Two Sonnets for the Fairwell of Alopad

Rekindling
He
Sighs.
She
Cries.
End
Tears.
Mend
Fears.
Steaming
Embers,
Dreams
Remembered.
Go
Slow.


The Antics of a Rotund Swine Anxious for His Morning Repast

Big
Round
Pig
Bounds

Through
The puddle
To
The mud. He’ll

Land
in glop.
Stand
In slop.

Thrilling
Swilling.


This is the last night of Alopad. Tomorrow, Dec. 1st, I will move on to the delightful full time demands of Christmas, shifting lifestyles (from Midwestern to split Midwestern/Mountain), family frolics, etc. I loved this challenge and have learned a lot. Perhaps by the goofy range of tonight’s two sonnets you think I haven’t learned anything about poetry. But I have.