Boxed

Untiring, massive, adamant, the two –
hardness of steel machines belied by silk —
adrift in time, like dinosaurs, step through
into a world unready for their ilk.
A world so small, its voices hum like bees,
take wing like butterflies, their colors bright;
reproach the ancient lizards, walking trees.
Insist that all is dance now, no more fight.
Though once they ruled the earth, their names are lost–
their faded pictures blurring soon to dust.
Their roars wind down, a by-blow of the cost.
The fight has changed us all, as fighting must.
So in the forest clearing’s green array
the boxer bows his head, and steals  away.

* * * * *

Lydia Ondrusek’s other posts at Dr. Hurley’s Snake-Oil Cure can be found here.

Dr. Hurley’s Sonnet Contest: the Results are In!

After fighting long and hard in iambic pentameter, we are happy to announce both the popular choices and the editors’ choices for winners of Dr. Hurley’s first-ever poetry contest. Our vote has already made the first decision, and we doff our caps to our popular choice winner:

[Drumroll]

“On Young Marriage” by Laura Hallman

Our editors thought long and hard, read and re-read, and then had a brief but well-edited sword fight before settling on our choice, which is:

[Drumroll followed by cymbal]

“Soon After We Had Shoved Off from the Dock” by Joe Heidenreich
Congratulations to our winners, and stay tuned for news of prizes and of our next competition!

 

 

Time to vote for your favorite sonnet!

It’s time to choose the winner of the Dr. Hurley Sonnet Contest!  Please take a moment to revisit the entries (there are links below) and then vote for your favorites. This time you can vote for up to three of your favorites.  The poll is open for one week!  Tell all your friends!  The one with the most votes in the end will win!  In addition, we’ll be choosing two Editors’ Choice winners!

The results will be announced in the Digest on November 13!  Go forth and read, then vote!

 

Sonnet: Mchele to Wali

for Bob
Spring is sewn in summer’s sweating earth,
a seed of an idea too small to see.
I walk through mud and wonder what it’s worth
to wait for warmth we trust will come to be:
After a frost, a freeze, a dismal streak,
the promise of renewal is a call
that echoes off the clouds and sounds so weak
it comes late if it even comes at all.
We sleep, we fall, we curl against the dark,
we dream of things we wouldn’t dare to think.
These days are hardly here, these nights are stark,
and yet the peonies are blooming pink.
I know that I am scared. I don’t know why.
We stand still when we really want to fly.
by Audubon Dougherty

* * * * *

This is part of a series of featured entries in our first-ever poetry contest.
Stay tuned for more and get ready to vote for your favorite!

Sonnet: Look at Our Reality, Dude

You know you’re in a foul and rotten mood
When you respond to Rumi with, “Bite me.”
Look around at our reality, Dude.
Times I think you’re happy just to spite me.
An orgasm ain’t going to pay the bills.
And the economy says “no” to dreams.
We rant and we march while the rich man chills.
Echo is the sole result of our screams.
But if we don’t choose death, then we must live.
And stop daydreaming of wine and of roses.
Forget our income and learn how to give.
Appreciate what’s under our noses.
And stop judging ourselves and finding fault.
Enjoying life before it reaches “halt.”
by Susan B. Reinhard

* * * * *

This is part of a series of featured entries in our first-ever poetry contest.
Stay tuned for more and get ready to vote for your favorite!

Sonnet: On the modish movements of youthful folly

Are we not men, who wear our breeches tight,
With stripèd cardies, checkered shirts of plaid,
Our face adorned with spectacles that might
Repair our vision were they not a fad?

The city streets we ride with fixèd gears,
A mustache soft depending from our lip.
We like not what you like, but when appears
A draft of PBR we take a sip.

Where once we loved that beaut’ous lady dear
Whose corset forced her cleavings oh so high,
Yet now, we young men gaze back at the mirror
Like copiously-bearded Narcissi.

That beaut’ous lady? Fellows, we eclips’d her
When we birthed that ogre named the Hipster.

by Daniel F. Le Ray

* * * * *

This is part of a series of featured entries in our first-ever poetry contest.

Stay tuned for more and get ready to vote for your favorite!

Sonnet: Man on Woman

How I wish men could live like animals,
Whose instinct isn’t fucked over by thoughts.
The sperm and egg of wolves or of camels
Are simply mixed when creatures get the hots.
But man demands his eyeballs must be pleased
And then we have to talk for hours on end!
For dinner and a movie, being teased
And judged upon the money we might spend.
Yet, I do not want to be a hippo
Without the joys of civilization.
Without cigars or Beaujolais nouveaux
And seduction with my copulation.
To love a female and hear her laughter,
Give a God damned happy ever after.
by Susan B. Reinhard

* * * * *

This is part of a series of featured entries in our first-ever poetry contest.
Stay tuned for more and get ready to vote for your favorite!

Sonnet: Reflections on Imprisonment

We wake walking in darkness, craving light.
Alone within the silence, first we call,
then fearing our own weakness, choose to fight;
decide we cannot fly, hope not to fall.
We are the progeny of mirrored halls,
reflections in a lifetime’s worth of eyes–
our years are spent to recognize ourselves;
retrace our stitches, and pick out the lies.
Imprisoned fast by all the things we are,
and all the many things we cannot be,
our minds somehow fix on the distance far;
our hearts soar linnet-high above us, free.
We build our cages, frightened of our wings–
and yet, shut tight inside, a bird still sings.

by Lydia Ondrusek

* * * * *

This is part of a series of featured entries in our first-ever poetry contest.
Stay tuned for more and get ready to vote for your favorite!

Sonnet: Woman on Man

Could God have made men less like animals,
Or not bidden the females to clean the cave?
The Bible tells us to cook the victuals,
And obey our dear Masters as they rave.
Bronze Age called a harem respectable,
Even today in Saudi Arabia,
Women have to be undetectable.
God bless America, for we are free,
To own the property, not to be it.
I would rather be ailing and lonely
Than be regarded as a piece of shit.
My only fault was to choose the wrong man,
I’ll try again, if Fate says that I can.
by Susan B. Reinhard

* * * * *

This is part of a series of featured entries in our first-ever poetry contest.
Stay tuned for more and get ready to vote for your favorite!

Not-Sonnet

a sonnet you want to have written?
i’m scratching my head and i’ve bitten
my nails really low
and my mind is as slow
as a tired and homeless lil kitten.

i’m thinking about all those poets
(who’re more often than not today co-eds)
i torture my brain
it’s causing me pain
and suddenly – yes! – now i know it.

a sonnet is not what I’m writing
instead what i have will be biting
your dog in the tail:
it’s a lim’rick – oh hail!
and to me that is much more exciting!

by Wiebke Henning

* * * * *

This is part of a series of featured entries in our first-ever poetry contest.
Stay tuned for more and get ready to vote for your favorite!