The Sonnet-Bomber

08/14/2020

My heart.

A tale of a silver skunk, quiet talk of an unknown sonneteer, and friends at a distance together at York's. Share in this surreal pandemic journal entry, with Callie Feyen.

06/01/2018

Sonnet-bombed under a full moon. 🌕💣
The Bomber ran into grave danger of Discovery and possible Capture, as apparently the Old Town never sleeps. The sonnet was found and whisked away into the interior before she had time to zoom away in her getaway car (the Sonnetmobile). However, all is well.

She wishes to be clear that the Old Town is the site of the Bombing, but not the target. This particular sonnet is for Liz Davis, who has worked at the OT for 33 years and has now inexplicably been let go. Today, June 1st, will be her last shift. The place will be the poorer.

Here’s the text:

A Sonnet for Liz Davis

I can’t begin to catch Liz in a sonnet,
Her wit, her generosity, her laugh—
And she too real a person—to be honest,
There is nothing I can say that tells the half.
The way she feels the swirl of life surround her
And it doesn’t always give much breathing space,
But it’s real, and she is real to those around her
With kindness, wit, and honesty, and grace.
She lets the truth nudge underneath her sternum,
She does not let love buckle under pain,
Her heart’s unshuttered and her bloodstream’s open,
As an artist’s must be, to the wind and rain.
She is the flame that warms the hearth, no doubt.
Sad is the house that lets that light go out.

With love and gratitude,
The Sonnet-Bomber

05/29/2018

Time to get this show on the road again! Any suggestions for businesses who might enjoy a little sonnet-bomb going off on their front door? Let me know your favorites!

03/12/2018

Dear friends, it has been a long time since the last sonnet exploded in Ann Arbor. I’ve had many inquiries recently about plans for more poetic bombs. Thank you. It’s touching and surprising.

I will start up again this summer. Stay tuned. I’m grateful for your interest.

01/07/2017

💣🔬🔭💡❤️

The Ann Arbor Sonnet Cycle

No. 70
Ann Arbor Hands On Museum

There is a world made to bring children wonder,
Each space revealing knowledge like a light.
Don’t stand there - test! Explore! Get in and under
And over! Measure width and depth and height!
Experience the thrill of understanding
With sand and water flowing through your hands,
And listen to your inner voice demanding
The reason why the universe expands.
Small people play with energy like play-dough,
Manipulate, control, and find out why,
And open up their brains much like a window
To let the wind of science help them fly.
Play on a stringless harp while they take wing;
Your fingers pass through light and make it sing.

With love and gratitude,
The Sonnet Bomber

01/07/2017

Sonnet-bombed in the bitter cold! The Ann Arbor Hands On Museum is No. 70 of the Ann Arbor Sonnet Cycle, and the first of 2017.

11/28/2016

The Produce Station is No. 69 of the Cycle. 💣❤️

The Ann Arbor Sonnet Cycle

No. 69
The Produce Station

Have you seen the place where fruit is shiny?
Where sweet plums glimmer and where apples gleam?
Even the grapes and kumquats and the tiny
Blueberries glow softly, so it seems.
Pyramids of luscious shining peaches,
Radiant oranges - here, take a few,
For any passing person here who reaches
A hand to take a fruit starts shining too.
You just can't help it. Shimmering and blissful,
You'll pick up bread and cheese and maybe wine,
And make the perfect meal, relaxed and simple,
To share with friends who may come by to dine.
And when they eat the fruit and cheese and bread
You’ll see them shine too - so the light will spread.

With love and gratitude,
The Sonnet Bomber

11/28/2016

The Produce Station is the latest bomb site! So pretty at night all huddled in Christmas trees. 💣🌲❤️

11/26/2016

You may have seen the article published in November's Ann Arbor Observer about Sonnet Bomber activities. Here's a link to the online article for those who missed it. Thank you, Ann Arbor Observer and Sabine Bickford for the lovely write-up!

Downtown businesses are finding poems on their windows and doors. Written and delivered anonymously, the personalized tributes are signed "The Sonnet-Bomber." Since August, more than sixty restaurants, retailers, nonprofits, and other businesses have been "bombed," and there's no end in sight for th...

11/17/2016

No. 68 of the Ann Arbor Sonnet Cycle: Pointless Brewery and Theatre. 💣🎭🍻❤️

The Ann Arbor Sonnet Cycle

No. 68
Pointless Brewery and Theatre

What is the point? I asked myself this morning.
Is there a point? I said aloud last night.
Should I go out? It’s grey and may start storming;
I may get blasted by a meteorite.
But what’s the point of worrying or whining?
What is the point in looking for the worst?
It’s hard to see the future through divining
And tough to live life thinking you’ve been cursed.
What is the point in looking for a reason?
Is there a point to asking for a point?
Just live the joy of life in every season,
Be in the moment. It won’t disappoint.
Here, have a beer, my friend, and improvise!
The pointlessness is its own perfect prize.

With love and gratitude,
The Sonnet Bomber

11/17/2016

Sonnet-bombed! The delightful Pointless Brewery & Theatre is the latest victim! 💣🍻🎭

11/12/2016

The Sonnet-Bomber has been struggling a little recently, not for want of inspiring businesses to bomb, but more because the events of the world have been sitting heavily on her. She offers you this sonnet by Phyllis McGinley to satisfy your immediate sonnet needs, and to affirm the power of love in tough circumstances.

Midcentury Love Letter
by Phyllis McGinley

Stay near me. Speak my name. Oh, do not wander
By a thought's span, heart's impulse, from the light
We kindle here. You are my sole defender
(As I am yours) in this precipitous night,
Which over earth, till common landmarks alter,
Is falling, without stars, and bitter cold.
We two have but our burning selves for shelter.
Huddle against me. Give me your hand to hold.

So might two climbers lost in mountain weather
On a high slope and taken by the storm,
Desperate in the darkness, cling together
Under one cloak and breathe each other warm.
Stay near me. Spirit, perishable as bone,
In no such winter can survive alone.