Wednesday, 13 October 2010

Sonnet to Sonia...

Hi, Meet Sonia.

Sonia is one of my reoccurring doodles, a bit like a reoccurring dream but not and moreso. One minute she isn’t there and the next she’s squeezed herself out of my subconscious, crawled down my arm, and dripped onto the page from my pen.

Sonia’s been around for at least ten years in one form or another. The fist time she appeared she was a lot darker, more disturbing. For one thing those little man dolls that dangle all around her were once skeletons .They’ve spruced themselves up a bit, and these days they’re almost ‘exec’ in their suits and blank-look faces, much better than the bones they once were, their deadheads grinning with empty sockets and slack toothed maws.

She’s lost the corpusculent, blotched, blood stained skin that she once had. But the rah-rah skirt and her striped top remain constant - and although she’s had different hair styles at times, she’s more woman and less banshee than she used to be.

She must be softening (in the way an over-ripe cheese softens) in her old age.

Sonia is the Cow Poke’s sweetheart, despite much of her being mainly wormy and slithery and that silly, spring-curled hair-do. I don’t know why the Cow Poke finds her so attractive, after all she’s self replicating. I can’t stand self-replication personally. Making everything and everyone around you a replica of yourself, the same, no difference - bending the whole world to conform to your will. No wonder everything turns out bland. Surely you must have known that it would - but then it's easier that way isn't it.

But I digress. Note to myself: avoid internal conversation.

Sonia. Spawning herself from the Twinty-Twee, over and over, repeatedly; she has the most annoying scream… Neeeeeeee! But then love is blind so they say, and he loves her a-plenty to write her poetry. Yes, love is blind for all to see – explaining perhaps her telescopic occularity.

Now, THAT’S got me in the mood…

Sonnet for Sonia

From fairest creature my desire increase,
That thereby Sonia’s blush might never die,
But as the riper she does in time increase,
Her wormed heir might bear her memory:
But thou contracted to thine own all -seeing eye,
Feed'st thy light's own flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making more of famine where still a famine lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the world's foul ornament,
And only herald to the plagued spring,
Within thine own bud growest thy discontent,
As, dangling curls, dost replicate and sing:
Pity me, pity - forsake the Twinty Twee,
To Eeeeeeee world's due, thou scream’st repeatedly.

Penned by the Cow Poke with a doff of his Stetson to W. Shakespeare


  1. This suff in your head. Have you seen the doctor old chap

  2. Colin Tickle e-mailed:

    Impressive blog.