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
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Related quotes
Sonnet- Sonnet Needs Rhymes
Can you a Sonnet write without its rhyme?
Now people want the modern verse that's free;
As ideas get stuck and cramped with time,
A Sonnet's like leafless branches of tree!
A Sonnet's great for men who rhyme too well;
Its beauty lives in metre, rhythm, rhyme;
Yet, it can never run into 'pel-mel';
The sonneteer can write in any clime.
Why abhor rhymes and not a Sonnet write?
Each genre has its rules to comply with;
Why sleep all day and stay awake all night?
Rhyme-play is done by Kindergarden kith!
Why ridicule something you can't do well,
Much things are done by practice, Sonnets tell.
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: My Poetic Evolution
From simple Rhymes that Kinder-gardens teach,
And little songs that children love to sing,
I worked my way, up to what Poets reach,
And tried to soar the Skies with my own Wing!
And then I came to know what metre was;
And Rhythm melody of words and sounds;
And soon I was some kind of Poetic-Boss;
And tried my skill of words in newer grounds!
The old was gold but people wanted new;
I had to write 'free verses' now and then;
My Sonnets sprung with speed and divine hue;
My Wings were strong enough to reach Heaven!
Believe-it-or-not, I'm World's Sonnet-King!
Each Sonnet was just a ten- minute thing!
poem by John Celes
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Most Of The So Called Literary Experts
Most of the so called literary experts are dismissive of rhyme
They say 'tis the poetry of a long gone time
Yet the poets that they laud the poems they do write
Cannot be put to music and are hard to read and recite
The rhymer of today is not looked on as a poet
Or is not seen as one worthy of literary note
By the so called literary experts with literary degrees
Though their judgement on what is or is not poetry not everyone does please
They never will convince the old style rhyme buff
To him or her well written rhyme is not throw away stuff
In well written rhyme are the words to a song
And good rhyming poetry to music belong
Yet the degreed literary experts who on poetry like to have their say
Dismiss rhyming poets and their poetry as of yesterday.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Edgar Allan Poe
An American literary icon but what caused his death none seem to know
He was more than a man of words the great Edgar Allan Poe
He died when in his forties his best writing years of him ahead
His fame has attained greatness and he is widely read.
Most writers in their forties have scarcely reached their writing prime
His marvellous poem 'The Raven' has not faded out in time
A writer for all ages and one of literary note
And many who love literature have him as their favourite poet.
In life he was quite famous in death greatness he did attain
As an immortal literary gem 'The Raven' does remain
In the English speaking Countries of the World from North to Southern shore
His writings remain popular and his readers now far more
Than he had in his lifetime his genius is living on
Whilst millions of his contemporaries to obscurity have gone
Despite the passing of time his literary legend grow
Though in his too brief life span few him did wish to know.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Pipe Song
Care is all stuff:--
Puff! Puff!
To puff is enough:--
Puff! Puff
More musky than snuff,
And warm is a puff:--
Puff! Puff
Here we sit mid our puffs,
Like old lords in their ruffs,
Snug as bears in their muffs:--
Puff! Puff
Then puff, puff, puff,
For care is all stuff,
Puffed off in a puff--
Puff! Puff!
poem by Herman Melville
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Mr.Puff
My dog Mr.Puff,
Mr. Puff has got the stuff,
He's white and fluffy,
And full of glee,
He's very cute and always happy,
Mr. Puff is a ladies man,
He's a ladies man with a plan,
He goes and sits on the street,
And all the ladies come at his feet,
Mr. Puff knows the game,
He has three females whos owner is the same,
He sleeps with the three every night,
And makes sure to keep them in his sight,
Mr. Puff is a dog many has dreamed of,
Mr. Puff is my dog and he knows he's loved.
poem by Shutter Queen
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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
ma rriage
marriage marriage
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sonnet
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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A Liking For Rhyme
My literary tastes have not changed with the passing of time
I have always been one with a liking for rhyme
To rhyme is so easy as some like to say
Though rhymers seem so out of fashion today
But I am a lover of ballad and song
And rhymes with a lilt that just jingle along
I loved reading the old rhyming verse as a boy
Something to this day I do thoroughly enjoy
Some literary dons refer to a rhymer as a doggerel poet
As not anyone worthy of literary note
From the Poets Club with their words rhymers they exclude
For educated people they seem rather rude
But I am a fan of good old rhyming stuff
And for many years now I have been a rhyme buff.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sonnets Are Full Of Love
Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome
Has many sonnets: so here now shall be
One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me
To her whose heart is my heart's quiet home,
To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee
I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome;
Whose service is my special dignity,
And she my loadstare while I go and come
And so because you love me, and because
I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath
Of rhymes wherewith to crown your honoured name:
In you not fourscore years can dim the flame
Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws
Of time and change and mortal life and death.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Fourteen beautiful birds on wings
As baker packs thirteen odd eggs to count
To a dozen, a sonneteer fourteen
Sweet lines of praise on thine slender frame mount,
That thine mysterious marvels ne'er lean
Might seem; and when all fourteen fully hatch
Ah, gorgeous chicks to be, ready to fly
In time together in one single batch,
Or in formations only sonnets try.
The eight of them may oft land to face strife,
The six more that follow, in counterpoint,
Resolve and soothe— ah, sonnet's very life,
As volta, shift, sonneteers oft anoint,
Of whose last two, twain wings of a couplet,
Come to sing last short song of the sonnet.
