Among the homework we had to do for The Leaky Pot are the four poems I’d written based on the form of a sonnet:
The sky was like a big blue bowl,
as if trying to make up for the days of rain.
A chilly breeze tinged with the smell of fuel
in the air, not freshness.
The birds – back and forth they’re calling.
To die from fright while flipping and screaming
in terror –
Beyond numbness –
Lost in the fog of trepidation.
Her heart might explode into the blooming
Her fear, groundless,
violent and rapid, in a blurred expression.
Like ancestral tablets they are held in awe,
like esteemed religious disciples they appear humble.
Head lowered and eyes glued into a bundle,
oblivious of other’s presence, I gradually fall
with my dreams and hopes, my emotions and soul,
to a place that is real yet bottomless.
In control of monsters alien and treacherous,
oblivious of others in a world that is wonderful –
an amazing invention that holds information,
streaming limitless in a confined space,
chasing away silence, loneliness and boredom.
In a world smart beyond our imagination,
where everything has become a race.
The world is confusing when we’re awaken.
Alone you’ll never be
if new friends you anoint
if hobbies or book clubs you join
if community centres you boogie-woogie
if your friends and relatives are friendly
if you talk with people like your neighbours
if you do voluntary work or play peacemaker
but you may still be lonely.
You may be alone
if you love keeping a pet
if you use a computer silently
if you visit the library for a loan
if you read a book in bed
but you’ll never be lonely.
The maple leaves in Autumn lends a pensive mood,
The lovely leaves in different hues appear to transmute,
The seasons come and go – each will pass and return.
Flowers bloom in season and petals fall off season.
Life is like the four seasons on a retreat,
Time can never catch up with the sunshine and rainfall.
Winds change directions; tides rise and fall.
Leaves scatter when wind blows; currents fierce when storms are great.
The weeping shores, the howling seas and the
thief in the night mean there’s no turning back the clock though
Life flashes past like ricochet.
Night comes after day, things restart but remain a crow –
time has quickly slipped away.
As stipulated, I paid attention to the use of images/metaphor, where the poem makes the least sense, the rhyme and the meter (and to what end) and what the line breaks achieve.