spontaneous/sonnets

In keeping with my current status: Retired. Ceasing to play the game. Quiet. No rules. No timeframe. Just 14 lines. Some structure but as little as possible. Simple. Clean. Evolving. Named for a Jack Kerouac poem.

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Saturday, January 22, 2022

Eighty:

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80 “ A visor for a visor.—What care I .” My brother Jim bought a black VW Beetle with a piece of duct tape  on the passenger side fender.  W...
Wednesday, December 15, 2021

Seventy-nine:

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79 In the deep cold of winter I lay awake in the night and wonder: Will I live to see another  Baseball season? What does a tittle do? ...
Monday, July 12, 2021

Seventy-eight:

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78 On days like this when mountains  touch clouds  I feel as if  Heaven  is just there  and were I  to  walk towards  the horizon li...
Thursday, June 24, 2021

Seventy-seven:

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 77 That one time  visiting me when you saw  sunlit snow  striking off crystals bouncing, childlike  one winters day scooping it up  into yo...
Tuesday, June 15, 2021

Seventy-six:

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76 What happens when the font  stops flowing words lose their  glisten and you stand   wait ing at the ready an eternity  for spicket to spr...
Friday, April 30, 2021

Seventy-five:

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75 Everyone comes from Brooklyn eventually in the still quiet of a new day. Maybe you  worked there when you first came to this  country...
Thursday, April 29, 2021

Seventy-four:

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74 Many things have been said and done in the  name of relationship. Good, bad, tired rehashings  and penitent blendings of thought and s...
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©️Mark W. Ó Brien
Mark W. Ó Brien has been widely published at home and abroad. He is an alumnus of the Blackwater International Poetry Festival. His fourth collection of poetry entitled "My Childhood Appropriated." is available from Foothills Publishing. http://www.foothillspublishing.com/2019/obrien.html
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