______________________________________ _____________
- Sonnets | 04.11.12 |
poem by Aniruddha Pathak
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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
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Uplift The Soul
When kind people tell uninformed nobodies like me
their definition of a poem and poetry I love it, how
outraged they seem when discovering accounts of
small time events which I force on those innocently
wandering the sacred streets of real poetry
Knowing such highly gifted and perfectly informed
critics are there makes us feel safe, they carry the
banner of rules and regulations, metre, rhyme and
rhythm, we can all sleep easy with such Wardens as
custodians of literary device and charm, to sleuth a
Scotland Yard for us; make us follow the classical
poetry of Ovid and Vergil and seek to promote
the Italian sonnet as replicated diligently in just
one way; although impossible for an imbecile
like me to improve, I appreciate their solicitude
I beg them to kindly forgive my maverick effusions
as joie die vivre, as freedom to do my thing when
not translating source texts that bore, it leads me
down the path to literary perdition, of innovation
and enthusiastic improvisation, there is no hope
Of mending my ways while words are untethered
and running free in my head; I refuse to don the
mind-forged manacles William Blake lamented,
do not walk the streets to comment on suffering;
read little books for little people; uplift the soul
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Imbecile Like Me
Love it when kind people tell the uninformed like me
their definition of a poem and poetry, how outraged
they feel when they come across accounts of small
time events which I force on those who innocently
wander the sacred portals of real poetry
Knowing such highly gifted and perfectly informed
critics are around makes all feel safe, they carry the
banner of rules and regulations, metre, rhythm and
rhyme, we can all sleep safe while these Sherlock
Holmian custodians of literary device and charm
Sleuth a Scotland Yard for us; making us follow the
classical poetry of Ovid and Vergil and seeking to
promote the Italian sonnet, to be repeated in just
one way; although it is impossible for an imbecile
like me to improve, I appreciate their solicitude
I beg them to kindly forgive my maverick effusions
as joie die vivre at being free to do my own thing
when not translating boring source texts, leads me
down the path to literary perdition, free innovation
and enthusiastic improvisation, there is no hope
Of my mending my ways while words are running
untethered and free in my head; I refuse to don the
mind-forgéd manacles William Blake lamented, do
not walk the streets to comment on suffering; but
read little books for little people to uplift my soul…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Sonnet Cakes
Sonnet Cakes
Catch a passing flock of words
Put them in a pan
To make a happy sonnet
For your favourite man.
Add a pinch of rhythm
A spoonful of rhyme
Pop them in the oven
Then wait some time
Check if they are burning
Consult with your muse
About variety in flavours,
In structure, different views.
Jolly sonnet cakes for tea
Some for you and some for me.
poem by Irene C S ClarkHogg
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But a writer's contribution is literary and a film is not literary. When you take that stuff off the page, and cast the people who are going to fit into those roles, that's what being a director is.
quote by Taylor Hackford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Me Shakespeare
Now I can writ dees sonnets too
Wit all dat poem and rhymin stuff
Jus like that Shakespeare buckaroo
His masterpieces ain’t dat tough
Dat Shakespear guy was pretty strange
He writ his stuff wit fedder quill
His underwear he’d never change
Dat was da secret to his skill
Now if ya think I’m foolin; hay!
Jes try ta read his garbled mess
Dat Shakespeare guy was really gay
A closet queen who wore a dress
So common guys, read my sonnet
Not dis guy in heels and bonnet
poem by Amera Andersen
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First sonnet
These words, they just wont come out of my head.
They stay deep down inside, where i can't reach.
I feel as if my mind has now gone dead.
These thoughts, i just cant hold, i want to screech!
You want me to write you a just sonnet,
but i cant think of what to say to you.
All i can think of is the word bonnet,
because its the only rhyme i can do.
if you want a better sonnet than this.
Then so help me, cause i don't have a clue.
do you think of my sonnet as amiss?
or are these thoughts down in my head adieu?
Will these ideas in my mind now leave?
So then i ask when will i be relieved?
poem by Brianna Perreira
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Almost Lost My Friend (Shakespearian Sonnet)
I’m having a much better day
Thought I’d never see my friend
Feeling much better, yay!
Despair brought when I thought this would end
Times are starting to become fun
They are better now
Feeling as bright as the sun
How bad I’ve felt, wow
I find it funny this is a rhyme
Can’t believe I just wrote a sonnet
The words are becoming to chime
The points this poem will earn for profit
The end of my piece
And now, my sonnet shall decease
poem by Mason Ream
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School Wat 4?
I go to School wat for?
to get yelled at more!
wats the point?
All it does is make me feel bad
it makes me feel dumb
wats the point to get yelled at just because you don't know wat 49/28*76+31=
I hate school
I hate it with a passion.
I wish I could kill the person who invented it
So stupid
it brings pain
it brings problems
go to school wat for?
wats the point?
poem by Hali Curtis
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Do it your way for Stephen Stirk
Sometimes the words that writers use
have different meanings and values.
For words don’t always mean the same
and common words don’t play the game.
Some words can mean their opposite
A writer must be explicit
selecting words in such a way.
Their meaning is as clear as day.
Avoiding in particular
the words that seem familiar
That sound the same when they are not.
Meanings can differ quite a lot
Like seams and seems or there and their.
A writer has to be aware
Simplicity is his finest tool
and that his readers as a rule
Are not concerned with the syntax
Your words should help them to relax
If they do not then you will fail
your efforts all to no avail.
Although your words are scholarly
perfectly composed grammatically.
Successful writers in the main
make sure they write to entertain.
They cater to the public taste
they haven’t got the time to waste
Writing works which won’t be read
That will not earn their daily bread.
Those who write professionally
research their market thoroughly.
The must be certain it will sell
and some of them do very well.
Amateurs, who post on the net
are not constrained they can forget
The publishers and critics views
and simply write the way they choose.
Though they won’t earn a single cent
it doesn’t matter, They’re content
with comments that their readers make.
They love to write for its own sake.
23/06/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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