Archive for the ‘sonnet’Category

Sonnet XII

This bagel’s somewhat darker than I like
Like Cage and Shue instead of Cheech and Chong
Or Jack Bauer instead of Barney Fife
I guess I let it toast a bit too long

These onions overwhelm all with their taste
Like Donald Trump with marble, glass and gold
Or one whose favorite band is Ace of Base
I guess my mixing hand was just too bold

This hole is fairly larger than ideal
Like any screen that broadcasts Carrot Top
Or any speaker playing songs by Seal
I guess my fingers knew not when to stop

But even though my similes are crummy,
I still think that this bagel’s pretty yummy


11 2009

For Virgil (or Michael Bay)

I only wrote about impressive things
Like gods and wars and nations’ prideful roots
Heroic tales to tickle queens and kings
Recited o’er the lilt of lyres and lutes
And thusly Fame and Fortune knew me well
For plebes rejoiced with every song I’d quill
They’d buy most any word I’d care to sell
Til coffers, and my ego, got their fill
But grandeur can accurse one to dementia
Convincing him to think his waste not foul
With formulaic plotlines in absentia
I now write only of my stomach’s growl;
Though my career is at an all-time low, it
Feels good to be an onion bagel poet


10 2009

Sonnet X

I’ve gripped a bagel curve or two before,
And though they all have let me get my fill,
As soon as each one’s gone I just crave more,
Which leaves me in a battle of the will;
For I know I could trace these lines all day,
Caressing them with fingers, lips and tongue,
Live out my years in fresh-baked ecstasy,
‘Til one day I’m no longer fresh and young;
Then, belly full and burping, I’d look back,
At all the onioned rings around my life,
And wonder, did this excess cause some lack,
In love shown to my friends, my kids, my wife?
Such thoughts provoke an emptiness profound,
Yet my mind can’t prevent them spinning round.


10 2009

Sonnet IX

I once had all for which I could have dreamed:
A warm place where my chilled body could toast,
My crust was hale; my cheese was soft and creamed
And there! My better half that I loved most

But fast like startled dough my fortunes fell
With flesh, once fresh, turned stale and hard as stone;
She parted without even a farewell
Leaving me bitter, broken and alone

Now as I drink away my passing years
(Enough to make a dozen men go blind),
My glass collects these falling onion tears
While just one slurring thought rolls round my mind:

Perhaps she would still be with me tonight,
If we’d have borne a mini bagel bite.


09 2009

Sonnet VIII

The State came knocking, pounding on the door,
And when they busted through found quite a mess:
A dozen bagels strewn across the floor,
In varied, lurid stages of undress.

But far worse was an onion sliced in two,
With what they deemed was no remorse at all;
Its skin was slathered with a cream cheese glue,
That kept each half stuck to the kitchen wall.

The agents clenched their fists and cried Why, Lord?
Their souls were shattered, battered with self doubt;
One tried to hang himself with toaster cord,
Until the wiser, other belted out:

Without us there could never justice be —
These bagels need protective custody!


07 2009

Sonnet VII

From miles around they come to see him speak,
Despite the fact his speeches are horrific,
His oratory could not be more weak
If it was watered down by the Pacific;
His voice is chill-inducingly abrasive,
His breath spurts out in phlegmy little seeps,
The only time his talks could be persuasive
Is if their aim was to give you the creeps;
To calm his nerves he doesn’t play that game
Of picturing his listeners in the nude,
Instead he drops his own pants with no shame,
Which normally would get a speaker booed;

Yet everyone accepts his tasteless acts,
Since each speech ends with onion bagel snacks.


07 2009

Sonnet VI

Some chefs have reached a level quite elite,
But I can’t say that I am one of those;
In every dish their skillful talent shows,
While anything I make just tastes like feet.
I tend to burn all sauces, eggs and meat,
(Though chicken comes out pinker than a rose);
My soup and sandwich sucks, my salad blows,
Desserts look like I scraped them off the street.

But there’s one food I make that’s not a crime,
In fact it’s something many people want;
Word that my toasted rings are so sublime,
Has spread from California to Vermont;
Come taste them and you’ll too realize that I’m
An onion bagel idiot savant.


07 2009

Sonnet V

As I’ve grown ever fatter through the years,
My weight has been unevenly dispersed;
It seems the region just below my ears
Is where the cellulite has gathered worst.
What started as an extra chin at first
Has uncontrollably begun to bloat;
It looks like a balloon’s about to burst
Beneath the skin that wraps around my throat.
But this analogy I can’t promote,
For there’s another much more apropos,
Involving wheat and salt and yeast and oat,
With onion-looking stubble topping dough.
So let us just be honest for a sec,
And call it what it is: a Bagel Neck.


05 2009

Sonnet IV

I peered inside an onion bagel hole
To see what was in there for me to spy
But wound up staring straight into my soul
And learned that my whole life had been a lie
For though I showed the world I was a roll
Complete and filled with substance far and nigh
Beneath the surface I lacked all control
And if you had a keen discerning eye
You’d see that I could never reach my goal
And sadly that no matter how I try
A hollowness as fierce and black as coal
Would surely burn inside me ’til I die

Although this left me shattered and destroyed
I shrugged and kept on falling through the void


03 2009

Sonnet III

When I was schooling in halls so hallow,
my pale young body was softer than now,
Name-calling bullies taunted Moo! and Cow!
comments I took to be somewhat shallow
I’d lie awake by the flick’ring tallow,
years of frustration furrowing my brow,
wanting to break free—yet not knowing how—
from flesh that felt like spongy marshmallow

These days such mem’ries seem irrelevant,
my current physique is sculpted from oak
But though I am strong as an elephant,
a soft onion bagel still can evoke
pain that propels me down on hell’s descent—
to my old body, the butt of a joke


02 2009