Tag Archives: sonnets

Camelot

Camelot

 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.

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Poetical Genius, Musical Harp

music notes

Amanda

Poetic Genius~musical harp;
each note, each tune a word.
‘Ere the song is uttered,
a flower blossoms–
‘T Spring once more.
Patter, patter on the heart,
rain reaches fertile soil.
Grow, grow larger than piano keys;
engulf all which pain has killed;
empty churches and ghastly mine fields.

Poetic Genus~musical harp,
enrapture with your tiny tendrils.
‘Ere the first motion finished,
a gentle fawn matures–
‘Tis Summer again.
Golden wheat more abundant
than ocean’s sand.
Hear the sea, the redundant
melancholy, washing footprints
once left by a man
upon the warm unforgiving sand.

Poetic Genius~musical harp,
descend upon the fleeting ground.
‘Ere the last motion ends
a leaf falls to earth–
‘Tis Autumn once again.
Dionysus begins his fruitful reign-
producing the bittersweet fruit.
Oh tender grape;
to consume you is a sin;
Dangling from your twisted vine,
When now did you become divine?

Poetic Genius~musical harp,
persevere through winds of time.
E’er after the song has stopped,
soft snow buries the land–
‘Tis Winter forsooth.
Memories lie dormant,
dead to world is thy youth-
Forgotten is ages past.
Yet ever on will Spring return,
Keeping her harmonious voice.
Silence holds the land in sway,
but it will not last; it will not stay.

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.

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:

Time

Six Cube

In the mode of T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland,” I am writing my own epic poem.  To do this I created my own meter and rhyme scheme:

For now it is titled, “alpha,” and it is very much a work in progress.  I only have 2 six quatres completed.  Ha, at this rate it will be a life time’s work.  I not even sure I classify it as “worth fixin.”

Anyway, I often use just the first part, or the “six cube” as a type of sonnet.  Here is an example:

I.
A.
1.

Enter in my own world
where man does not exist;
Enter in my own land
where goodness doesn’t resist.
Ye, by my very hand,
a tale I will unfold:

A tale of future time
heard only in the hearts
of the future people.
Yet, every story starts
with a simple staple
in the creator’s mind.

This truth comes together
right now- in the present;
For in the now, the past
echoes a small descent
in future; it is last
and first, but neither.

Only with the present
can the future be formed.
But this future lacks man,
yet it is not forlorn;
Although there be a ban
no person can resent

A fair future story.
Instead of man roaming
throughout the whole wide Earth,
Familiar wind is moaning
about a better birth
into golden glory:

A beautiful creature
all wrapped in mystery,
empowered by heaven
now part of history.
Yet, this is engraven
in another feature.

Sonnets

Sonnets

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.

Octave:

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 :

Furlough

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:

Masterpiece

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.

The cutting knife

Seriousness: that which is of importance, grave, critical, or somber (dictionary.com).  In order to make my writing become something of critical importance, I have prioritzed at least thirty minutes each day to do something writing related.  Tonight I sifted through old poems and placed them into two categories: tripe, and worth fixin’.  I didn’t realize I had so much of the 1st category and not enough of the 2nd.  I guess I need to get busy! 

Here is an example of sonnet I think is worth fixin’:

 

July 21, 2000

 

Oh ye of the night, be not ‘fraid of the light.

For it defines the darkness you live.

Oh ye of the light, be not ‘fraid of the night,

for even unto moon the sun must give.

 

Antithesis: day, night; sun and moon light.

Each gives definition to its host.

To each other’s light one must never spite

if another prefers the other the most.

 

For the sunlight gives way to the night.

And this for one person is sublime.

Yet the night will give way to sunlight.

And for ‘nother person is the right time.

 

From dusk to dawn to dawn to gentle night.

Everything begins and ends with the light.

 

Stanza one and the final couplet are not too shabby.  However, there are issues with the number of syllables per line (not to mention that it is *not* iambic pentameter).  AND the rhyme scheme in stanza two is somewhat lacking. I want a beta reader; editing my own work is difficult.  I have left this poem to stew for a very long time (11 1/2 years) and it still needs much polishing. 

Even if I were to fix these issues, I doubt I could publish it standalone. I still need to pair this with more sonnets or write prose to accompany it.   My initial though upon rereading this poem was the current polarized nation.  Regardless of the route I take, I need to get crackin’!