O giant dachshund, white blaze on your chest,
Surveying my departure through the glass
Grown hazy from the many times you’ve pressed
Your nose against the permanent impasse,
Why does my leaving stir such staunch devotion?
Did loyalty and love together spark
Protectiveness? Or did a sudden motion
Betray a cat or bird at which to bark?
Yet in her windowed balcony she sits
Accepting my farewells with stoic mien
Above the door that later will admit
Me to her joyful leap and kiss routine.
For love of sweetness that exceeds known quantity,
I will respect your variable dignity.
Three point one four five nine two six five three…
Point blank for many culinary puns,
Won great attention in antiquity
For making great domes able to be done.
One finds the number inescapable.
Fie on those who would utter
“Nein!” in the face of the inevitable,
To overlook the gold that’s in the gutter.
Sic erat scriptum, transcendental number,
Fife and drum presage your infinite march-
Thee and I, nonrepeating, will soon slumber
Five fathom full, beneath the heavens’ arch.
Ate we the sweet fruits of the ancient world,
Nigh 3-14-15 draws; joy unfurled!
See what I did there? Ideally, I’d have written this on March 14th, but I knew the concept would require more time than I had to execute.
Fatigue makes obvious the energy
Expended in each step of every task,
So even small achievements can bring glee:
In trivial accomplishment I bask.
I won the Prize for Getting Out of Bed
When Dogs Insisted On a Morning Walk,
A Badge of Merit for a Note Misread,
Whose Meaning Was Deduced With Little Talk,
A Grant for Using Sick Days Sans Ado,
A nomination to Nappers of Note,
Promotion to the Fatuous Sonnet Crew,
And Recognition for Exhausted Throat.
Past heights of my frivolity I’ve bested-
Imagine what I’ll do when I’m well-rested!
Mae West quipped, “Too much of a good thing can
Be wonderful,” and I affirm tonight
Diverged significantly from my plan,
But nonetheless would seem to prove her right.
The many hours I’ve drilled each vocal score,
My eyes on the conductor’s steady beat,
Might once have made my tender larynx sore,
But no, this night with triumph I’m replete.
Not only did I satisfy each goal
To which, impetuously, I did commit,
I thrived, encouraged, buoyed, and consoled,
And did it all despite sleep deficit!
When my Athenian fire dies down to ember,
That virtue moderation I’ll remember.
When we sing chorally, it is a gift,
To all the world, but also you and me,
That’s all but guaranteed to give a lift
In spirit to those joined in harmony.
While music to musician will adhere
Inseparable as milk and flour in batter,
Between musicians, there can grow the fear
Of being judged for things which hardly matter.
But when with kindness and profound respect
For differences and similarities
We share a sacred space, we can connect
With gleeful and profound camaraderie.
Dismantling our distrust brings understanding,
Vicissitudes of ego notwithstanding.
Apologies for the late posting- I wrote this on the night of the 26th, but I was at a retreat center where internet was spotty. I’m home now and will be posting today’s sonnet at the usual time (i.e., after my second rehearsal).
There is a dearth of concert halls whose sound
Is intimate and gives exoneration
For imperfections that are always found
In live performance; blend or intonation.
So when a first rehearsal brings a smile
To both composer’s and conductor’s faces,
Not only is the exercise worthwhile,
You have been dealt a hand with all four aces.
And yet, with any group,we’re all aware
That anyone could be the weakest link.
And so each person takes the greatest care
To count so that we all might move in synch.
Musicians work quite hard to coalesce
So our performance will sound effortless.
Bleary and sore, I haul myself from bed,
My body moving automatically
Receiving little guidance from my head,
Ablutions thus performed erratically–
My contact lenses weary eyes refuse,
So spectacles elucidate the sight
Of undereyes as purple as a bruise;
A confirmation of a restless night.
As wakefulness begins its penetration
Of murky memory, I realize
I cannot muster self-recrimination
For what my growing smugness does imply.
Though thorough sleep my brain has been denied,
The body claims itself most satisfied.