Today I shall write a unique sonnet,
Only, I know not what to write about.
Shall I place my affections upon it?
An Ozymandias-styled denounce?
And the rhyme, Petrarchan, no… Oh, I know,
I think I prefer Shakespearean more.
Ah, but what is this? I can go alone?
Like ABAA, devising my own?
Even weirder, I’ll end it here–
With eight syllables, too–then disappear.
that chip, Mark!
It will scare the cardinals
away and then I'll have
to lure them back again.
Jen, when is this bird
obsession going to end?
You get weirder everyday.
I do not!
Ben, what do you think?
You are weird mom,
dad's right.
Fine. Everyone be quiet
so I can watch the birds
in peace. Silence.
Crunch!!!
Turning right against the light’s
Illegal in New Yawk.
That rule’s observed by drivers,
Not by those who run or walk.
In other places, no such law
Exists, so often plates
Of cars which turn when they should not
Reflect their different states.
And that is why I was surprised
When, right in front of me,
A New York car ignored the red
And turned illegally.
What made it even weirder
Was the driver was a nun!
If ticketed, I wonder ‘bout
The story she’d have spun.
Be on guard, as you watch
The skies, dark skies.
Weirder that, bulbous owled
For haunts of eyes.
These, in place of what swirl
Innocent starred
May, down at you burst, burn.
Heaven-disbarred.
Wonderful West Wind was weirdly wildly, wistfully whacky,
Blesiegingly bullied, bustered, boasted, batted both barns and boats
Soothing serene sage serendipitous Sun subsequently surmised
Weird Wind’s bullying behaviors were caused by idiotic insecurities.
Everyone loves you, Sun tried to reassure wild west Wind.
West Wind was indignant and did not believe Sun.
He tried to blow Sun out of the sky, which did not work.
It made West Wind seem weirder, and not half as wonderful.
O Camelot! O Camelot!
The winds have changed, the land got hot!
Though dromedaries are quite neat,
A bactrian's hard to unseat,
And so the knights still joust a lot.
At banquet feasts, the men are found,
And like the table, they are round.
The reason they are heavy-set:
Girls now see knighthood as a threat;
Who lives life chaste and honor-bound?
Sir Galahad, a handsy lad;
His boasting made the maidens mad.
Now saddled with the cursed #metoo,
Chivalrous days of riding through,
He gardens, in his armor clad.
And then there is Sir Lancelot
Sad, as he aged, he weirder got.
Exchanging quests for lowly toils,
He traveled far just lancing boils,
Relieving pustulence and rot.
And Arthur lost what he held dear:
His lovely bride, his Guinevere
The evil witch, Morgana Fay
Transitioned her without her say,
And as a knight she does appear.
O Camelot! I just cannot
Believe the damage time has wrought.
And now the lady of the lake:
A charlatan, a fraud, a fake!
Ran off with Merlin, on his yacht.
She came in all sassy and wanted to drive a school bus.
We told her our school is unusual and she said that is fine.
We have witches, warlocks, gargoyles, a ghost name of Gus.
She said my kin are weirder than that, they can get out of line.
So, we offered her a temporary position as driver that day.
She arrived at work an hour early, a quarter ‘til two.
The students gave her no guff, and they stopped their wild play.
For she was right about her kin, she knew just what to do.
She was magical, and she did not hesitate to turn them into frogs.
Sometimes when they got off the bus they were barking dogs.
Their parents thought it was hilarious and respected her sass.
She even turned one badly behaving student into a pink ass.
Spring forms changed.
Jasmine limps.
Corn plaques shirred.
Shore is without breeze now.
I didn't grasp my own home!
Public blame current flow.
Pulse spurred over the dome.
Soft breeze fades in midst snow.
They're saying its spring glom!
I'm getting weirder every minute.
Pulse can't yield to my chest and calm down!
At once, the ocean is turbulent.
Lonesome went to sit on barren mound.
