Bruce Writes a Sonnet

I wrote this sonnet today while eating lunch in a Manhattan restaurant.  I photographed the flowers a few days ago in our garden.

The Guest 

I have this guest named Mr. Parkinson,
Who’s balled up like a nut inside my head.
Some people think my life is over.  Done.
That every night I drool on my death bed.
“Well, look,” they say, “Your body hair turned white;
The pallor’s firmly set in your gaunt cheeks.
Your daily blog posts might still bring delight,
But when you shit your nose can’t tell it reeks.”
They don’t have to tell me this.  I know
My left leg lamely limps along the ground.
At times, I can’t control the urge to go.
My voice is weak; I barely make a sound.
But hold it!  I’m not heading to no tomb
While lilacs – roses – crocuses still bloom!

– Bruce Ballard

Note:  My mind was upbeat as I wrote this, although to the reader the tone may seem depressing.  Also, this poem is not 100% autobiographical.  I wrote the first two lines, then had them tell me what to write next.  Except for the final couplet, most of the rhyme scheme I stole from this Shakespeare sonnet.  Sonnets (reading and writing them) are my latest thrill.