Sonnet XII: Patronage

Hast thou the heart to touch, or even look
Upon such art as this and give its due
An thou profess as fanciful, outgrew,
Though for this canvas rapture overtook;

But are such things professed forever true:
That hath these sculpted works thy nature shook;
And shall thy past refinement be forsook,
Though long thou from thine innocence withdrew?

Rare, priceless, as may not be seen again,
Wilt claim thou of thy prime: the best doth wane;
And of this art, so fast a friend may come,
Though whether ancient made or new, as fast.
Shalt thou most proper frame such art at last,
Or once more to thy patronage succumb?

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

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Sonnet XI: The Art of War

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:

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Sonnet II | Lyrical Love

I never know when she will come or go, but when she appears, there is always such beauty:

Come with me, into the chilled winter mist…
Our hearts breathe, under silent, navy sky,
Frosting moonlight with every passioned sigh.
Let us wander in an evergreen whist,
Where the seduction of heat will insist…
That we create a burn hot as July.
As closer we draw, the stars can’t deny,
Brighter we burn if we torridly kissed.

You reached my soul with your caress of word.
You left me shaken and trembling and weak,
You wrapped me in a haze of devotion
I breathed your love in, not able to speak.

The silence more piercing than what is heard,
I awoke…entwined in silk emotion.

Sonnet X: Labyrinth

His shape as pleaseth me, this fiery art
Doth longsome dream to me whilst gripped in sleep.
Shot through with lightning’s fire, doth dream impart
Such thrill: convivial to wake, to weep,

To think it trivial that thence I’ve gone,
That this Oneiran path: forever lost;
Not Morpheus, nor Hypnos’ other Spawn
Reveals’ this darkened place to whence I crost;

For these three Sons shall ‘ever show
A mortal man each labyrinth but once.
So at my waking hour, must I go
Away within imaginings, unless some bunce

Befall me; kindly providence might choose
To call me with such luck as I may use.

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

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Sonnets in Lyrical couplets–the gateway drug… Possibly?

Having recently discovered a sonnet in lyrical couplets by Kipling, [“When Fear Came,” I believe it is titled, in the 2nd “Jungle Book”] and having written one myself, albeit as a character rather than as myself, I was put in mind of the above possibility.  As such I would like to write a few more couplet sonnets.  But also….

I feel perhaps, I might write a series of sonnet like forms ranging from completely freeverse to completely structured.  I feel that in such a way one might bring someone along a bit toward realising that sonnets are not so very hard to understand.

Of course, even if they were, one may still have the experience of hearing one read aloud; for the sound itself, is quite beautiful even without full comprehension.  Still, sonnet form is relatively simple; and even if classical topical structure is maintained (e.g. a sonnet reading essentially:  “Consider this…  But wait, what about this?” this turn or ‘volta’ most often occurring at the ninth line but often delayed till the very last; and sometimes, though rarely, earlier than that) quite easy to understand.

I feel this sequence I describe in the second paragraph is a bit of “cheating” perhaps, because the first few examples would be quite easy to write; however, I have been wondering in what way I might reward myself for having passed my sixth month mark, and perhaps this might be fitting.   I cannot, for example, think of any further paid services at this time in which I would desire to engage; therefore, I am reduced to content related rewards, I fear!

Libertarian Shakespeare « Poetry « The ObjectOpus

This appears to be #7 in a sequence; or at the very least, a series of some kind.

Plutarch, of liberal instance, coming forth
In prose, historically reconciled
With fate, persuaded Shakespeare that more worth
Brief freedom has alive and undefiled

Than longevous disgrace enslaved. One must
Consider in accord with courage what
To do, by daily judgment deeming just
Those deeds that quicken liberty. So thought

The poet when Marcus Brutus he perused,
Not from the manly tenor of that book
Withdrawing. Civic wisdom was infused
Into his spine, which would not lightly crook

Upon consensus. Forcibly erect,
No slavish bent he’d suffer in defect.

via Poetry « The ObjectOpus.