A Sonnet On a Discord
The ringing was so piercing and incessant
from way outside the house I heard its blare.
I ran into my room; my clock flourescent,
that object of offense, sat clanging there.
But when its button “off” I firmly pressed,
I hadn’t done a thing to stop the sound.
I then perceived there must have been some jest.
Oh, where could all the clamor’s source be found?
I sought my plague with mounting discontent,
and every room I managed soon to rake.
It taunted me; such shrillness was a torment.
And suddenly, I found myself awake!
Subconsciously my rising I had fought
and put the ringing in my own dream’s plot.
(This is a true story of how I kept myself from waking to my
dang ding-a-ling alarm clock)
For Paula Swanson's Ding-a-Ling Contest
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