How Black, the hottest fires of Hell must burn;
So Hot, this Blackened Hell, must be its fires.
The spit on which impurity doth turn,
Would sear the flesh impurity requires.
Beyond repentance, punishment doth earn;
Yet ever, to impurity aspires.
So Hot the Sweetest Love, do we deny;
How Sweet, this Burning Love of ours, its taste,
Impurity were beckoned in thereby
To desecrate this altar we disgraced;
And cast away its sanctity, defy
This gift, as Heaven, each to us, hath graced.
How Sweet the Sin, which Strongly us befell
How Strong the Death which Blackened us… to Hell.
Posted in Sonnets Tagged Art, Coffee, Fire, Funny, God, Heaven, History, Humor, Humour, Poem, Poetry, Romance, Romantic, Sonnet, Turkish coffee
…would like to bury the hatchet. Take care they do not wish to bury it in ones head when one is not looking. I am not posting this for any good reason. The two phrases just now struck me funny. I am quite sure this jest has been made countless times, still it never struck me so in the past.
That is all.
Why are all the Orwell jokes forsworn?
I think forgetting these is quite a sin.
I thought I’d see Big Brother T-Shirts worn;
And parties serving casks of Vict’ry Gin.
So, why is there not one Big Brother sign;
Nor pundits blath’ring on in TV Spots;
Comparing economical design;
Nor tales told of recent commie plots?
Perhaps the joke is just too cheap a shot;
That no-one of importance really heads.
Or maybe it’s that everyone forgot;
Er maybe’ts them what hardly never reads.
Whatever’s causing all (or none) of this.
I’m thinking what a wild time we’ll miss.
Posted in Sonnets Tagged 1984, Art, Big Brother, Big Brother UK, Big Brother US, Funny, George Orwell, Humor, Humour, Muse, Poetry, Programs, Reality-Based, Sonnet, T-shirt, Television, Writing
AnElephantCant ever truly know,
How certainly her “hubby” thinks it grand,
That put a smile on my true loves face,
Such wonderful attention, as first hand.
But greatest joy as do your words bestow,
Dear pachyderm, don’t misconstrue me please,
In spreading mirth as do your words with grace
The more affects him, well it guarantees,
Beyond so great a joy, as overflow
Most all the expectations he conceives.
Then writes he sonnets all the more apace
Although the Holiday so interleaves;
And though his sonnets flow like water, won’t
Misplace such inspiration if they don’t!
Posted in Sonnets Tagged Art, British, Holiday, Humor, Humour, Lady Day, Literature, Poem, Poet, Poetry, Sonnet, Works
AnElephantCant hide his great pleasure
To meet folk who know sweet Lady Day
This place is quite grubby
But please bring your hubby
And just pop in next time you’re passing this way
Conceive how wonderful are
My sweetheart’s Smiles.
Posted in Introductions Tagged Art, British, Haiku, Holiday, Humor, Humour, Literature, Poem, Poet, Poetry, Works
How strangely opposite our sameness then,
My friend; although I know thy form–as hard
As mine–not pliant, nor as soft, we men;
Nor sweet, as fond our distaff we regard.
With toil, these untendered limbs are scarred,
That reach for thee, though laughingly, with force
To equal thine, as though we will have sparred–
Yet battle merely reticent remorse.
And, having long since made our peace, the source
Of this reserve has fuelled our desire;
And brought us far along our wicked course!
That we, forbidden wickedness, conspire.
And–battle, artistry, or sin–we choose
This contest both would win, or wish to lose.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Posted in Sonnets Tagged Art, body, Desire, Embarrassment, Fixed Verse Forms, Forbidden, Form, Friendship, History, Humour, Literature, Lust, Male, Man, Mirth, Natural, Poetry, Roman, Romantic Realism, Romanticism, Sequence, Sonnet, Spenserian Sonnet, The Male Form, The Male Form (with introductions)
I feel now I have
Posted in Introductions Tagged Art, body, Desire, Embarrassment, Forbidden, Form, Friendship, Haiku, Humour, Languages, Literature, Lust, Male, Man, Mirth, Natural, Poetry, Sequence, The Male Form (introductions only), The Male Form (with introductions)