It was great, Ruby. And don't worry about the extra two lines. Many sonnets deviate from the norm. For example, Shakespeare's Sonnet 126 has only twelve lines (whether by accident or design, no-one knows); Sonnet 145 is written in iambic tetrameter (four feet), not pentameter at all. I think Tony Harrison has written sixteen line sonnet-type poems also.
come off it ruby....your Mrs Neave defines something.....that something is relief.....and it's defined now.....let's all sigh.....keep posting please.....:)
....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
Originally posted by olderman i walked upon the eastern shore with sand
hot between my toes as the salt filled air
filled my senses, consumed me with her hand
her touch was soft like dream whipped cream tis fair
she sang of love and weather in love's grasp
neither hides amongst rocks along the reef
nor washes to shore in clumps of sea grass
yet must be found for these are my belief -
while love's box is replete - songs of merry days,
the beach is a good walk for remembrance
of love in the past, so much is sweet lust
bring on the surf and the sharp sting of rays
from the jelly fish, whose transluscence
invades my senses, yet, for now, i trust
Smooth are the verses, as well as their flow... Pretty nice...
Awsome thread, beautiful sonnets... Keep on rocking you guys
I can't be free with what's locked inside of me...
He had gone to the wild to settle his mind
For days and nights, growing wise to the way
With never a thought, what he left behind
Resting his mind, from his path he won’t stray
Shadows wrap around him entirely
He’s charmed the night to accompany him
Light strains snap a thought, you should cry for me
The trees respond, For you, we bow our limbs
Their leaves had fell, as they wept for the night
The winds then chilled, leaving tears on the ground
The man then was covered in a bright white
Radiance so bright, life sprang all around
As all the seasons all come and then go
This man takes their lives, to help them grow
....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
I know where that photo was taken: Near Magdalene Bridge in the centre of the city. The next bridge down from this scene, just a few yards away, is Jesus Green footbridge, from which Nick Drake is reputed to have conceived his song "Riverman".
hot grilled brats laid upon buns with mustard
spread over the tops as ice cold beers' flow,
sun baked grilling chefs, jolly, laughing hard,
young women show their beauty, don't you know?
the lot at arrowhead will jump tonite,
from grills delicious smoke will form a cloud,
colorful reds and golds, all is just right,
the din will rise, those voices will be loud-
just before kickoff, time for "start me up",
roars of approval from the well fed throng,
one more sausage, one more lager to swill,
the teams crash the scene with helmets, hold your cup
lest it spill on the pretty lady's sarong,
nice nite for football, embers glow the grill
(for those not familiar with the National Football League, the Kansas City Chiefs are playing a pre-season game tonite at Arrowhead Stadium in KC and the team's colors are red and gold)
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
As It Was in the Beginning, Is Now and Ever Shall Be,
World Without End (On The Whitehill Road Allotment Site)
Light planes toot and parp up in the top-
heavy Cambridge sky, above fen drills
of cabbages and carrots (tops aflop,
protruding from allotment soil in spills
of leaf curls, wind-a-bob); on this site
of little sheds, ten early morning men
dig new potato furrows. Slow, a kite
flies up from Coldham's Common now and then.
But in the next-door Abbey Stadium
a ball is being booted, echoes ranging
into halls of blue sky. Here's the drum
of Saturday momentum-building, banging.
All these men will down their forks, and soon
they'll line to catch the match this afternoon.
Here's a brand new one I just wrote in the past hour, for the Nun, which I include here too as part of the olderman-Finsbury poem exchange programme.
Hector
In your roar of laughter, plumes upon
your golden battle helmet shake like death
beneath an airswung sword. And in your breath
of boasted fearlessness, your infant son
wails in his mother's arms in unison
with soldiers' bloodgasps, teeming underneath
your city battlements. You will bequeath
him feasting dogs, once Argive fleets have won.
