The Poet: Super Sonnet Sunday: Everything But the Kitchen Sink

Mother Nature is like me,
Quite bipolar, just for a start,
Temps in the eighties one day, from it I only want to flee,
The next is thirty-nine, your breath comes in clouds to wave away.

And, now the poem will shift,
A neat little segue,
To love being the world’s most beautiful gift,
Assigning a ten thousand word essay.

What does an essay have to do with love,
Everything! If it’s an essay on Romeo and Juliet,
The love between them is sweeter than any dove,
Spend five hundred words describing the sunset.

Romeo and Juliet, an essay on love, Mother Nature’s mental disorder,
What more can be crammed into this oversized poem?
This question could not be harder,
A challenge it is, and I’m going to show them.

Star Wars and Star Trek and Doctor Who for good measure,
We’ll stir up a nice pot of chaos,
John de Lancie is both Q and Discord, of that I am sure,
Come now, it’s time for the séance.

What does Harley Quinn and Twilight Sparkle have in common?
Their voice actor, the one and only Tara Strong,
Seems awfully rotten,
Smelling distinctly of Hong Kong.

And this has been my Super Sonnet Sunday,
You better believe it’s my number one fun day.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

The Poet: My Belly’s Full

My belly’s full,
Now seems like the perfect time to sleep,
But, there’s so much work to push and pull,
I don’t have time to settle down and drift down deep.

My homework is done,
That is true,
But, I have to write a metric ton,
If I ever want to bid my day job adieu.

My eyelids grow heavy,
And, heavier still,
I’ve a burden of dreams to carry,
But it all amounts to nil.

And now the decision must be made,
Do I chose the sweet tea or raspberry lemonade?

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

The Poet: To Smoke Or…

I’m now found in a very tight spot,
A smoker am I, a great fan of nicotine,
But, you see, the habit is costing me a yacht,
And, minus the cost, it’s a health guillotine.

Once, long ago, I said: “You have to die some way”,
My opinion has changed since then,
I’ve seen the way cigarettes strip you fully away,
I don’t want to be caught in its murderous pen.

Quitting then is the only decision,
I’ve got added dollar signs to help with motivation,
If I quit now I can avoid the incision,
And hear my family’s total elation.

To smoke, or not to smoke?
The answer’s so clear, the questions a joke.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

The Poet: Money, Money, Money

In this world of horrific capitalism,
One need stands above all others,
It’s nigh as omnipotent as radicalism,
Keeping us hidden up under the covers.

Want to self-actualize, do you?
Good luck with that quest in this hellish climate,
It’s difficult for all, save for a few,
Those with the money to keep nice and private.

We may dream that love makes the world go round,
It’s a falsehood,
Money powers the Earth’s spin around,
Covering our eyes like an executioner’s hood.

Money, my friends, is the power almighty,
Hold onto it, nice and tightly.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

The Poet: Do You Believe in the Beauty of Your Dreams?

Do you believe in the beauty of your dreams?
It’s said the future belongs to those who do,
That beauty is a goal to reach for it seems,
Beauty as bright as morning dew.

I feel I fail at reaching for this goal,
Procrastination rules my mind with an iron fist,
It is the beauty that it stole,
Carrying it off in an impenetrable mist.

I want to believe in the beauty,
I want to hold it close,
Reaching for it should be my only duty,
Showcasing it here in glorious prose.

And, now I’m extremely depressed,
Feeling nowhere near my very best.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

The Poet: The Curse of the Vacation

Vacation. What does that word mean to you?
Form me, the definition is do absolutely nothing,
That definition comes in far to impractical a hue,
Doing nothing leaves me not feeling anything.

I wanted to be proud of what I accomplished,
But, I didn’t do a damn thing,
I did nothing I promised,
Super me, the waste time king.

I wanted to go out with friends,
Hopefully build a new relationship,
Those hopes came to empty ends,
With zero money I missed the trip.

As with everything, I struck out,
My life is thoroughly filled up with doubt.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

The Poet: Stressing Over A Cat

Sitting down to write a poem,
After stressing all day over a cat,
You would understand if you know him,
He’s a little ball of orange fluff, and not very fat.

I work nights,
So, naturally, the appointment was mid-day,
I was scared, and time was tight,
I didn’t have much say.

Turns out he’s allergic to the tiniest flea,
His skin scabbed up and broke out into a really nasty rash,
A shot was all he needed, a big relief to me,
And not a terrible drain on my pool of cash.

Insomnia is here, so much for sleep,
Sometimes I really want to scream BLEEP!

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

The Poet-Super Sonnet Sunday: All Under Control

Delirious he,
Delirious she,
Delirious me,
Delirious thee.

Mania and Dementia,
Manic and Depressive,
Twins on the same coin, hallelujah,
Yet suddenly compressive.

Bi-polar disorder, you old fiend,
Or claim you Sheogorath be,
From thee the Joker has many things gleaned,
Constant accursed companion you are to me.

Mental health is not a joke,
Trapped in this monster’s eternal yoke,
My brains spill out little more than yolk,
And, I’ll feel as if I never woke.

On paper, it’s easy to be mad,
The audience merely thinks it’s an act,
In reality, I’m not all that bad,
I’d say I’ve got plenty of tact.

Negative thoughts, self-deprecation, all under control,
I’ll at least let you think I’m playing that role.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

The Poet: Crying In The Rain

The key is not for me,
No happiness there shall be,
I do not deserve to be free,
Bleeding, broken, and bound to a tree.

They freedom, thou dost surrender,
Going through life devoid of splendor,
Feeling like nothing more than a pretender,
At the very worst a repeat offender.

The sun is there, hidden behind black clouds,
Their silver lining is its burial shroud,
Tearing through and breaking their vows,
Into the depths beneath the bowels.

Here I am left, crying in the rain,
Wondering what life is like without any pain.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

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The Poet: I Once Thought I Had The Key

Life feels empty,
Great stone corridors devoid of anything,
Depression, it seems, is quite trendy,
Deep in the tomb, burying.

Writing from an emotional place,
Sometimes forges the best art,
I wouldn’t know fine art if it hit me in the face,
How long are we to be apart?

How deep does despair go,
I don’t think I’ll even know,
Not so long as I’m falling, falling, falling,
The silence of the grave is a siren’s calling.

I once thought I had the key,
The key meant to set me free.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/