500 Sonnets

By P.J. Lowry

Another new collection of poems, all written in a specific rhyming pattern. This massive collection of sonnets is a labor of love, and I hope you enjoy reading them!

• Language: English
• Publisher: P.J. Lowry
• Release date: Oct 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798201166953

P.J. Lowry

Born in Hamilton, Ontario on October 28th 1975, P.J. Lowry has been creating fiction, non-fiction and poetry for over twenty years. P.J. graduated from Memorial University of Newfoundland in 2002 with a Bachelor Of Arts, majoring with the department of English language and literature.After traveling abroad P.J. returned home, settled down, and started composing novels and collections of poetry for formal publication. He currently resides in his hometown and is working on his next novel.Gift Shop: If you like PJ's work, wear it too!https://shop.spreadshirt.com/pjlowryshop/

Book preview

A collection of poetry

written by P.J. Lowry

500 Sonnets

Copyright 2023, P.J. Lowry

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Dearest reader,

When I finished writing ‘200 Sonnets’ in 2018, I was conflicted about how many sonnets I desired to compose for the next volume. Should I just add another hundred or double the number like I had last time? While three and even four hundred would have been significant numbers to work with, a part of me felt that five hundred was the best number to shoot for when putting together my next volume of sonnets. After ‘200 Sonnets’ was published online and was doing its thing, I had immediately started to create new sonnets aware that it could take a little while to reach to amount of sonnets I needed to complete the next volume. That process has taken over five years to accomplish, but it’s here. The new slate of poems have been written and are brilliant!

So, here we are: 500 Sonnets.

I know… it really is a nice round number, eh?

There was a part of me that was afraid that I would never manage to compose this many sonnets. Several months before I released 200 Sonnets I had a stroke, and it took over a year to get back to where I was before that minor occurrence interrupted my life. Because of that and various medical issues that I face, there was a constant fear that I might expire before reaching the big five double zero. My brother Chris had agreed to publish this volume of poetry for me no matter where it ended, but thankfully that wasn’t necessary. There were even days when I reached significant number of poems, such as three and four hundred sonnet mark, where I was tempted to just end the book there and pretend that was the number of sonnets that I had planned to pen all along. Thankfully, I was able to resist the temptation and carry on. Now I stand at the plateau of five hundred sonnets a very happy writer and am quite excited about the sonnets that await beyond this page.

I have been writing these new sonnets on and off since my forty-third birthday, and now stand here five years later mere weeks away from celebrating the forty-eighth anniversary of my birth with a new collection of poetry. My original goal was to publish this book before I turned fifty, so I’m two years early!

So, thank you for your purchase and your time.

Happy reading!

My best,

P. J.

Silent is the night as I stare upon the blank page,

marvelling what radiance may come by thy pen.

Worried thy mind might be trapped within a cage,

as silenced poets were no longer the wiser men.

Blocked from this world, sheltered from all life,

I languish for daylight while pining for new hope.

The struggles nag thy brain like a hateful wife,

stressed to bring about work of immense scope.

It should not feel this hard, never this strained,

words should want to flow out of thee like a river.

Rather than feeling this confined, this restrained,

fearing not a word shall ever run off thy quiver.

Art like life is difficult to drag forth into the light,

as one must keep fighting and continue to write.

I arise from a deep and comforting sleep,

waking up to a day that was dark and sad.

Times are harsh, I wanted to openly weep,

over what she did, how things broke so bad.

Many people endeavour me not place blame,

on myself for things I could not do nor control.

I was led astray, so I shouldn’t feel any shame,

a betrayal I did not support nor had any role.

Where was I as this revolting game went on,

as lies were told and the truth was hidden.

I was tending to thy young, up at every dawn,

as neglecting thy kids should be forbidden.

Despite the sorrow that woman hath brought,

thy love will carry on, the relationship will not.

I slowly open thy eyes, rise to greet a new day,

hoping the morn brings forth good memories.

My delight and excitement soon slowly give way,

I begin to remember the past and her atrocities.

Pain came thy way by her deliberate malice,

as words cut into thy heart like a dull knife.

Her actions ended thy love, cold and callous,

never shall I endure such pain in all thy life.

She was thy love, whom I wished to share,

in sickness and health, for better or worse.

Being without her was like being without air,

as our life together was as finite as this verse.

Some days I look back, wonder what could be,

but now the thought makes me want to flee.

Graceful is her spirit and her compassion,

for fellow men and women, those left without.

Choices made not what is deemed good fashion,

but supporting who are helpless and in doubt.

Lost is life and their ability to function in society,

her heart hath no limit and is what I admire most.

She inspires many, through her clear propriety,

caring for those lost, but never cared to boast.