Oh, Hector! See the flashing diadem
Andromache, your wife is wearing? How
it captures your reflection, multiplied
in rainbow spectres, you, within each gem;
Your glory? Death wan dust. How she will throw
Hope's ghosts to ground, when you, her light, have died.
These poems are excellent! I'm still working on my NJ poems, but I'll add one soon.
There is no such thing as leftover pizza. There is now pizza and later pizza. - anonymous The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
The Hector sonnet above followed a Petrarchan rhyme scheme (abbaabbacdecde). This next sonnet is my own scheme, I think: abbabccbdedeff. It also makes use of what used in the old days to be called "feminine" endings (ie: lines of four iambic, and one amphibrachic, feet).
Old shelves prop up concordances (outmoded,
so you hear, by new editions); fading
foolscap on your desk declares your jading
penmark. Lifelong care to have decoded
ancient stones, before new studies flooded
lecture halls and bookshops, weaves your ebbing,
cataracting sight in deskgloom webbing:
You embrace the waste your critics boded.
Now a bright young man (not college stock)
Deciphers all the symbols on the stones,
Showing up your work as poppycock:
Dust thrown wide in digging up old bones.
Blind white beckonings to aged dread
consume a broken vision none will read.
What made me so different from them all?
I had never seen what they seem to see
I cannot be who they want me to be
Their egos above me, I want to crawl
For months at a time, my life had to stall
A shroud of darkness had come around me
Hiding in the shadows had always been key Am I real? Because my feelings gone dull
In the mirror I stare myself eye to eye This man is to be no one but himself
I think to myself; my soul swells and crests
The book slams shut and then placed on the shelf
Then the memories were leashed up like pets
The darkness within me left with a sigh
That night had been very lonely and sad
I had nothing more than a broken heart
With my actions, I made her very mad
Time was spent alone, ‘till I fell apart
Why didn’t she understand how I feel?
She had never returned my love for her
Why had it been my heart she had to steal? It is revenge, with my self I concur
I then prepared my 9mm
I was going to her to show my love
Her words I noted, seemed a touch sweeter
She said she had missed me, at least kind of
I looked into her eyes with much vigor
We shared love, and then I pulled the trigger
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
Nope. Percival is a charact that my friend and I made up. I write the story, he does the voice. He does like 80% of the work. Chip, the friend from Manhattan who does the voice, is an actor. He does the voice very well.
Some sonnets use tetrameter, some sonnets are twelve or sixteen lines and most sonnets, I think, deviate from iambics (take for example, Shakespeare's Sonnet 94 with its concluding line "LILies/ that FESTer/SMELL FAR WORSE/ than WEEDS", a tetrametric line comprising a trochee, an amphibrach, a mollossus and an iamb).
Here's Patrick Kavanagh's fourteen line sonnet "Come Dance With Kitty Stobling" that breaks lots of rules but is still in my view a supreme modern example of the form:
Come Dance with Kitty Stobling(1960)
No! no! no! I know I was not important as I moved
Through the colourful country, I was but a single
Item in the picture, the name, not the beloved.
O tedious man with whom no gods commingle.
Beauty, who has described beauty? Once upon a time
I had a myth that was a lie but it served:
Trees walking across the crest of hills and my rhyme
Cavorting on mile-high stilts and the unnerved
Crowds looking up with terror in their rational faces.
O dance with Kitty Stobling I outrageously
Cried out-of-sense to them, while their timorous paces
Stumbled behind Jove's page boy paging me.
I had a very pleasant journey, thank you sincerely
For giving me my madness back, or nearly.
Shakespeare Sonnet 126 throws off the whole ababcdcdefefgh.line pattern..it's 12 lines. I always though it was ab etc cd etc ef etc ab..but I think it ends differently with gh,from what I studied and am looking at.Just in case anybody has a complete works around.
A whisper and a thrill
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
Waste not your time on blabbering babies,
Jack had his dog put to sleep for rabies,
Chester came home found his wife entangled,
Anthony was killed, his body mangled,
Sarah sought solitude in the convent,
Clara found cheer in a lustful moment,
Ashley seeks fortune from illness and health,
Patrick disguised his wicked bent for death.
