Scorn Not the Sonnet
Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key
Shakspeare unlocked his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camoens soothed an exile's grief;
The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned
His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp,
It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land
To struggle through dark ways; and when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul-animating strains--alas, too few!
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Sonnet ii
SCORN not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frown'd,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key
Shakespeare unlock'd his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camöens sooth'd an exile's grief;
The Sonnet glitter'd a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which Dante crown'd
His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp,
It cheer'd mild Spenser, call'd from Faery-land
To struggle through dark ways; and when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul-animating strains--alas, too few!
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wife to Be (Petrarchan Sonnet)
I stroll along a fragrant country lane
With honeysuckle perfume on the air -
And feathered crooner's warble to revere -
Then cross a golden sea of flowing grain
In empathy - it seems to sense my pain
Of knowing all was done with my affair -
Her empty meaning now the solitaire
She cast away - betrothment all in vain.
But oceans team with many fish to catch
So I must up and hoist another sail
And seek the one that really waits for me,
For soon auspicious breezes will prevail
In guiding forth to find a truer match:
The one to take my hand as wife to be.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
ma rriage
marriage marriage
marriage marriage marriage
marriage marriage marriage marriage
marriage marriage marriage marriage marriage
marriage marriage marriage marriage marriage sonnet
sonnet sonnet sonnet sonnet sonnet sonnet sonnet
sonnet sonnet sonnet sonnet sonnet sonnet
sonnet sonnet sonnet sonnet sonnet
sonnet sonnet sonnet sonnet
sonnet sonnet sonnet
sonnet sonnet
sonnet
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My loves sonnet
My loves sonnet
~
My love is an unwritten sonnet
an ode to the greatest beauty
which sparks the soul into a song
and the heart a merry dance
which brings to life many a dream
such joy I now find in me
happy my soul thanks to love
that the world should hear
and share in such sweetness
the rich melody of this sonnet
still remains unwritten
but this love, such love
inspires all creation to thought
how can such beauty
be captured in words alone
to eternity I look and beyond
to read my unwritten love
is to live and watch over it
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
El Lute
This is the story of el lute
A man who was born to be hunted like a wild animal
Because he was poor
But he refused to accept his fate
And today his honor has been restored
He was only nineteen
And he was sentenced to die
For something that somebody else did
And blamed on el lute
Then they changed it to life
And so he could escape
From then on they chased him
And searched for him day and night
All over spain
But the search was in vain for el lute
He had only seen the dark side of life
The man they called el lute
And he wanted a home just like you and like me
In a country where all would be free
So he taught himself to read and to write
It didnt help el lute
He was one who had dared to escape overnight
They had to find el lute
Soon the fame of his name
Spread like wild fire all over the land
With a price on his head
People still gave him bread
And they gave him a hand
For they knew he was right
And his fight was their fight
No one gave you a chance
In the spain of those days
On the walls every place they had put up
The face of el lute
And he robbed where he could just like once robin hood
They finally caught him and
That seemed the end
But they caught him in vain
Cause a change came for spain
And el lute
He had only seen the dark side of life
The man they called el lute
And he wanted a home just like you and like me
In a country where all would be free
And then freedom really came to his land
And also to el lute
Now he walks in the light of a sunny new day
The man they called el lute
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
This Sonnet Is Meant To Die
In hand clocked desert sands
Grain spread across the lands
Sky dived still reaching high
The sonnet meant to be mute
No word was it meant to say
All it wanted was to sway
A second longer than a lute
The sonnet meant to rise
Beyond a dark worn mask
Facing a bitterness dusk
Hiding in lights disguise
It never meant to heart
Though choked in the first breath
It never meant to flirt
Flirt with tokens of its own death
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Evolution
Long, long ago as poets know.
A sonnet was a little song
without rules you had to follow.
There was no way you could go wrong.
Petrarch invented a fixed form
and then Will Shakespeare altered it.
Both are accepted as the norm
although they vary quite a bit.
Since Will most poets had a try
to write a sonnet in their way.
The hide bound purists can't deny
there’s many sonnet forms today.
Like any art fine poetry
evolves and improves constantly.
28-Nov-08
http: // blog.myspace.com.poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The House of Life: The Sonnet
A Sonnet is a moment's monument,
Memorial from the Soul's eternity
To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be,
Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,
Of its own arduous fulness reverent:
Carve it in ivory or in ebony,
As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see
Its flowering crest impearl'd and orient.
