Submission of Sonnets

Sonnet of a Weeping Warrior

The Left Alone of what I didn’t choose

It comes to me each night in crying waves

Regrets, Could-Haves and What-Ifs I did lose

And Futures, once so close, I failed to save.

A slipping slowly in through the cracks of days,

Spill rapidly like rivers hour to hour.

Denial of the death of all my Mays,

And in the face of To-Be fights I cower.

I crawl into a clock to stop its tick.

I dig myself a hole in which to hide.

I walk into the ocean, tied to brick.

But still I float due to my bloated mind.

How I do long to bury what I tow.

Though no safe place my life can rest its woe.

The Dark, It Stalks Relentlessly

The hunt of me by Darkness still proceeds.

It wakes me up some nights as It grows near.

Though other times It slips into my dreams,

And leaves me in the morning soaked in tears.

Collisions we have had since dawn of time,

Formed nestled side by side in Womb, repose.

At birth, the Darkness tore holes in my mind.

It stalks me by the whistle when wind blows.

My armor is a calloused coat of scars.

And sword, my tongue, with years of sharpened edge.

A bag of heavy stories mans my guard.

And catches what drips from my broken head.

A life afraid is hardly one at all.

Our next encounter, one of us will fall.

Daydreamer

The photos of my past life seem so far.

Not me, but someone else who shares my face.

The young girl in the photos hurts my heart,

For she, and all else in the frame, will change.

The images in plastic trapped in time

Like dried out insects morbidly on show

Uncomplicated silent and benign

A photo never shows what lurks below.

I see instead a painting of a lake.

An armored oak tree overhangs its boughs.

I see the girl beneath it, half awake.

Untouched, pristine, preserved by art’s still vow.

My future like the girl, I will create.

The truth though marked on film is not my fate.

I have included three Shakespearean sonnets to showcase variety in my sonnet collection. I like the view the sonnet like an oil painting and therefore focus heavily on vivid and concrete language. My complete collection of sonnets is much like walking through an art gallery of said paintings, each showing an experience, triumph, story or struggle contained in the "frame" of the traditional poem structure.

Bio: Amanda Scott is a 22-year old, queer artist from the rural town of Rapid City, Manitoba, Canada. She began creative writing as a hobby while pursuing her Bachelor of Music at Brandon University and currently writes primarily poetry and short fiction. Amanda currently resides in Victoria, BC where she is continuing her education to become a music therapist.