Monday, November 28, 2005

Sonnet on the passing of a friend


Born each September in Jamaica Plain
Your birth portends a season of great hope--
Of college football and big hurricanes,
Of fallen leaves, another Red Sox choke.

But faster than the Boston leaves do drop
Your taps replaced by bitter winter brews.
It comes too quick; I still can taste your hops.
They help hold off the stubborn winter blues.

I know the time is nigh when it gets dark
At 5, then 4, and then 3:45.
Your time in bars and stores, a fixed mark,
As selflessly you warm our chilly lives.

It's no surprise I hold you as the best.
Please rest in peace, my Sam Octoberfest.

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3 Comments:

Anonymous K-Don said...

What's most impressive is that you remember, and then executed, sound iambic pantameter verse with the obligatory couplet at the end. Meter on, good brother, one foot at a time.

November 28, 2005  
Blogger johnnymets said...

You know you have a problem when
You write poems of beer
“Why not me?” says the girlfriend…
I sense some trouble here.

If it takes this to make you sing –
A seasonal type of beer
Then I think it’s a real good thing
It happens but once a year

November 28, 2005  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Poem to the girlfriend:

Dear, another beer.

November 29, 2005  

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