Strangers like these plod through our dark story,
Beggars all they dwell in the blank recess,
Minds tormented by past deeds unforgiven,
Sorrow's victor buried with no glory,
Edit the play with love's smiling excess,
Cheerful, thankful - as was freely given.
**feel free to help me with the sextet.. especially the last two lines.. thanks for reading**
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
i walked a strangers path of heated sand,
a burros trail lined with rose red cactii,
the gypsies way to avoid guardia grand
de sevilla and franco's killers nigh,
andalusia's distinct aroma,
pill box remnants of war along beaches,
oily vessels darken the bubbled foam,
whilst remnants of moorish inward teaches
the gypsy that he lost his land long ago,
a freedom born of freedom still taken
away as is the way it seems to be
among those who wish to traverse a slow
long trail of hot sand in a land forsaken,
just a ditty, a remnant by the sea......
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,--behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave
Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.
I knew one who had lifted it--he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love,
But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains, the which he could approve.
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
Comments
Smooth are the verses, as well as their flow... Pretty nice...
Awsome thread, beautiful sonnets... Keep on rocking you guys
For days and nights, growing wise to the way
With never a thought, what he left behind
Resting his mind, from his path he won’t stray
Shadows wrap around him entirely
He’s charmed the night to accompany him
Light strains snap a thought, you should cry for me
The trees respond, For you, we bow our limbs
Their leaves had fell, as they wept for the night
The winds then chilled, leaving tears on the ground
The man then was covered in a bright white
Radiance so bright, life sprang all around
As all the seasons all come and then go
This man takes their lives, to help them grow
http://www.maps.kaoshq.com/ALLmaps/Swan.jpg
taken about 1990.....
spread over the tops as ice cold beers' flow,
sun baked grilling chefs, jolly, laughing hard,
young women show their beauty, don't you know?
the lot at arrowhead will jump tonite,
from grills delicious smoke will form a cloud,
colorful reds and golds, all is just right,
the din will rise, those voices will be loud-
just before kickoff, time for "start me up",
roars of approval from the well fed throng,
one more sausage, one more lager to swill,
the teams crash the scene with helmets, hold your cup
lest it spill on the pretty lady's sarong,
nice nite for football, embers glow the grill
(for those not familiar with the National Football League, the Kansas City Chiefs are playing a pre-season game tonite at Arrowhead Stadium in KC and the team's colors are red and gold)
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
World Without End (On The Whitehill Road Allotment Site)
Light planes toot and parp up in the top-
heavy Cambridge sky, above fen drills
of cabbages and carrots (tops aflop,
protruding from allotment soil in spills
of leaf curls, wind-a-bob); on this site
of little sheds, ten early morning men
dig new potato furrows. Slow, a kite
flies up from Coldham's Common now and then.
But in the next-door Abbey Stadium
a ball is being booted, echoes ranging
into halls of blue sky. Here's the drum
of Saturday momentum-building, banging.
All these men will down their forks, and soon
they'll line to catch the match this afternoon.
Here are there forms
Petrarchan sonnet, abbaabba+(cdecde, cdccdc, or cdedce)
Shakespearean sonnet, abab+bcvc+cdcd+ee
Spenserian sonnet, abab+bcbc+cdcd+ee
The last 6 lines of the Petrarchan needs to be resolution, revalation, or at the least it should bring closure.
Hector
In your roar of laughter, plumes upon
your golden battle helmet shake like death
beneath an airswung sword. And in your breath
of boasted fearlessness, your infant son
wails in his mother's arms in unison
with soldiers' bloodgasps, teeming underneath
your city battlements. You will bequeath
him feasting dogs, once Argive fleets have won.
Oh, Hector! See the flashing diadem
Andromache, your wife is wearing? How
it captures your reflection, multiplied
in rainbow spectres, you, within each gem;
Your glory? Death wan dust. How she will throw
Hope's ghosts to ground, when you, her light, have died.
