Death of the Sonnet

Is the sonnet dead? Has time finally
Claimed this calm configuration of words?
You find so few of them in the wild, the
Sad specimens hobbled like awkward birds,
High-school homework littered with archaic
Language and dusty turns of phrase that serve
To create a pitiful mosaic
For any that that take the time to observe.
Will this form die along with the old man
On the radio and his audience
Of English professors? Is there a plan
To fight furious for the form's defense?
     No. There's not. Compose the sonnet's obit,
     But know this sonnet lives while you read it.

Beating Back the Burlesque

Well here we go, it looks like I have to
Adopt my nelly queen persona if
I actually want to converse with you
On a human level. You catch my whiff
Of flaming homosexuality
And slowly set aside your weaponry
That razor-sharp sexy smile you see
As a way to dominate guys like me
So that they know they cannot control you.
A target since puberty, you just don't
Approach until you know I won't pursue.
Now we can just be two people, you won't
     Treat me like the predators of your youth.
     Sometimes it takes a mask to show the truth.

My Best Request

The most virtuous thing that you can do,
Perhaps the highest calling of our age
Is to disarm an idealist, and to
Speak the nuance of the truth to the rage
Of those who only see in stark contrasts.
Expose the lie of the simple answer
That's twisted a million mistaken pasts,
Created chaos and been a cancer
On our path to a better tomorrow.
Let there be passion for the pragmatic.
Remember we're all fallible, and go
Teach them how to see the problematic
     In all that claims to be the one true way.
     Let doubt weed out absolutes that betray.