sonnet — Hunter Dansin

Sonnet 8

Tue, 21 Jul 2026 22:37:25 +0000

My Heart Beats in Distension

My heart beats in the distension between Eternity and mortality which Meet at the seams of all I've ever seen. How often have I peered through a loose stitch, Wondering, when I leave this skein behind, How far my soul must fly before it rests. Why must my soul, from my body, unwind? Am I destined to fail the final test? Even belief in a blessèd heaven Leaves so much to the imagination That some have turned it into a weapon And, by fear, set nation against nation. Even so, of such is our soul composed, Bad with good entangled, God only knows!

#poetry #sonnet

Thank you for reading! I greatly regret that I will most likely never be able to meet you in person and shake your hand, but perhaps we can virtually shake hands via my newsletter, social media, or a cup of coffee sent over the wire. They are poor substitutes, but they can be a real grace in this intractable world.

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Sonnet 7

Sat, 27 Jun 2026 00:26:24 +0000

New England Stoicism

Why call it New England Stoicism, When underneath the rocky soil, there lie Bottomless terrors and paroxysms, Bursting through the soul like a newborn's cries? Vicissitude is life's only constant. So why pretend that change does not exist? Why deny natural decay's portents? Why ignore the existence of death's list? As if your old house were Buckingham Palace? And its unused china something precious? Preserving only what you miss, will miss Those moments in life that are most precious, For which we will be judged at heaven's gate. Change must be allowed to change; too late!

#poetry #sonnet

This sonnet was inspired by living in New England and Ethan Frome.

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Sonnet 6

Fri, 27 Feb 2026 01:24:08 +0000

Generation after Generation

Generation after generation, Vice and virtue breed with one another, Until hate is easy, and love is maudlin. And hearts, like flies over muck, do hover. O that one could sever this sullied past From we whose hearts are stained and sunk by it. That which we are told to put first, comes last, In the order of crude survivalists. Love is preached and praised, but rarely practiced. Art is punished unless profitable. More valued are the words, about them, lisped. So we cannot bear to leave the bubble. In your own reflection find your own way To marry past and present with today.

#poetry #sonnet

Thank you for reading! Sonnets are my way of coping with stress, I guess. Gives me something to think about while my daughter is playing with puzzles at the library, and keeps me from scrolling on my phone. I hope you like it. If I get more I think I will post them here sooner rather than later. What else is a blog for?

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Sonnet 4: Conscienceless Engineers

Sat, 08 Nov 2025 13:40:15 +0000


God repay the conscienceless engineers  
For the pure sweet hearts with which they gamble  
Seek not their greed which monetizes fears  
And goads minds like picadores goad bulls.  
They don't seem to stop and wonder "Should I,"  
Unless the "should" could threaten the bottom line,  
Until that line becomes their only why  
And they call conscience just a Luddite whine.  
Oh, how easy, on them, to pin the blame.  
For they would not be "they" without users  
So vulnerable to weaponized shame  
And words from anonymous accusers.  
	They could not act so low were we not vain,  
	Don't let them choose what is true, what is sane.

#poetry #sonnet

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