Tag Archives: edmund spencer



 Pretty little peacocks

peacock feathers

watching beautiful lies,

displayed as fantasies

on their feather’s eyes.


Let us admire our feathers

and watch our life on stage,

while our soul searches for Camelot;

our mind sees but a page.


Come now, come all,

to Camelot I go;

the dream of purity

and righteousness I shall know.


Tither, tither,

All evil I will forsake;

and never will my quest be ended-

This vow I do make:


Never cease cradling the stars,

or reaching for the hand of God.

Camelot, my dear Camelot,

the only place I will trod.


Its Virtues I embrace,

insidiously good virtues,

and hold them as my light

Lo, it banishes all the night.


And if silent death

shall capture me before

I find my Camelot

and open its door-


Then bury me

in my feather’s tears,

so I may dream of Camelot

for the rest of my years.


Heart Reaper

Reaper of Hearts:  A Sonnet

heart reaper

Come forth, Oh spineless spiteful soulless sprite.
Come forth, from high and seemly hallowed throne.
Come forth, from dank and dark and dreary night.
Come forth, Oh faithless fake and fal’cious scone.
Were you a thing of comely beauty once?
Could you have loved with passion’s truthful grace?
Could you have worn favor trimmed with flounce?
Did you not see your action’s painful face?
Now I do see right through your vile facade.
Yes, I whose heart gave I to you, my dear.
Yes, I do know your crime and do not laud-
Now I do see the truth and do not fear.
Come forth! In truth your trial begins at dawn,
and I will ne’er again remain your pawn.

Fairy’s Ball

Continue reading

Ode to Time

This next post is a poem that I wrote as a senior in high school.  I included in a letter that was supposed to be given to me at my 10 year reunion.  The poem wasn’t that great, but having something from my past was neat!

Ode to Time

Ticking, ticking, Ticking

Invincible, Invisible clock,

The horrible hands hail life eternaltime

Upon death’s destructive door.

Moving, Moving, Moving

Man mirrored miraculously

Moving, moving, moving

Forward finally failing

Falling, falling, falling

Towards truth terrible

Telling, telling, telling,

Lucridous, lucid lies.

Living, living, living

Reliable retched recreation,

Raving, raving, raving

Callous cremated chrematophobia

Calling, calling, calling

Away…always away

Ailing, ailing, ailing

Do deal dangerously

Dying, dying, dying

Upon urgent universes

Urging, urging, urging,

Continuation, corruption, conceit

Confining, confining, confining

Life as life can live:




I love to read and write sonnets.  Some think that the sonnet’s structure is too confining; I think it is liberating.  It is like a puzzle: If put together in such a way, the effect is breathtaking.

There are three main types of sonnets: Shakespearean (English), Italian, and Spencerian. All of them are comprised of 14 lines and use descriptive language and imagery to illuminate contrasting ideas; basically a fancy metaphor.   Modern authors often look past the meter, or the rhythm part of a sonnet.  Sonnets were originally written in iambic pentameter- or 5 pairs of unstressed/stressed syllables.  Example:

Most writers (including myself at times) stick to merely ten syllables per line.  Modern language makes it extremely difficult to be true to form.

The main difference between the three types of sonnets is their end rhyme scheme. (from http://www.sonnets.org/basicforms.htm)

The Spencerian sonnet is one of my favorite; I love the Faerie Queen.

a b a b b c b c c d c d e e

The English (Shakespereian) is similar in that it also has a couplet at the end, but doesn’t repeat the rhyme scheme past the stanza or quartet. I think this is the easiest one to do.

a b a b
c d c d
e f e f
g g

The Italian sonnet on the other hand, has an octave and sestet and should never have a couplet at the end.


a b b a a b b a

Sestet could be one of the following:

c d c d c d
c d d c d c
c d e c d e
c d e c e d
c d c e d c

I am sure that there are many other forms.  I have even created my own.

Anyway, this is an example of an Elizabethan sonnet I wrote :


Lyke as/ a hus/bandman/ growing/ weary/

plowing/ his field/ day af/ter day/ forlorn/;

when har/vest tyme/ arrives/ dark and/ dreary/,

he finds/ not gold/en grain/ but vy/l thorn/.

So I/ whose love/ doth fall/ on bry/rie earth/

my seed/ doth sow/eth in/ shallow/ soyl/

swallowed/ by the/ endless/ pursuit/ of myrth/,

and re/ceiveth/ naught to/ show for/ toyl/.

Yet, hope/ I well/ the this/tle will/ soon die/

til then/ I tend/ to the/ thick thorn/y field/

dreaming/ of a/ fruitful/ time not/ yet nigh/

when the/ barren/ land more/ than thorns/ will yield/

Forsooth/, my heart/ now my/ love has/ ysnare/-

Jove sees/ the dan/ger, but/ ne’er sayes/, “Beware.”/

Again, it did not stick to iambs.  I have attempted many revisions and could never get the right words to conform.  Here is another more modern sonnet:


My masterpiece has yet to be written

In detail its heart fails to be formed.

But still my spirit is ever smitten

with the perfect gentleman of a poem.

Be wary oh my dear love-stricken soul!

Today, your love might come a-calling.

Forget not oh my heart, be not full of woe.

Smile when he approaches, or it will be your failing.

Yes, he will come; he comes soon; he comes when?

Oh, I long for him to be at my side!

From dusk to dawn; from midnight to noon,

I desire my masterpiece to be my pride.

Yet the words come not, yet the words come not.

Ever I wait, he will not be forgot.

I guess my challenge for myself now is to write a true to form sonnet, complete with the proper meter and rhyme scheme.