The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
Old shelves prop up concordances (outmoded,
so you hear, by new editions); fading
foolscap on your desk declares your jading
penmark. Lifelong care to have decoded
ancient stones, before new studies flooded
lecture halls and bookshops, weaves your ebbing,
cataracting sight in deskgloom webbing:
You embrace the waste your critics boded.
Now a bright young man (not college stock)
Deciphers all the symbols on the stones,
Showing up your work as poppycock:
Dust thrown wide in digging up old bones.
Blind white beckonings to aged dread
consume a broken vision none will read.
What made me so different from them all?
I had never seen what they seem to see
I cannot be who they want me to be
Their egos above me, I want to crawl
For months at a time, my life had to stall
A shroud of darkness had come around me
Hiding in the shadows had always been key
Am I real? Because my feelings gone dull
In the mirror I stare myself eye to eye
This man is to be no one but himself
I think to myself; my soul swells and crests
The book slams shut and then placed on the shelf
Then the memories were leashed up like pets
The darkness within me left with a sigh
I had nothing more than a broken heart
With my actions, I made her very mad
Time was spent alone, ‘till I fell apart
Why didn’t she understand how I feel?
She had never returned my love for her
Why had it been my heart she had to steal?
It is revenge, with my self I concur
I then prepared my 9mm
I was going to her to show my love
Her words I noted, seemed a touch sweeter
She said she had missed me, at least kind of
I looked into her eyes with much vigor
We shared love, and then I pulled the trigger
Percival himself reading the sonnet
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
I was wondering, how important do you feel it is to use iambic pentameter in sonnets?
Here's Patrick Kavanagh's fourteen line sonnet "Come Dance With Kitty Stobling" that breaks lots of rules but is still in my view a supreme modern example of the form:
Come Dance with Kitty Stobling(1960)
No! no! no! I know I was not important as I moved
Through the colourful country, I was but a single
Item in the picture, the name, not the beloved.
O tedious man with whom no gods commingle.
Beauty, who has described beauty? Once upon a time
I had a myth that was a lie but it served:
Trees walking across the crest of hills and my rhyme
Cavorting on mile-high stilts and the unnerved
Crowds looking up with terror in their rational faces.
O dance with Kitty Stobling I outrageously
Cried out-of-sense to them, while their timorous paces
Stumbled behind Jove's page boy paging me.
I had a very pleasant journey, thank you sincerely
For giving me my madness back, or nearly.
Patrick Kavanagh
Copyright © Estate of Katherine Kavanagh
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
Jack had his dog put to sleep for rabies,
Chester came home found his wife entangled,
Anthony was killed, his body mangled,
Sarah sought solitude in the convent,
Clara found cheer in a lustful moment,
Ashley seeks fortune from illness and health,
Patrick disguised his wicked bent for death.
Strangers like these plod through our dark story,
Beggars all they dwell in the blank recess,
Minds tormented by past deeds unforgiven,
Sorrow's victor buried with no glory,
Edit the play with love's smiling excess,
Cheerful, thankful - as was freely given.
**feel free to help me with the sextet.. especially the last two lines.. thanks for reading**
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
a burros trail lined with rose red cactii,
the gypsies way to avoid guardia grand
de sevilla and franco's killers nigh,
andalusia's distinct aroma,
pill box remnants of war along beaches,
oily vessels darken the bubbled foam,
whilst remnants of moorish inward teaches
the gypsy that he lost his land long ago,
a freedom born of freedom still taken
away as is the way it seems to be
among those who wish to traverse a slow
long trail of hot sand in a land forsaken,
just a ditty, a remnant by the sea......
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,--behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave
Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.
I knew one who had lifted it--he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love,
But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains, the which he could approve.
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
you from jersey? or chicago ???
it's only after you've lost everything ...that you are free to do anything....(Fight Club)
... I'll ride the wave...where it takes me....