A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals
The soul,--its converse, to what Power 'tis due: --
Whether for tribute to the august appeals
Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue,
It serve; or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath,
In Charon's palm it pay the toll to Death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
From The House Of Life The Sonnet
A Sonnet is a moment's monument,
Memorial from the Soul's eternity
To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be,
Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,
Of its own arduous fulness reverent:
Carve it in ivory or in ebony,
As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see
Its flowering crest impearl'd and orient.
A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals
The soul,--its converse, to what Power 'tis due: --
Whether for tribute to the august appeals
Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue,
It serve; or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath,
In Charon's palm it pay the toll to Death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Sonnet
A sonnet is a moment's monument, --
Memorial from the Soul's eternity
To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be,
Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,
Of its own arduous fulness reverent:
Carve it in ivory or in ebony,
As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see
Its flowering crest impearled and orient.
A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals
The soul, -- its converse, to what Power 'tis due: --
Whether for tribute to the august appeals
Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue,
It serve, or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath,
In Charon's palm it pay the toll of Death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Sonnet for Noireen
I saw you across a crowded room
I fell in love
I had to write you a sonnet
My heart went vroom vroom vroom
I asked for your hand
I won it
All the eyes were on us
As we glided across the floor
The ladies Cooed
The men cussed
All full of envy
As we danced more and more
We danced slowly
We danced swiftly
The ladies bowed so lowly
The men minced so shifty
We were too busy in love
Our steps as one so nifty
So let the music of love play on
Let the fiddler’s bow be long
As you danced like a swan
All the world stood outshone
As the crowd looked upon
At we two dancing as one
I thank the lord above
For being in that room
When I fell in love
As my heart went vroom vroom vroom
I asked for your hand
I won it
It’s been a few years now
My heart is still soaring
To you the perfect muse
I offer this humble sonnet
To one: in all ways so beautiful
To Noireen
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Life's A Sonnet
life is a trumpet
every being responds to
a banquet
singing and joy corresponds to
a pamphlet
reading comprehends to
some bank it
some complements to
awaken is the wise
lost is the nice
fed with a jolly of rice
menu with a spice
bitter taste twice
as nice
some telling lies
and surely pay the price
but to reap a slice
you ought to sweat thrice
and ding dong like a dice
but sometimes not, and your infant cries
at times you make it, and she (joyously) smiles
for life’s a sonnet, going many miles
believe you me, life’s a sonnet
that connects the next sonnet
with the stanza of the next other sonnet
a reflection of the next text
life’s a deviant not in isolation from the rest
it is within, to attest
a guarantee to be the best
or the worst
of the wild west
‘til you laid to rest
a life on your chest
a beverage to quench your pleasure and zest
an acid to fest
on you to cleanse your pest
life’s a neutron, not a proton
a nucleus of the phantom
an octopus of ransom
a means to come from
a beast to share from
indeed, life and sonnet dot com!
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Thomas Chatterton
WITH Shakspeare's manhood at a boy's wild heart,—
Through Hamlet's doubt to Shakspeare near allied,
And kin to Milton through his Satan's pride,—
At Death's sole door he stooped, and craved a dart;
And to the dear new bower of England's art,—
Even to that shrine Time else had deified,
The unuttered heart that soared against his side,—
Drove the fell point, and smote life's seals apart.
Thy nested home-loves, noble Chatterton;
The angel-trodden stair thy soul could trace
Up Redcliffe's spire; and in the world's armed space
Thy gallant sword-play:—these to many an one
Are sweet for ever; as thy grave unknown
And love-dream of thine unrecorded face.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sounds Uttered
A sound uttered by the same sonnet is unique,
You bellow in the extreme, unlike my sonnet;
The laughter attached is liking me and you,
But my poetry has love behind it, behind it.
This simple recipe called sounds of letters
Places me to say what I like about the way;
It is the way of the proud men that I speak
And not of those who shun and become remorse.
This sound I read as a letter or two shall accompany
Me and others of the same crowd, calling them
Not ignorant people, not backward groups
And not stupid or horrendous individuals.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet VII.
Let the sublimer Muse, who wrapt in night
Rides on the raven pennons of the storm,
Or o'er the field with purple havock warm
Lashes her steeds and sings along the fight,-
Let her, whom more ferocious strains delight,
Disdain the plaintive sonnet's little form,
And scorn to its mild cadence to conform
The impetuous tenor of her hardy flight.