The things she does are gifts from a gentle soul,

loving everyone as if they were all her own child.

Raising them to be independent, reach for a goal,

teaching them to be calm, keep their tempers mild.

Saints like her are a rare breed, like the animals,

for none of us are different, we’re meant to be equals.

Each day I look her way, thy heart skips a beat,

as my eyes are rapt by her beauty and her grace.

I feel spoiled as my ocular nerves are given a treat,

as urges brew in thy soul, yearning to share space.

Her flowing red hear shines as bright as the love,

filling thy heart like blood that beats life into me.

A kind of person whose life we all want a part of,

as I long to create new additions to her family tree.

Yet thy love will never come to the light of day,

for she loves another, life has never been better.

Doomed to life thy live as the skies are always grey,

a secret known only by those who read this letter.

I still long to be with her, to caress thy ailing brow,

but I’d never risk her joy just to heal my pains now.

I venture out in search of a new lady to love,

yet each day seems like a never-ending struggle.

Life has slapped me around with a gentle glove,

I’m tempted to give up; try to learn how to juggle.

The quest seems so hopeless when you’re alone,

afraid you’ll never again find that someone special.

It’s as if nature is refusing to even toss you a bone,

forcing one to seek help from people more celestial.

Far from above grovelling, never was I so desperate,

to seek help when trying to searching for that one.

Despite looking for a new mate that is articulate,

in a vast sea of people, this task that isn’t that fun.

One day I shall find that one, extraordinary lady,

I just wish that we could find each other already.

Each day I see people who make it, who succeed,

and I view them with jealous eyes, envious of them.

When each day I work hard to live, struggle till I bleed,

as by their standards, I barely grow thy own stem.

I sleep with bitter feelings, hating those who have more,

riches and fame and the things that make them happy.

Residing in the penthouse, while I rot on the bottom floor,

living a good life when others feel miserable and crappy.

Then I think about the things that make me content,

bringing love and hope to thy heart, and never do I hide.

When I’m down and thy vigour is scattered and spent,

my energy returns with a big hug from a loving child.

When I’m with them, the anger and sorrow leaves,

as our children are a gift, one not everyone receives.

It’s difficult to concentrate when she’s around,

everyone else seems to vanish in her presence.

I long to speak with her, break new ground,

but fear rejection and being labelled a menace.

I sincerely try not to stare but it’s just so hard,

as it is easy to be mesmerized by such beauty.

It’s hard to imagine her loving me, a tub of lard,

one day I shall accept reality, but I’m not ready.

I yearn to hold her, to feel her loving embrace,

Understanding thy feelings will never be real.

Everyone here is charmed by her wit and grace,

I’m afraid to speak, to divulge how I really feel.

I’m better off moving on, look for someone new,

thy dreams are just that, they’ll never come true.

Each day I wonder if things will ever get better,

if I disappear tomorrow, would I ever be missed?

Yearning for someone to hold like a warm sweater,

and even praying to gods I don’t believe to exist.

Lately thy bed feels almost an empty as thy soul,

for everything is worthless if it cannot be shared.

Life seems as trying as staring at a blank scroll,

feeling so lost as if no one will or has ever cared.

I keep up the search, but the days feel so sad,

curious if I will find that new special someone.

I want to share all moments, both good and bad,

as days are so cheerless that I just want to run.

Someone is out there, or so I’ve often been told,

but it’s so hard to imagine when out in the cold.

Every day I think about her, I get jealous,

of the man she’s with, that lucky bastard.

I can’t help it as she’s amazing and gorgeous,

and thy dreams are unreal and quite absurd.

She’s out of my league, I can honestly admit,

it’s hard not to stare, imagining what could be.

We’ll always be friends, that’s all fate will permit,

her love is like a drug, and I’m a hooked junkie.

As they smile and laugh all I can do is watch,

and realize just how lost and sorry I truly am.

I probably have better odds of finding a sasquatch,

than finding a way into the heart of that madam.

Fate can be unkind as the others I love move on,

I should move on too, but I’m a love-struck moron.

Things are so discouraging when I see the news,

as people are dying and incapable of getting along.

We call on our nations to bring an end to this abuse,

but it never works as leaders are too headstrong.

Children grow up in the middle of a battlefield,

afraid to go out for pizza or play at local parks.

the life they know is constricted and concealed,

suffering from the politics of men and monarchs.

Habitats are destroyed, lives are literally torn apart,

as pictures of horror are beamed into our homes.

Heartless networks who have no intention to thwart,

the real killers who send out the planes and drones.

I hope one day we can talk and see this violence cease,

people can be bombed to pieces, but never into peace.

She’s out there somewhere waiting for me,

to stroll into her life and turn it upside down.

