challenge

olderman
olderman Posts: 1,765
edited March 2005 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
I challenge all to write here a sonnet,
Restricted in the prose the poet rhymes,
Must be metred, patterns with love to let,
Or allude to the lust from your youth times,
Surpass in depth this crass challenge of mine,
Lest you cannot seize the moment - so quit,
Or take this challenge - show your awesome grit,
Let words flow within a structure of prime.

And when you have composed yourself clearly,
To entertain this thread - the wolves in the woods,
The vampyres, seeming to love you dearly,
With wanton lust we claim your mind and moods,
You will surrender your free prose merely,
To satisfy my challenge made of words.
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
Post edited by Unknown User on
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Comments

  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    I think of Spenser's Astrophel, his doubt
    that he might woo fair Stella not expressed
    directly to her but in roundabout
    third person discourse. Wyatt could not test
    his bravery in loving Ann Boleyn
    through sounding that plain word, the simple 'you'
    to speak the raw desire held within:
    this, many suns before Anne Henry knew.

    It fell to Shakespeare in his Sonnet One
    to tell the one he loved to share his light
    by fatherhood. Immediate in tone,
    and using second-person language, might
    we say that Shakespeare taught us how to praise
    our lover, named in joyous heart-displays?
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Bumping this up. Olderman offers the noblest challenge of all. Who's up for it?

    :)
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    I had this lecturer in 'ninety-three
    For my Renaissance Studies class, and he
    Seemed intent, as far as I could see
    To claim all sonnet-writers had to be
    Sex-starved virgin soldiers in the years
    of courtly England. "W*nking sonneteers"
    was what he called them. He had had some beers
    before the lecture, surely. There were tears
    of laughter from the lecture hall at that
    pronouncement on a bunch of poets. What
    could we do but picture Sidney flat-
    Backed and writhing as he held his hat
    over his face, whilst crying for his Queen?
    Great lovers have these sonnet-writers been!

    :D
  • Yellow
    Yellow Posts: 699
    .
    It's all yellow.


  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    I always loved this one. Shakespeare, Sonnet 65. Maybe Shakey Baby's presence on this thread might inspire us all some more. :)

    Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
    But sad mortality o'er-sways their power,
    How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
    Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
    O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
    Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
    When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
    Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
    O fearful meditation! where, alack,
    Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
    Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
    Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
    O, none, unless this miracle have might,
    That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
  • Yellow
    Yellow Posts: 699
    :D

    that fekka roits way betta-n-i-do
    It's all yellow.


  • Being Enlightened
    Being Enlightened Posts: 5,746
    I never thought of love as a flower
    Until the little bud began to bloom in my heart,
    And it's embedding it's roots and gaining power,
    It's getting strong and fast becoming a part.
    I feel it shooting right on through me,
    It's pleasant and welcomed like a warm embrace,
    And if you could look inside me, you'd see
    I was watering and feeding and giving it place.

    Oh my love, to feel the leaves unfurling,
    Sends vibrations that rock my very core.
    To feel the petals slowly, gently uncurling,
    The beauty of it makes me want so much more.
    When I long for you I can smell the sweet scent,
    My everything, my all, for you it is meant.









    Hmmmm, sappy enough? :p
    Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
  • olderman
    olderman Posts: 1,765
    thanks fins and yellow... i'll write another when i get focused . love shakes sonnets also.. and this one by Swinburne as well..

    Sonnet for a Picture


    That nose is out of drawing. With a gasp,
    She pants upon the passionate lips that ache
    With the red drain of her own mouth, and make
    A monochord of colour. Like an asp,
    One lithe lock wriggles in his rutilant grasp.
    Her bosom is an oven of myrrh, to bake
    Love's white warm shewbread to a browner cake.
    The lock his fingers clench has burst its hasp.
    The legs are absolutely abominable.
    Ah! what keen overgust of wild-eyed woes
    Flags in that bosom, flushes in that nose?
    Nay! Death sets riddles for desire to spell,
    Responsive. What red hem earth's passion sews,
    But may be ravenously untripped in hell?
    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
  • Yellow
    Yellow Posts: 699
    the sonnet is such an intensive little format...


    nice one, miss enlightened...
    It's all yellow.


  • coleen
    coleen Posts: 938
    Originally posted by Being Enlightened
    I never thought of love as a flower
    Until the little bud began to bloom in my heart,
    And it's embedding it's roots and gaining power,
    It's getting strong and fast becoming a part.
    I feel it shooting right on through me,
    It's pleasant and welcomed like a warm embrace,
    And if you could look inside me, you'd see
    I was watering and feeding and giving it place.

    Oh my love, to feel the leaves unfurling,
    Sends vibrations that rock my very core.
    To feel the petals slowly, gently uncurling,
    The beauty of it makes me want so much more.
    When I long for you I can smell the sweet scent,
    My everything, my all, for you it is meant.









    Hmmmm, sappy enough? :p

    *bows down to the goddess of LURVE*
  • olderman
    olderman Posts: 1,765
    In a vision full music I did see
    Jimi stretching strings, psychedelic blues,
    Silk shadows, dance reflections of blue sea,
    Colorful coral reefs of many hues,
    The which would have been hidden if not for
    Jimi's intense sonic whispers and screams,
    His mermaid swimming on the ocean floor,
    Castles on the beach, wash waves foam - the streams

    In high mountains where his red house did stand,
    Run clear, cool like rapids create vortex,
    Waterfalls like crashing cymbals accent
    The music in this vision of his band,
    The circus mind, the textures will now flex
    As I waken from the scene truly spent.

    a bit rough but i have alot of fun with sonnets!!
    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
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Octavia drenched deep in axis fuzz
    suspended in a two-note bending wail
    Soars ever-reaching over Marshall buzz
    throughout the Fillmore East, to prize and hail
    a new-beginning decade. Fingers blur
    upon a maple fretboard, angled high.
    "Auld Lang Syne" roars in this birthing year.
    The light show pulses life's first lighted eye.