But me, far lowliest of the sylvan train
Who wake the wood-nymphs from the forest shade
With wildest song,-me much behooves the aid
Of mingled melody, to grace my strain,
And give it power to please, as soft it flows
Through the smooth murmurs of thy frequent close.
poem by Henry Kirke White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poor Soul
Poor soul, why have you chosen this body,
decided to dwell in me? A human being
while you could have had anybody
and you could have inhabited a more divine thing?
Yet you those someone on this sinful planet called earth
a mere speck in the entire universe
and from my very birth
had to struggle in a world perverse
from what it had been designed to be
and what will you inhabit when
time and destiny brings a end to me
and where will you be then?
Or will you just vanish with the thing called life,
fading into the naught without strive?
[Reference: Sonnet 146 “Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth” by William Shakespeare.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To A Bigot
Here am I sent a wanderer like to thee,
And here a moment ere the night I stand.
The twin eternities—Has Been, Shall Be—
Gird me on either hand.
My joy or grief—the flicker of a wing
Of some brief insect in the blinding glow!
One moment down the wind my voice shall ring.
This, and no more, I know.
My soul went out amid the ways of men,
By land and sea, and to the stars o’erhead.
I deemed it lost when it came back again.
“Is there a God?” I said.
“Thou fool,” it answered, “all are truly kin.
God is the Soul of all—no power apart.
God is the spark Divine that glows within
The Temple of the Heart.”
poem by George Essex Evans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The leaf in the wind
The leaf in the wind
Missed the tree
The tree it was in
That made it be
It fell to the porch
A child held it
And gave it a stroke
Then gently left it
The wind came again
And took it to the sky
Then the sky rained
And it fell to lie
The things on the ground
Kept pushing it away
The wind had an angry sound
It wanted it in its way
So the wind blew
And picked up the leaf
And held it through
Earth’s grief and relief
No tree would claim
The young leaf left
Touched by time
Time itself had left
poem by Ragy Sandid
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Comfort of Dante
Down where the unconquered river still flows on,
One strong free thing within a prison's heart,
I drew me with my sacred grief apart,
That it might look that spacious joy upon:
And as I mused, lo! Dante walked with me,
And his face spake of the high peace of pain
Till all my grief glowed in me throbbingly
As in some lily's heart might glow the rain.
So like a star I listened, till mine eye
Caught that lone land across the water-way
Wherein my lady breathed,-now breathing is-
'O Dante,' then I said, 'she more than I
Should know thy comfort, go to
her
, I pray.'
'Nay!' answered he, 'for she hath Beatrice.'
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Praise of a Sonnet
(this is not a true sonnet)
A sonnet, in classical form a charm
soft as sun dawn, it wakens spirit love
calling you, wanting you, it takes your arm
and whisks you away on wings of a dove.
There it holds you with its perfect meter
lullabying with it’s iambic tone.
Nothing does compare or could be sweeter
than the dance of love as poets have shown.
So take my hand and let us dance today
with these magic words penned so long ago.
We shall taste them, taste them without delay,
so succulent it makes our souls to glow.
A sonnet, lovingly given… hold tight
As dawn’s first light makes your spirit take flight.
The Torture Will Be Sonnet-Drip
'Aha! Game's afoot, Wats, ole boy, ole pal.
What's this? Words on the people-page,
which had no use for them?
Agog! Magog! Then why did readers
read that rubharb? Aha! Googa! '
Puff, puff, shuffle of schematic rhyme,
time, chime, not fine, and definitely
sublime, went off the balconey, haughtily.
'Sonnets' upon us! Run from the dulldom!
Ten speed! Always the ten speed! Where's
the racer with fresh motion, ignoring
the notion 'sonnets' sacred cow must
be fed with musty, rancid, green-globby
fungus of yesterday's literary world? ' '
'Wats, here's the plan, the ruse, the
gag for the 'in a literary rut' writers....
in the dungeon with them all!
And, slowly....so slowly....drip words
of the 'sacred cow' upon their forehead.
Sonnet-torture them all! Which sonnet writer?
Shakespeare, Petrarch, Spenser....all
the ones who statically stay the same
for all time! And....are....worshipped.'
poem by Elysabeth Faslund
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!