POETS Day: Antisocial Sonnet #3

I love the sound of borborygmus in the morning!

I love the sound of borborygmus in the morning!

The Borborygmus

The Borborygmus is a dreadful beast
He clamors for attention unashamed
Emitting gastric noises undecreased
By anything except the tribute claimed.
Orotund and rounded are his vowels
Rumbling up from Stygian depths denied
But vainly by the victim of his growls
Outlandishly inflicted from inside.
Refusing his demands will only place
Your peace of mind in balance up against
Grotesque sonorities that cause disgrace
Made even worse by secret smiling sensed.
Until our race can prosper without food
So long lasts Borborygmus’ rule so crude.

Sharp-eyed readers will have noticed that this one is an acrostic sonnet: the first letter of each line spells out the title. It’s not a very good one, for the rhythm has been tortured to produce the acrostic. It also resulted in mild trichotillomania during its composition. 

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About Dave Trowbridge

Dave Trowbridge has been writing high-tech marketing copy for almost thirty years. This has made him an expert in what he calls “pulling stuff out of the cave of the flying monkeys,” so science fiction comes naturally. He abandoned corporate life in 2007 — actually, it abandoned him — but not before attaining the rank of Dark Lord of Documentation, a title which still appears on his business card and serves to identify clients he’d rather not work with (the ones who don’t laugh). He much prefers the godlike powers of a science fiction author (hah!) to troglodyte status in dark corporate mills, and the universe is slowly coming around to his point of view. Dave is currently laboring over the second edition of the space-opera series Exordium with his co-author Sherwood Smith, and looking forward to writing more stories in that universe. He lives in the Santa Cruz Mountains with his writer wife and fellow BVC member, Deborah J. Ross, and a tri-lingual German Shepherd Dog responsible for three cats. When not writing, Dave may be found wrangling vegetables—both domesticated and feral — in the garden.

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POETS Day: Antisocial Sonnet #3 — 2 Comments