sonnet – Page 3 – John Collings

One-Hundred Pounds

All I own is under one-hundred pounds
That I lug in bags around the airport.
It’s what I’ll live with when I hit the ground,
When this country I finally abort,
And I land in a place that’s far away
With a language I do not understand.
It’s not much; it will start me on my way
With a lifestyle that’s simply planned.
I can only take what I really need;
Everything else I’ll get while I am there.
I’ll hold each treasure with a certain greed,
And treat them with a special kind of care.
It is funny the choices I have made,
But I appreciate the price I’ve paid.

American Road Trip

There is not a lot to do in a car
Traveling down America’s highways.
Though the distance to go is very far,
We wish we could skip these tedious days
Of watching endless fields of golden grain
Go by outside the passenger window.
There’s never going to be a refrain
To the tick of the monotonous show.
I turn the dial looking for music
That can turn this boring day exciting,
But the stations I can find are tragic
Because it is only Christians talking.
I think I am about to lose my grip
As I continue on this long road trip.

The Final Report

You like to hold up the love of your son
As proof he is the head of his classes,
But when you look at all that he has done,
He is just another of the masses.
You cannot claim that he is the smartest
Just because you wish for it to be so.
You just need to see him taking a test
That you’ll recognize him to be below.
Maybe if you engaged in his learning
And tried to grow in his abilities
Then the longings in which you are yearning
Would be worthy of the praise that you tease.
Practice in the art of education,
And stop with this grade negotiation.

Saying Goodbye

This will be the last time I will come here
Because I do not see any return,
And now that I know that the end is near
To see it one last time, my heart does yearn.
I know I have walked down this path before,
But I still marvel at the sights to see,
They take me back to the places of yore
That will take from me a minimal fee.
But I know that a snapshot will not do
To capture the way this path makes me feel
Because when I look back at what I knew,
I will wonder if it was ever real.
I just need to enjoy it while I can,
Not worrying about some future plan.

The Final Tour

This has been my favorite restaurant
Ever since we arrived in this country,
But the last time I visited, I can’t
Remember when. There was too much to see,
Such as those ruins of Roman design,
Or the Treasury carved into the cliff,
Both of which are a sight that’s so divine
That to see them, it is truly a gift.
I am glad to have seen them one last time
Before I shake off the dust of this land
For a place with a more tropical clime,
And other attractions that are so grand.
To not see them again will choke my craw,
So I’m the tour of the last hurrah.

Falling Over

We will find the dat when we fall over
To toss ’bout like a turtle on its back.
The pedestrians will stop and gander,
Taking away the dignity that we lack.
Will they hear the beg for a helping hand,
Or will they look for a viral picture
That will help them sell their personal brand
Because they wandered on our exposure?
Do they not understand they will be here
In this sad compromising position
After they start collecting all their years,
Diving in their own foolish transgression?
They will never look up to the top shelf
Because that goes against their honest self.

Cultural Duality

It is hard to balance our heritage
With current religious beliefs we hold.
But how do we forget the ancient age
And the romantic stories it unfolds?
It has been buried deep within the sand,
And we take the time to brush it away.
The monuments revealed are so grand,
We still worship the secrets that they say.
It goes against the most sacred of texts,
But tourists help to make the argument
That the life we will experience next
Will forgive the energy we have spent.
We are troubled by our duality,
But by embracing both, we are set free.

The Mummy

After looking into those closed eyelids
That hold the memories of history,
I think of the secrets that they once hid,
And how they have endured the trickery
That took them out of their burial place
And encased them within this modern tomb.
Visitors forever stare in his face,
Wondering what lesson there are to learn
From his wrapped body and leathery skin;
The curled lips always showing his smile
Of battles he lost and lands he did win.
At one time, he was the king of the Nile;
Now, he lies in a glass sarcophagus
To put on a show for the rest of us.

It Belongs in a Museum?

There’s never been a better collection
That showcases the world’s history.
We will keep it under our protection
In a place that’s easy for us to see.
Any culture will never disappear
Because they have lost their relics of yore;
From this point on, they can find it here
Though the voyage might be a little chore.
We will catalogue every gotten piece
With the story of its discovery;
Its original import lost its lease
When the colonists set its people free.
Don’t call us a group of thieves on the lamb
Because we brought your stuff to our museum.