I’ve never been the kind of guy to be choosy,

hoping someone could take away thy frown.

When the day arrives, it will be hard to conceal,

as the celebration will be heard around the world.

Things will get better, and it will all feel so surreal,

one of those things that will leave your toes curled.

I hope that day comes sooner rather than later,

as I sit here alone, composing these lame poems.

I would always prefer to be a lover than a hater,

for a chance to bring thy family tree new stems.

As we assume the risk, there’s never a guarantee,

but one day I’ll actually find that special sweetie.

Words mean little when looking for new love,

attraction isn’t essential either but matters still.

While many things factor when looking a sort of

person that will excite you and give you a chill.

It doesn’t matter how hard you try, things happen,

only when one is willing to let go and stop trying.

And only then will true love let out its loud beckon,

calling you better days that are anything but boring.

Try too hard and you will come across as desperate,

which causes people to cringe away from the clingy.

It would make one about as desirable as a casket,

a tough game that leaves you bruised and bloody.

While it feels like things will never go your way,

enjoy the appetizer, and life will serve a fine entrée.

Never in my life had I seen such horror,

unfold before my very eyes on the screen.

That one person barged in like a wild ogre

spraying bullets like a well-trained marine.

This was no professional, merely a young boy,

unable to control his mind and trigger finger.

Hell bent on a wicked path to seek and destroy,

waging an attack on our very lives and culture.

We all point our fingers, eager to lay blame,

for shootings going on in theatres and schools.

While the media showers the shooter in fame,

and congress is unwilling to change the rules.

The people need to wise up and finally get a clue,

fair gun control is possible, there is much to do.

Everyday it’s so hard to rise from thy bed,

for I’m not ready to get up, face the world.

I’m afraid of the failures that do lie ahead,

preferring to stay in bed with legs curled.

Our there are people I’d rather not face,

a feeling thy life has been a terrible shame.

I’ve done little and am complete disgrace,

hoping to come back late to win the game.

Some say I shouldn’t be so hard on thyself,

for I’ve lived long and managed to enlighten.

Others enjoy an encouraging book on the shelf,

as it waits to strike with the authority of a titan.

When I do pass on and depart this world for good,

one hopes thy works will be forever understood.

As each day passes and I continue to wonder,

when our nations will make the effort to stop.

Ending atrocities of war and the barbaric plunder

of the lands and the working people of their crop.

The people march the streets, rising up to shout,

as they’re disgusted of how things are being run.

Words fall on deaf ears as the people have no clout,

and leaders keep people at bay with gas and guns.

With each convention the people try to protest,

but are stopped by barricades and abusive guards.

Hoping their views and issues will be addressed,

yet they’re tossed away like unwanted greeting cards.

One day they’ll hear us, our words will get through,

leaders can’t ignore us forever; we will be attended to.

When days are difficult and I am feeling blue,

all I have to do is think about you and smile.

Thy heart again refills with a love that is true,

and as strength returns I can go that extra mile.

There is nothing that is more sensual or tender,

than to feel your hand caress my troubled brow.

For it sooths thy ailing soul back from a bender,

of being away from you, almost too much to allow.

The night is as gentle as your lips pressed to cheek,

as her kisses heal me like Aphrodite’s magical tears.

I no longer despair returning from a day so bleak,

as in your arms I wish to remain for all my years.

Just seeing you is enough to make my heart melt,

as thy love for you is the deepest thing I’ve ever felt.

When days are dark and I want to hide,

the hate melts away with a warm embrace.

From the very small arms of a loving child,

I feel like I’m away, almost in a new place.

Life at that moment doesn’t seem so hard,

with enough energy to see through the day.

Nights are tough as I return home scarred,

as working so long thy spirit begins to fray.

Thy bones ache as the body shows its age,

as each everyday tasks become more difficult.

Thy frustration begins to transform into rage,

as daily chores fail to get their desired result.

Getting old wasn’t supposed to occur so fast,

as I slowly fade away into the forgotten past.

Help me if you can for I cannot stand,

I am weak an unable to fend for thyself.

Will we as a people be able to withstand,

or should we be stashed on a high shelf?

I grow frail and weak as thy heart breaks,

for life as I hoped did not turn out so well.

Like a diabetic in a room full of sweet cakes,

I am unable to enjoy what life has to sell.

Thy pockets are about as empty as my heart,

as coins means very little with no one around.

I long to share things with her, like fine art,

refusing to wander their halls with this frown.

She promised to stay with the, share life’s joys,

all that’s left of our love are these two little boys.

Long are the days, even longer is the night,

as I lie there alone on thy enormous bed.

Even lonelier are days when I go and fight,

the many people who’d rather see me dead.

Left behind are the good times with thy family,

as