KISS ME KATE! (for Helen)
A Blazon sonnet?
That’s the one an
Elizabethan lover
would turn his
Elizabethan Miss
into a
list
itemise her attributes
(hidden or otherwise)
& tick ‘em off
bit by bit
like a ledger clerk
closing an account.
From the colour
of her eyes
(always had to be blue)
to the colour of her
hair(always a blonde)
from toes to tit
in one hit.
Sincere...not
the least little bit!
Yawn...stop me if you have heard this one!
A fashion accessory
for the gay young blade about town
already fallen out of fashion
before it had barely begun.
“Oi...darling! ”
“Yeah...you love! ”
“Get your ruff on
...you’ve pulled! ”
“I got 14 lines
Petrarchan or Shakespearean
...know wot I mean? ! ”
And a clever
clearheaded Elizabethan lady
would more than likely
(but politely)
tell ‘em
“Oh...f***est thou
off! ”
******
As Shakes puts it in Sonnet 106
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
Shakey also turned the blazon upside down in his famous sonnet 130:
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun,
Coral is far more red than her lips' red,
If snow be white, why then her breast are dun;
If hairs be wires, blackwires grow on her head.
I have seen roses, damask'd red and white,
But no such rose see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, - yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go, -
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare!
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Related quotes
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Sonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
poem by William Shakespeare
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My mistress’ eyes (in answer to William Shakespeare)
My mistress’ eyes has a bluer hue to them
than the colour of the cobalt sky,
not coral nor tomato can compare
to the soft care that I find on her lips
and the touch of her fingertips
is more gentle than any breeze
and the colour of her hair is rarer, more unique
than that of grass, or that which metal wires can hold
and her breasts and nipples
has a greater purity, enticement to them
than any snow or the darling buds of May
and the beauty that she holds, is more fragrant
than the flowers that even roses do display
when our true need for each other unfolds.
[Reference: Sonnet “My mistress’ eyes” by William Shakespeare]
poem by Gert Strydom
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In sheer beauty my mistress’ eyes exceeds the sun (in answer to William Shakespeare)
In sheer beauty my mistress’ eyes exceeds the sun,
her lips is more pretty than it’s rising,
her breasts are tender and pure, each one
with a pink fragility, rose tipped, quite amazing
and no wires or even wheat or corn is apt to the hue
of her fair hair, or as tender as its strings
and her breath, her odour outshines that of her retinue
and in its freshness reminding me of new awakenings
and some coy innocence is in the blush on her cheeks
when alluring she is passionate and ready for my delight
and almost hungrily, reaches seeks
for my company, my body as a lily of the night:
spreading her petals, unfolding, drawing me into her embrace
in sheer magic, using almost divine grace.
[Reference: Sonnet 130 My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun by William Shakespeare.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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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
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Don't Tell THe World! (Sonnet)
This Sonnet is in the popular Petrarchan Form
I behold thy love as beautiful thing,
In my wrecked heart, a pleasure garden,
Thy revered love, a blooming Eden.
A daisy tuft seasoned by bright spring,
Surging in moments that defeats waiting,
I behold thy words as a jeweled crown,
On my worn pages of despicable frown.
And thy memory feeds my mind dying,
Daring couple disclose, but don’t you tell,
About memoirs many encased and kept,
Say not thy chronicle, sweet as daisy smell,
Buried, not unseen to thy eyes except
Reveal not, the guarded stash of our love,
Lest a rational world desires to know! ! !
IA NOTE: For those who find the format unfitting to a sonnet!
(Sonnet
only 14 lines long— and has a firmly fixed form. The sonnet works best for expressing strong emotion or intense feeling, firm purpose, or great seriousness. This form works best if you want to focus attention on a single thing—a particular idea, situation, emotion, problem, observation, etc. —the sonnet gets to its point quickly and efficiently, with beauty and charm of form or expression.
The Shakespearean (or English) sonnet and the Petrarchan (or Italian) sonnet are the two most prevalent versions of this form today.
A Shakespearean sonnet or English sonnet is written in one stanza composed of three rhymed quatrains (each making one point in a three-step argument) , followed by a rhyming couplet that summarizes the argument
A Petrarchan sonnet or Italian sonnet is composed of an octet followed by a sestet with a variable rhyme scheme. The octet presents the poem’s theme or problem, while the sestet offers a change or a resolution. In its traditional form, this sonnet never ends in a couplet.
Robert Frost was popular at Petrarchan form of sonnets.
sonnet’s formal requirements (14 lines of iambic pentameter with a specific rhyme scheme) , method (a strong focus on one subject) , and goals (persuasion, surprise, balance) ,
Ref: www.poetry.com/techniques/form of poetic expressions.
Thank You
poem by Seema Aarella
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Sonnet of Love
We stand on the ground
upon a turning page
brandishing like a banner in the wind.
Here in the branch of land
and the debris of its flipping leaves
and the page
that in its lines
absorbs the ink of our fate
the book that from the green ink of our phase
prints the unsettling song of its departures
with the words that
they seize hands to serenade
And to tune
the golden grove of our chests
when they burst in their love
and the white flutter of our wings
grafting
in the dove of our hearts
The graft like the rose's red sonnet of blooming!
