Odes and Sonnets are…

…related in a way I just discovered.  Regarding these two, the first is a reflection of an ode to S.T.C. (of Ancient Mariner fame)  Which is written in iambic heptameter in ten couplets, or five quatrains, if you prefer (and incidentally, the way it was originally written.)  This ode will you find down below within the grey box. Continue reading

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Sonnet II: Once More for Sam

He sung of Sisters close and sweet, and taught;
Of sea, and wealth, he droned a mournful view.
Of Death himself, as fine as Death, he brought
A smile to my lips when fear they knew.

And lovely, to a barren cheek he drew,
The very first and only tear, he claimed.
Of no return, that no man ever knew;
So quick and fleet an image, thus he named:

“In Xanadu…” he dreamt a man beyond;
A man, within that Sunny Dome, was he.
Who dwelt in Paradise that dream had spawned;
I know, his home, he must have lived to see.

For I, enticed by Crystal Caves of Ice;
By Honey Dew, have drunk of Paradise.

Sonnet I: To S. T. C.

He sung of Sisters close and sweet; and taught
Of sea and wealth; he droned a mournful view
Of Death as fine as Death himself. He brought
A smile to my lips when all they knew

Was fear; and to a barren cheek he drew
The first and only tear. A place, he claimed,
Of no return, that no man ever knew;
A quickly fleeting image, And he named

It “Xanadu;” he dreamt a man beyond
A man within that Sunny Dome; An he
Should Drink of Paradise that dream had spawned
His home. I know he must have lived to see

Those Crystal Caves of Ice; For I, enticed
By Honey Dew, have drunk of Paradise.

Intro 1: To Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Of Sisters he sung
And of Ancient Mariners;
And wrote of such death

As made death seem fine.
He brought joy and even tears
When he penned such depth.

And when he sung of
Xanadu and Kubla Kahn,
And his caves of Ice,

I dreamt along with
Him about his honey dew
And his paradise.

Sonnet V: 1914

See there, what are those pestilent that smother
In the muck? And there, I see, ignored
Within the mire, more are stuck; and Lord!
Behold, one bunches up to bid another

Well! Though unobtrusively, its brother
It disdains with such a tell.  With bored
Enthusiasm, one will slither toward
A wretched thing as if to give the other

An award. But lo! What it intends!
Now can it actually be, to grant
The other honours and a meaningless
Degree? How sweet, if my corrupted friends
Would slyly acquiesce, to grant me scanty
Honours with an automatic yes.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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Intro 5: Strange Days

I fell upon, particularly strange
These shores wherein I found myself marooned
Instead of somewhere infinitely light.

My voyage, it began capriciously.
And, though within it lives embedded form,
Possesses also an embedded soul.

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