neath the jangle.
Alas, my Jody! Nary a sp’lunker
is spared this troubled era down to hunker.

Doom Sonnet #3

Oh, yah! This dismal epoch comes to close
in Turmoil-Markets, global destruction.
Terminalia Celebration Wind blows
but flimsy sticks ‘tempting some obstruction
through stoking fears and waging wars. Brittle
and rigid, their strength withers in the storms
of their own making. Watch as their little
egos crater and their grandest of forms
implodes. Oh, houses made with walls of Hoyle
were not conceived to withstand simple breaths,
and the air-castles now foreclosed, lives uncoil,
hurtle craven and brazen alike to deaths
and inj’ries the subject of much laughter.
And what remains gets to clean up after…

Doom Sonnet #4

“The Stern King, a Bright Fame, of Darksome Hue.”
Looking up my birthname in a baby
name definition book returns this clue
(heh heh) to such character called. Maybe.
That fellow who I’ve been burns brightly
indeed, on a pyre of duff and dead matter.
I die into a new name, one more rightly
in step with wolfish man emerging, gladder
for all the transformation vehement
downfall of vEmpire, of necronomy
then creepy corpses laid in wet cement
hardened footnote storied taxonomy.
This chakramuna-shaman yelps in joy,
strips naked, shows his wiener–Attaboy!