Anniversary Sonnet

Yesterday marked my 12th wedding anniversary. to mark the occasion, here is my poem, Anniversary Sonnet, which first appeared in Poetica 2 (Clarendon House).

Anniversary Sonnet

by A. A. Rubin

Some poets ‘gainst the sonnet form do rail,
As creativity they say it mars.
Their poetic license they claim assailed,
By tradition, meter, and measured bars.
To capture passion and proclaim true love,
No antiquated formal rules are meet:
Their verse—free—to soar the skies above,
Instead of tripping o’er iambic feet.
But I have never felt my love confined,
By giving up my liberty to you—
My affection, rather, has been refined;
Myself—my soul—do grow through love so true—
  And thus these fourteen rhyming lines do sing,
  Of love we consecrated with our rings.


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Moonlight Sonnet

In honor of the rare occurrence of Halloween falling on a full moon, I present my poem, “Moonlight Sonnet,” which originally appeared in the Prompting The Moon Anthology.

When I gaze up at its dark, inky gloom,
The sky reflects my sorrows back at me–
Like the vampire’s victim, I’m fit to swoon,
Surrendering to my melancholy.
The burdens, heavy, of my working day
Weigh down on me and hang like darkening clouds,
Which hide the bright orb’s stately face away
Obscured by night’s aphotic, murky shroud.
But with the glimmer of her tender light,
A sliver of hope in my heart doth grow–
Waxing gibbous, though not yet full tonight,
Beneath Selene’s benevolent, pale glow.
Like the werewolf by her light’s transformèd,
By moonlight, my self to me’s restorèd.

If you enjoyed this sonnet, and you’d like me to write one for you, check out The Great Command Meant anthology kickstarter (in which I have a comics story and an art piece). One of the rewards for supporting the campaign at a particular level entitles you to a sonnet about (almost) any subject of your choosing, written by me.

Me, reading the poem in this post.

Be sure to connect on facebooktwitter, and instagram, and check out the links page to read some of my published work.

Some Baseball Poetry In Honor Of Opening Day

Today is (finally) opening day of the 2020 baseball season. Back on March 26th, I published a baseball sonnet here, and people seemed to like it. So today, on day that, traditionally, symbolizes hope, I present a couple of more baseball poems I’ve written to help get you in the mood for upcoming season.

The first poem is a “golden shovel” poem after the line “Hope springs eternal in the human breast” from the greatest baseball poem of all time, “Casey At The Bat,” by Ernest Lawrence Thayer. For those who are unaware, golden shovel is a form of poetry wherein the poet takes a line or stanza from a famous poem, and uses the borrowed words as the end-words of each line of the new poem.

Opening Day
A Golden Shovel after Ernest Lawrence Thayer

There is one day each year when every team has hope
Which rises like a fever; in our hearts it springs
Recurring, eternal
Each year down in
The land of grapefruits and cacti it grows like the
First crocus incongruously purple in the snow. Until that day when it thaws the cold human Heart and lets hope—at least for one day—spring, again, eternal in the human breast

The second poem is describes an at bat.

The Strikeout

The bend of the arm,
Like the crack of the whip
That ball is on him,
Quick, quick, quick–

The fastball zips by,
A shot from a gun–
The batter swings through it,
Whiff—Strike one–

The ball is released,
The same as before.
The batter gears up,
To offer once more–

But here t
h
e
B
                     a
                            l
l
                           B
                     e
n
          d
s
It
d
r
o
p
s
to the dirt–
The curve ball has fooled him,
He almost got hurt.

0-2 is the count,
And one he will waste:
Though he started his cut,
The batter checked it with haste

Now here comes the next pitch.
Thrown true and straight–
The batter swings quickly,
So he won’t be late–

Midway through his hack,
Oh no! does he sing,
The pitcher has tricked him,
By p – u – l – l – i – n – g – t – h -e – s – t – r – i – n – g

He tries to hold up,
But he can not, you see–
Fooled by the change-up,
He’s swung through, strike three.

And, because people seemed to enjoy it last time, here is the sonnet I posted on what was originally supposed to be opening day:

That time of year thou mayst in fans behold
That malediction, fever of the spring
Surrounded by lingering snow and cold,
We dream of pennants and World Series rings.
With pride we root our noble heroes on
Eating hot dogs, peanuts, and crackerjacks
And all our worldly troubles fade, are gone
When that first pitch is thrown and bat doth crack
But Lo! When April fades to crueler months,
We reach the summer of our discontent
Like Mighty Casey in the Mudville ninth
Our hearts bereft of joy and merriment
Yet hope springs eternal for one and all,
When that blue-clad umpire calls out, “Play Ball!”

Happy opening day: Play Ball!

If you’re enjoying my poetry, please check out these two new anthologies, each of which includes one of my poems: Nassau County Voices In Verse; Prompting the Moon, and connect with me on facebooktwitter, and instagram for all my latest news and discussion.

A Sonnet For What Would Have Been Opening Day

Today, March 26, was supposed to be opening day of the 2020 baseball season. The season has been postponed due to the coronavirus, and, of course, that is the right thing to do. Still, I am missing baseball, especially today, a day that, traditionally, symbolizes hope, something that many of us need right now.

To mark the day, and try to tap into some of that “hope springs eternal” energy, I am posting a sonnet that I wrote in honor of opening day a few years ago. I hope it brings you joy on this day and reminds you of how you would be feeling on this day, at the start of any other baseball season.

That time of year thou mayst in fans behold
That malediction, fever of the spring
Surrounded by lingering snow and cold,
We dream of pennants and World Series rings.
With pride we root our noble heroes on
Eating hot dogs, peanuts, and crackerjacks
And all our worldly troubles fade, are gone
When that first pitch is thrown and bat doth crack
But Lo! When April fades to crueler months,
We reach the summer of our discontent
Like Mighty Casey in the Mudville ninth
Our hearts bereft of joy and merriment
Yet hope springs eternal for one and all,
When that blue-clad umpire calls out, “Play Ball!”

Be sure to check out the links page to read some of my published writing, and to follow me on twitter and facebook.