    Nineteen-seventy. Come the fall
    The notes are searing still the reddened skies
    above Bill Graham's venue. Echoes shall
    sprawl in axis rainbow flooding cries
    landwide, to Greenwood where the man who played
    That never-waning sound of love is laid.

    That's one for you, olderman. And for Jimi too. :)
  • olderman
    olderman Posts: 1,765
    Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots
    Octavia drenched deep in axis fuzz
    suspended in a two-note bending wail
    Soars ever-reaching over Marshall buzz
    throughout the Fillmore East, to prize and hail
    a new-beginning decade in New York.
    Jimi's fingers fly, a spotlit blur
    upon a maple fretboard, angled high.
    And "Auld Lang Syne" roars in this birthing year.
    The light show pulses life's first lighted eye.

    Nineteen-seventy. Come the fall
    The notes are searing still the reddened skies
    above Bill Graham's venue. Echoes shall
    sprawl in axis rainbow flooding cries
    landwide, to Greenwood where the man who played
    That never-waning sound of love is laid.

    That's one for you, olderman. And for Jimi too. :)

    thank you fins, thank you very much, indeed
    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
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Originally posted by olderman
    thank you fins, thank you very much, indeed

    I had to change it because I had nine lines in the octet! I think I managed to condense the imagery okay, I hope, in the edit above. It didn't need the mention of New York if I said 'Fillmore East', really.

    Cheers!
    :)
  • dyaogirl
    dyaogirl Posts: 138
    I imagine you as western skies,
    As twilit seas that ferry waking dreams,
    As emerald and blue reflective eyes
    (Mirror-dancing starblaze-simple gleams).
    I hear songs: seductive; torrid; calm:
    “Come to me! Come here”. Here ends my quest!
    Breath, ageless, sings our shared, eternal psalm:
    Birth, death, years yielding to a needled breast;
    I, born of providence on Swedish Hill,
    conceive you as sound-image enters me:
    Loud choir-dreams sound deeply to instill
    Love's beautiful revealed simplicity.
    I paint the night as songs you breathe to me.
    I flourish in unscripted destiny.
    '..... Ah! A perfect illustration of the poststructuralist paradox. Does the signifier "Merlot" correspond with the 'truth' of the bottle I polished off last night, or do we hold in our thoughts a different "signified" of bottle-of-Merlot-ness? Perhaps we're dreaming of the same bottle!" -FinsburyParkCarrots

  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Originally posted by dyaogirl
    I imagine you as western skies,
    As twilit seas that ferry waking dreams,
    As emerald and blue reflective eyes
    (Mirror-dancing starblaze-simple gleams).
    I hear songs: seductive; torrid; calm:
    “Come to me! Come here”. Here ends my quest!
    Breath, ageless, sings our shared, eternal psalm:
    Birth, death, years yielding to a needled breast;
    I, born of providence on Swedish Hill,
    conceive you as sound-image enters me:
    Loud choir-dreams sound deeply to instill
    Love's beautiful revealed simplicity.
    I paint the night as songs you breathe to me.
    I flourish in unscripted destiny.

    You're in another league, my love.

    :)
  • olderman
    olderman Posts: 1,765
    Originally posted by dyaogirl
    I imagine you as western skies,
    As twilit seas that ferry waking dreams,
    As emerald and blue reflective eyes
    (Mirror-dancing starblaze-simple gleams).
    I hear songs: seductive; torrid; calm:
    “Come to me! Come here”. Here ends my quest!
    Breath, ageless, sings our shared, eternal psalm:
    Birth, death, years yielding to a needled breast;
    I, born of providence on Swedish Hill,
    conceive you as sound-image enters me:
    Loud choir-dreams sound deeply to instill
    Love's beautiful revealed simplicity.
    I paint the night as songs you breathe to me.
    I flourish in unscripted destiny.

    WOW is all i can say.. :)
    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
  • FunkeR
    FunkeR Posts: 105
    this thread funking blows
    and I think I'm the only one who knows
    I say what I want, when I want. It's freedom of fucking speech.

    Sperm, It's in you to give.




    I used to have something to say... now I'm just a caricature of who I was... it's sad, that the one piece of me I wanted for you, is nothing but a misrepresentation of everything I am.
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Many would
    write prose of indifferent portent
    and
    arrange it
    typographically on a page
    and pass it off as verse
    saying it reaches the essence
    of true soul
    more than skilled versifying.

    In this big deconstructed ether
    Quality of expression
    balanced in form and content
    isn't paramount.

    Is it?
    Is it?
  • olderman
    olderman Posts: 1,765
    all poets must adhere to this structure
    of prose and rhyme for tis history sure
    as it is your demon and obligation
    to poetry's beauty and tradition,
    words painted with black chalk on white paper
    yet portraits are written on blank vapor,
    whilst the princess doth not shine about us
    instead her love is missing perhaps must

    depart for a brighter shore perhaps love
    has caught her heart and so drawn her away
    to a place much like passions' paradise
    as will happen when those in lovers grove
    fly to some height not attained by some play -
    words are both lovers shout and love's demise.
    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

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