Little Boy


A little boy with stoic face travels,

Through life with pain and anger held within,

Unable to express his life long trials,

He wrestles to keep demons locked within.

Along the road he dons some new apparel,

Affects a new demeanor as he needs,

But deep within the onion layers of terror,

The little boy remains and slowly bleeds.

The lad may fight to break his layered prison,

A child however cannot wield that knife,

The rescue effort must be done in common,

With those whose lives have met a kindred strife.

Polished exterior not withstanding,

The small boy remains and is demanding.

© Bart Breen

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Weak sonnet but one which was cathartic to write at teh time.  One of my earlier works.

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Healing Hands


In past years, I have sought in vain

for one, whose caring hands might touch

the wound that I have sought so much

to heal, and finally free me from my pain.

Deeply I have sighed and fought

inner demons, seeking to be free,

I caged them back inside of me

and pasted on my mask as I was taught.

Now I see the hands I need

are not those of another,

rather, I may touch an inner brother

who resides deep down in me.

The hands I need then now exist

down my arm, just past my wrist.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

OK, the form is irregular, the meter fractured, but other than that, it's ALMOST a sonnet.

This was an early work of mine as I was developing and seeking to understand some of the forms.

It is a personal statement that I've chosen not to try and clean up.  

Somethings shouldn't be pretty, when they are honest.

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Did You Hear?

Did you hear ……

Prattling tongues have often wagged and spread this

type of sordid thing.  Their speculation

rife with innuendo.  That fleeting kiss

observed in haste, a vile inculcation

burned into the corp’rate grid, repeated

freely for all within ear’s range.  Story

multiplied and amplified and heated

to a frenzied pitch.  A stolen glory

conferred upon repeating lips which smile

and knowing nods confirm with evident

delight, two reputations now servile

to gossip’s grand design, two lives now rent.

Affection shown between platonic friends

now twisted beyond reach by rumor’s bends.

©  Bart Breen 2001

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A sonnet, but wuth some meter flaws I know need to be worked out.  I attempted to cross lines and stanzas on this in a more modernistic form.

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The Sonnet Sonnet.

I wanted to try writing a sonnet.

I’ve not really done one before.

So here I am making a start on it

If you like it read on, there’s more

For research, I read an example

Hoping the form to elicit

Three quatrains suits most every sample

A rhyming couplet to finish it

Other variants I wont try here

Though be noted that there’s a profusion

And now that the end is near

I’ll bring this all to a conclusion

So with rhyme I hope timely and true

I’m done, now it’s over to you.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I kinda set this as an exercise for myself.  It’s been a little while since I’ve written anything. It kinda works, but took a time to hone into shape this far. Exercise done, methinks enough.

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Captive in your arms

My heart alone perceives

Held so close to every dream

Will soothe me constantly.


Showing love with tender touch

Always somewhere you can go

My soul now sadly roams

The heart that is my home.


Be still my heart it beats so fast

To rest upon your pretty wings

Upon life and all good things

Together my love will always be.


We catch these gifts in passing

In life our works of art.





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Mr. Running

as i move along to my class

students dont talk to me they move right pass

i go in my class and get my trumpet case

just to sit there and watch mr. running's face

i sit down 3rd from the best

he's name is brain and he is so obessed

with the band teacher mr. running

he think thats he is the king

Mr. running is weird and really tall

to him i am small(duh)

whenever he gets mad he frowns and points at you

then when he points to another spot you have to move

he start talking soon

he wants to yell at this cussing goon

he sits next to me and he always attends

my birthday party cause he is my friend

Das Ende

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The Circle O f Life

The circle of Life goes around and around

Stopping who knows where or who knows when

The beginning becomes the end, the end the beginning

There is nothing new to discover, lets just love one another

The circle of life spins by one so fast

It stops for neither you nor I my dear friends

Going on and on into the future no one know its past

Lovers come and lovers go let us love all those we know

The circle of life is an unbroken band

With no beginning viewed and with no end in sight

It can take ones will or it can make one stand and fight

It turns and rolls its merry way, come join in its fray

The circle of life is to be lived in its entirety

Where dreamers dream and mortality does expire

In revolutions it doth take its toll in its unending turn

And in its turning all life problems and tribulations do burn

The circle of life takes us within its orbit

Bringing us back to our beginnings and our ends

Nothing stops its endless turning, or its constant yearning

Let love your aim and challenge be, let it come unto to me.

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Visitor Sonnet

Above the clouds what is seen

Can't exist

And many have seen the lights

Under stars

Around the world strange forms

Appear, taking their specimans while

We humans deny

Fear things creep around farmland,

And symbols left

Incomprehensible yet to man

The bastions of popular culture seize

These days

Distract us with alien's ways

The unidentified party tonight

Atop rough hills, desert, and never leave

But a calling card that

Rests securely locked from curious

Brave questioners

Who'll never prove anything here amiss

Liking much to dangerously our bliss

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Ode to Sonnets

A sonnet is not that easy to write

I sat up thinking of this most the night.

Ten syllables per line, no more, no less,

Without rhyming, it can be quite a mess.

To write these darn things, you must be quite bright,

Forcing your mind to work on a new height.

You could write about somebody named Tess,

Or about her dog if you want, I guess.

I’m now almost finished, I’m almost done,

And I’ve realized this sonnet won’t be best.

I could do better, I could do worse,

It doesn’t matter because I’ve had fun.

I’m just very glad this wasn’t a test

This sonnet belongs inside of a hearse!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I know it sucks . . . I wrote it for a course at school, so I tried to have fun with it.

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