ManicDDaily

Bound

Increasingly, I move through life shaken
but not stirred. Smallish things upset me,
a minimart brand of earthquaking,
enough to jar all cans from their shelved lee
while the ceiling stays intact, my buzzed bars
of tubed fluorescence penning the sheet rock,
which, in turn, shuts out all chance of sighted stars.
As the kiltered cylinders fall, labels sock
my legs, shoulders, flat greens of creamed corn, stewed
tomatoes. I only vaguely shield my head
because I think I’m not truly there (though bruised),
the bond to the now so slack, and, in its place,
the shackles of passivity, blank space.

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Here’s a rather grim sonnet in a Shakespearean mode (though I’m sure I do not have proper iambs and I also relied on slant rhyme) for dVerse Poets Pub’s second anniversary Thursday challenge, hosted by Tony Maude. (The challenge involved using a prompt from the past year. I refer to Gay Cannon’s article on basic sonnet forms.)

I also wrote this for Izzy Gruye’s Out of Standard challenge on With Real Toads to write something that used a famous line from a movie, without direct reference to the movie. In this case, it’s James Bond’s direction for the mixing of martinis.