Archive for the ‘sonnet’ Tag

Philosophy   Leave a comment

When I try to ponder philosophy
I ask myself, “why does this all matter?”
Is it important to understand me
If I’d rather live mad as a hatter?

Do we need to grasp all the universe
In order to till and plant the soil?
Should we now carry this forever curse;
Spend all of our thoughts in this turmoil?

Existence exists, and A equals A.
Or, I’m nothing but a brain in a jar.
A thousand schools of thought all just to say
We think we think, and think we know we are.

These questions are things I feel I must ask,
Although my life’s work won’t fill up the task.

– Shaman Romney 2018

Posted 01/11/2018 by Shaman in Poetry

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A Sonnet   Leave a comment

Today I wanted to write a sonnet
So I stood up then sat down in my chair.
But as I placed my butt down upon it,
I found the poem was no longer there.

I would not dare to start out without it
Unless I would like my effort wasted
The coward in me thinks I should just quit
But I cannot with the sonnet tasted

What do I write when my thoughts go astray?
When my ideas are derailed off the track?
Normally I have way too much to say
and struggle to take far too many back.

So when in doubt, I will write what I know
A sonnet’s sonnet is the way to go.

– Shaman Romney 2017

Posted 03/24/2017 by Shaman in Poetry

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Age (National Poetry Writing Month 2016 #13)   Leave a comment


Age is a matter of feelings, not years
At least, that’s what the cookie told me
Sometimes I feel like knocking back a few beers
Other times I want my mommy to hold me

Sometimes I’m an old man waiting to die
Or an energetic toddler running all over the place
A twenty something trying to get by
Or learning to walk, falling on my face

I’m so many ages all at the same time
Both an old fogey and a dumb kid
Having a life ahead of me is sublime
As was living the life that I did.

But there’s one thing that stays, whether senior or tike
Taking a nap is one thing we all like.

– Shaman Romney 2016

Posted 04/13/2016 by Shaman in National Poetry Writing Month 2016

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Compromise (National Poetry Writing Month #8)   Leave a comment

We need to find some compromise
We need to find some common ground
We need to stop the mud and the lies
We need to stop the fury and sound

We should come together, hand in hand
We should come together, with enemy and friend
We should work together, to take a stand
We should work together to make it to the end

Instead, we draw battle lines for the fight
Instead, we put the loaded gun to our head
Instead, we are to stubborn to do what’s right
Instead, we choose to end up dead.

I want a world that faces its problems with love.
I want us to cut out the vitriol, and rise above.

– Shaman Romney 2016

Posted 04/08/2016 by Shaman in National Poetry Writing Month 2016

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Zero to Sixty in Four Sonnets   Leave a comment

Zero to Sixty in Four Sonnets

Now one is first, that is easy to see.
But don’t forget, that two is here as well,
And it, of course, is then followed by three
The next would be four, if you could not tell.
The one that comes after would be the five.
Then six goes by with but a furtive glance.
Trumpets blow loud, to have seven arrive.
For it grants people luck in games of chance.
Eight comes along, an infinity stands.
And three time three equals nine, don’t you know?
Ten comes along with two digit demands.
The first ten down, only fifty to go.
In getting this far, I am just like most
But I will do fine, not trying to boast.

Now, we start up again with eleven.
Then, a dozen, which is what twelve is called.
Make it thirteen, it’s a baker’s heaven.
Although, when some hear it, may be appalled
Fortnight, or fourteen, at least in Britain
Fifteen and sixteen, a young girl’s delight.
Seventeen, Eighteen, to be young again.
But Nineteen and Twenty; they are alright.
Twenty-one, full of inebriation
Twenty-two, responsibility looms.
Twenty-three, the years since my creation
Twenty-four, and maturity now booms.
My, now doesn’t your youth fly by so fast?
What once was the present, is now the past.

Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven.
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, now those are done.
Thirty is here, your twenties were heaven.
Before you know it, you are thirty-one.
Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four go.
Thirty-five, thirty-six, come up so fast.
Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, make a show.
Thirty-nine, forty, here at last.
Forty one, forty-two, what do I do?
With forty-three, forty-four, forty-five.
Forty-six, forty-seven, almost through.
Forty-eight, forty-nine, oh man alive!
Fifty and fifty-one, I’ve had enough!
This writing in sonnet is really tough.

Fifty-two here, not a moment too soon
Fifty-three too, which brings me great delight.
Fifty-four now, I feel like such a loon.
Fifty-five, why would I take on this plight?
Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight.
We are nearly done, for here’s fifty-nine.
Sixty is here, and that makes me feel great.
Because reaching the ending feels divine.
Now, some may say, but what about zero?
How can you forget our circular friend?
But fret not, for your awaited hero
Decided to show up right at the end.
We now are finished, that’s enough of that.
Zero to sixty in four sonnets flat.

Shaman Romney 2014

Posted 06/11/2014 by Shaman in Poetry

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