I gaze out to the long horizon.
When will the spring ship arrive in port?
Only then will the high tides slow down?
Tonight is a full moon! Oh, my dream
Weakened, returned with shattered vision.
Written: July 01, 2021
His eyes were green but no one noticed
Even though he was the only green-eye in the room.
His hair was red, but so were all of ours
We are McCormicks so it makes sense right?
The thing we were all noticing was his beard
The base appeared to be popsicle sticks and globs of glue.
Is it hard? Someone asked. He nodded furiously.
Is it a contest? Another relative interjected.
His brother came in wearing a similar beard
But with Barbie and Ken dolls glued on it
Their heads going in different directions.
Weird and weirder I thought.
Until their mother came in.
She had the ultimate beard.
She had interwoven a skull
And put in blinking eyes.
Since it was not my family reunion
I kept my mouth shut
Especially as my girlfriend
Was irritated now
She thought she was going
to win with orange witch
beard with the hissing black cat.
The clever current galaxy is cock-eyed, surreal, and night is day.
2020 has been weirder than weird, almost everyone has had to pay.
If the internet went out forever, I would not greet it with surprise.
We are all romping on the sand of beaches, ignoring crazy skies.
At least the masks and the shields have been put up on a shelf.
We are returning to a bit of normal, Christmas will bring an elf.
Today I am relaxing at the ocean, with my family, having a fine time.
Being the grandma gives me a chance to get silly on white wine.
Hey Grandma! My six-year-old granddaughter says, “Look at the sun!”
Not to worry, I tell her. Build a sand castle and have some real fun!
I want these last days to be the best we can ever have, for a reason.
Climate change prevalent, I wonder if we will have another season.
The backdrop to the Atlantic Ocean is usually a lovely lithe light blue.
We have a galaxy in our sky, and it looks completely cockeyed too.
My granddaughter does not leave, so I say. Go have fun. Hurry!
I want her to love the ocean, make a memory without any kind of worry.
Life has its ups and downs, wins and losses:
that's the nature of the games people play.
We all strive to be one of the bosses:
and yet, fate seldom seems to work that way.
The games begin before we learn to speak,
fun ones, like believing in Santa Claus.
Amongst the many, that game was unique:
and still, some question what its purpose was.
Games introduce us to lies in disguise:
dulling the trauma of being deceived.
To win, one must learn how to improvise:
reality is weirder than perceived.
We play innumerable games of chance:
cunningly crafted, as games of romance.
There's no sheltering in a public place.
There's no coming together face to face.
Keeping away from you keeps me secure,
I’m keeping away from you, but praying for a cure.
Obeying all the rules 'cause that's how I roll.
But staying away from you is taking quite a toll.
I'm getting weirder and weirder as time goes by
No distraction techniques are making this all right.
Laying in bed all night wide-eyed and hardly sleeping.
Enjoying my binge of repetitive negative thinking.
You are so very weird
Your weirdness shines true
There are so very few,
Who are weirder than you.
You see, weirdness is relative
Weirdness is wacky
But the right kind of weirdness
Makes true weirdos happy
If you were not weird
Well that would be weird
Weirder than the fact
That weirdness is feared
Who names these medications
The commercials always tout?
Since one is weirder than the next,
I’d like to find that out.
Xeljanz and Trulicity,
Cosentyx and Tremfya
Join with manufacturers
Who might Abilify ya.
I picture people in a room
With lettered cubes who toss ‘em
To see which combinations stick,
Deciding some are awesome.
To me, they sound ridiculous
No matter what they’re used for
And viewers, seeing names like these,
Could never be confused more.
Said of the dog
I am the
I lie and deceive these people
to gain their trust
and take away what is dear to them
I undermine them by
asking their lovers of future times
with my sons
they tirer of these questions
and labor to make
madpersons
that they shall be in fight
I am the troublemaker
the weirder
to weird situations
that these people
may never be happy
or wedded.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.