Like the sonnet of colors when they surrender to your eyes!
and the worship of leaves
in temple of the stems!
Like the sonnet of sun ridge
on the hackle of our hands
Like the nest of lights on branches of our faith
Like the sonnet of borderless regions
and remote lands
The sonnet of reborn paths
and the womb of the passages
that is brimming of the rays of sunshine
poem by Hammadh Zareer
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Dunne Studying.
Dunne watches her mistress sleep.
There is the flickering of the eyelids
As if in dream. She gets out of bed
And with soft tread walks to her
Mistress’s bed side and looks down.
She holds her breath. She takes in
Each aspect of the face and neck
And how the hair is spread upon
The pillow. She wants to lean down
And kiss the lips, put flesh to flesh.
She hovers like some hawk waiting
To fly down and take her fine prey.
She breathes out slowly. She watches
The rise and fall of her mistress’s breast.
She moves out a hand to lay it there
But does not touch. She imagines so.
Imagines also climbing into the bed
And snuggling up close and kissing
The nape of neck. Her hand lingers
Over the breasts. Her eyes greedily
Study the soft cheek. She breathes
In deep. Her heart pounds within her
Breast. So near so near. She imagines
Lying within those arms and feeling
The hands caress her back. Her mistress
Stirs and she moves away. Walks back
To her own bed to await the light of day.
poem by Terry Collett
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From Beth to Vickie
One summer he read rows
and rows of Elizabethan verse,
from an anthology whose jacket
was illustrated with a red rose.
That was the summer
he was in love with a sophomore
named Elizabeth Forrest,
soft and more precious than a dove.
Lovelier than verse
and theology, Beth was both
the tree and the forest—
she rose above it all.
But summer dwindles
and love loses its petals too—
His Elizabethan period closed that fall
when he met a senior named Victoria.
poem by Sonny Rainshine
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Requiescat
TREAD lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone
She is at rest.
Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life's buried here,
Heap earth upon it.
AVIGNON.
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Sonnet
My friend and me
My friend and me
Looking through her red box of memories
Looking through her red box of memories
Faded Im sure
Faded Im sure
But love seems to stick in her veins you know
But love seems to stick in her veins you know
Yes, theres love if you want it
Dont sound like no sonnet, my lord
Yes, theres love if you want it
Yes, theres love if you want it
Dont sound like no sonnet, my lord
Dont sound like no sonnet, my lord
Yes, theres love if you want it
My lord
Dont sound like no sonnet, my lord
My lord
Why cant you see
That nature has its way of warning me
Eyes open wide
Why cant you see
Looking at the heavens with a tear in my eye
That nature has its way of warning me
Eyes open wide
Yes, theres love if you want it
Looking at the heavens with a tear in my eye
Dont sound like no sonnet, my lord
Yes, theres love if you want it
Dont sound like no sonnet, my lord
Yes, theres love if you want it
My lord
Dont sound like no sonnet, my lord
Yes, theres love if you want it
Sinking faster than a boat without a hull
Dont sound like no sonnet, my lord
My lord
My lord
Dreaming about the day when I can see you there
My side
By my side
Sinking faster than a boat without a hull
My lord
Here we go again and my head is gone, my lord
Dreaming about the day when I can see you there
I stop to say hello
My side
cause I think you should know, by now
By my side
By now
By now
By now
Here we go again and my head is gone, my lord
By now
I stop to say hello
By now
cause I think you should know, by now
Oh, by now
By now
Oh, by now
By now
Oh, by now
By now
Oh, by now
By now
By now
Oh, by now
Oh, by now
Oh, by now
Oh, by now
song performed by by Verve
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Is Not Beauty I Demand
It is not Beauty I demand,
A crystal brow, the moon's despair,
Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand,
Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair.
Tell me not of your starry eyes,
Your lips that seem on roses fed,
Your breasts where Cupid trembling lies,
Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed.
A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks,
Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours,
A breath that softer music speaks
Than summer winds a-wooing flowers.
These are but gauds; nay, what are lips?
Coral beneath the ocean-stream,
Whose brink when your adventurer sips
Full oft he perisheth on them.
And what are cheeks but ensigns oft
That wave hot youth to fields of blood?
Did Helen's breast though ne'er so soft,
Do Greece or Ilium any good?
Eyes can with baleful ardor burn,
Poison can breath that erst perfumed,
There's many a white hand holds an urn
With lovers' hearts to dust consumed.
For crystal brows--there's naught within,
They are but empty cells for pride;
He who the Syren's hair would win
Is mostly strangled in the tide.
Give me, instead of beauty's bust,
A tender heart, a loyal mind,
Which with temptation I could trust,
Yet never linked with error find.
One in whose gentle bosom I
Could pour my secret heart of woes.
Like the care-burdened honey-fly
That hides his murmurs in the rose.
My earthly comforter! whose love
So indefeasible might be,
That when my spirit won above
Hers could not stay for sympathy.
poem by George Darley
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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
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Exemplary - after William Shakespeare Sonnet XVIII
Shall I compare her? In what galaxy,
And when or where? No mirror could reflect
Nature's epitome so talent decked,
Gainsaying self, Time holds all time in fee!
Telescopes in vain seek other sun
One half as bright, whose universal joy,
Might Big Bang justify, all it begun.
All would exchange their place for her employ.
Myths don truth’s dress, coeval, - past, to be,
Aeons root, shoot, fruit, tree, end and start,
Under, above, in, out, earth, sky and sea,
Do merge, name frame as “all in one” apart.
Exemplary, all praise she’ll gain through giving,
Cycles may spin, yet one, though lost stays living.
© Jonathan Robin & Maude Corrieras Acrostic Sonnet Sang to ma Maude C 17 June 2008
Author notes
Sonnet XVIII
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often in his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
William Shakespeare Sonnet XVIII
poem by Jonathan Robin
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All Hail My Dear Mistress I
My dear mistress
People comment on you
Even in my presence
Your love in me is hard to take away
People respect me
Because of you
Your succulent lips
Makes me go crazy
My dear mistress
Your love in me
Is like a precious seed planted
That is hard to uproot
My dear mistress
I am happy and sad
Because I fear for the future
That we missed out on each other
My dear mistress
Oh lord!
I wish you prepared her for me
To marry in future
I wish she mothered my future children
My dear mistress.
poem by Tolulope Modupe
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I Do Not Love Thee For That Fair
I do not love thee for that fair
Rich fan of thy most curious hair;
Though the wires thereof be drawn
Finer than threads of lawn,
And are softer than the leaves
On which the subtle spider weaves.
I do not love thee for those flowers
Growing on thy cheeks, love's bowers;
Though such cunning them hath spread,
None can paint them white and red:
Love's golden arrows thence are shot,
Yet for them I love thee not.
I do not love thee for those soft
Red coral lips I've kissed so oft,
Nor teeth of pearl, the double guard
To speech whence music still is heard;
Though from those lips a kiss being taken
Mighty tyrants melt, and death awaken.
I do not love thee, O my fairest,
For that richest, for that rarest
Silver pillar, which stands under
Thy sound head, that globe of wonder;
Though that neck be whiter far
Than towers of polished ivory are.
poem by Thomas Carew
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In The Rose Garden
RED roses bright, pink roses and white
That bud and blossom and fall;
The very sight of my heart's delight
Is more than worth them all!
Is worth far more than the whole sweet store
That ever a garden grew--
She plucked the best to die at her breast,
But it laughed and it bloomed anew!
The red rose lay at her lips to-day,
And flushed with the joy thereof;
She said a word that the white rose heard,
And the white rose paled with love.
But the west wind blows, and my lady goes,
And she leaves the world forlorn;
And every rose that the garden grows,
Might just as well be a thorn!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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To His Sleeping Mistress
Oh, fair sweet face! oh, eyes, celestial bright,
Twin stars in heaven, that now adorn the night!
Oh, fruitful lips, where cherries ever grow,
And damask cheeks, where all sweet beauties blow!
Oh, thou, from head to foot divinely fair!
Cupid's most cunning net's made of that hair;
And, as he weaves himself for curious eyes,
'Oh me, oh me, I'm caught myself!' he cries:
Sweet rest about thee, sweet and golden sleep,
Soft peaceful thoughts, your hourly watches keep,
Whilst I in wonder sing this sacrifice,
To beauty sacred, and those angel eyes!
poem by John Fletcher
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Convinced Me She is….
Is she an angel?
I asked the stars
They were dubious
The angelic smile,
The ruddy cheek and
Divine magnanimity
Convinced me she is…
Is she a glacier?
I asked the arctic mountains
They were too, dubious
The radiant beauty,
The well carved and
The blazon sculptured features
Convinced me she is…
Is she an icy mountain stream?
I asked the icy mountains
They were too, dubious
The sweet rippling gift of the gab,
The flashy blue eyes and
The wavy hair
Convinced me she is…
Her presence in my infinity dreams,
With all her grace and beauty
Made me a man of desires
Hence, whispered, I love her, I love her,
I Love you.. I Love you.. I cried, as loudly as I could
My love to hear my love
But the winds snatched it and
The clouds then, if she heard my yelps, I am dubious…
April 16-2009
poem by Nooruddeen Mathilakathveetil
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Sonnet On A Star
If I could write a sonnet
on a star
Then bottle it and
toss it to the sea
Would it travel
to the corners of the Earth,
And echo there
the love I hold for thee? If I could write a sonnet
on the moon
Then bottle it and
toss it to the winds
Would it find your heart
So you may briefly know,
Where your love ends
Is where my love begins? If I could write a sonnet
on the sun
Then bottle it and
toss it throughout time
Would someone from a distant galaxy
Find no greater love
Than that was mine Yet, I cannot write a sonnet
on a star,
Nor moon, nor even on
the blazing sun,
Nor bottle words to send them
Where you are
Nor coerce our separate hearts
To beat as one And so my darling
You will never hear
The humble words of love
I wrote for thee
They remain encrypted,
tightly sealed
And yet they travel
on eternally
poem by Tamara Beryl Latham
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