Sonnets
By john_silver
Collection of various sonnets, updated twice a week (for as long as I can keep it up).
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Monday Sonnet: Sanctis
Damn lack of italics. Sanctis is meant to be italicised in the poem.
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- 1032 reads
Alcmene
I do not know you, my friend, As the one who traced the line Of my prologues like a vine, Eve to eve, and end to end. I only know you as the one Who caught my thunder while it turned
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- 2097 reads
Aphrodite
First in a new collection called Exodus. Signals a break from my previous sonnets.
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- 664 reads
Athena
The pathway to my heart is tangled. And the hand that brings to me The branch to plant the olive-tree Is blocked by vines – is blocked and strangled. The chambers of dissent and conflict
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- 533 reads
Tuesday Sonnet: Canzoniere
I want to write a sonnet to you, though I’m not that into Petrarch (his lament Can get repetitive, when its extent Exceeds 300 sonnets), and I know
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- 802 reads
Friday sonnet: Verona Song
Ok, so I’m not Romeo. I have set My canon ’gainst self-slaughter, furthermore, I can’t climb balconies (the fact your floor’s The third one doesn’t help). So yes, I’ll let
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- 713 reads
Tuesday Sonnet: The Barbarian Thought
So here I am: stuck in this Masters' course Which only is a step in my career (A path which, more and more these days, I fear Will lead to nowhere, other than divorce
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- 900 reads
Thursday Sonnet: Canto
Before the tree that is the root of every Story bled an apple from its boughs, The words I speak to you were made of ivory, Unsullied by my tides of Whys and Hows.
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- 764 reads
Monday Sonnet: Pebble's Lament
If I’d been born a pebble by the shore, My life would be significantly easier. Were I in love, I wouldn’t try to please her With sonnets; I’d sleep flat; I could ignore
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- 750 reads
Thursday Sonnet: Proverb
Whoever reads this first could you please explain to me how I'm supposed to italicize words in this format? Plus: Acknowledgement to Yatzee Croshaw for a joke.
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- 726 reads
Friday Sonnet: Enumeration
How do I love you? Let me count the ways. I love you like a camel loves his humps, Like photos love their image, like bumpcars bumps, Like cowboys cows. I love you just like gays
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- 1172 reads
Monday Sonnet: TS
A different kind of failure, Eliot said Of poetry – and won the Nobel prize. He preached humility, so no surprise. Hence, from under the shadow of his red
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- 786 reads
Sunday Sonnet: Eulogy
Extraordinary being, tender light Of clemency by which my pen is writing, Hand, blessed, that guides my path out of the night, And heals this chest, and calms this spirit's fighting,
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- 950 reads
Thursday Sonnet: Song of Treasures
Acknowledgements to Neil Gaiman's Sandman issue #6 for the sentence which originally inspired this poem.
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- 741 reads
Monday Sonnet: Coda
That's it. There's no more sonnets. You change place. And I will be your Cyrano no more, There will be no more calling you 'Your Grace,' No speech, no other witty metaphor.
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- 1191 reads
Thursday Sonnet: Canticle of Cartago
Cartago is Latin for Carthage, in case you're wondering.
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- 734 reads
Monday Sonnet: Birds
Poe’s raven, from a tree, caws ‘Nevermore,’ While both the swans of Baudelaire and Yeats Are fighting to be monarchs of the lakes; Plus, Coleridge’s gull is seen to soar.
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- 627 reads
Thursday Sonnet: Thames Song
It’s pretty good a place, the Thames, to sit by And think of all the ills that time repairs When, laden with young love’s modest despairs, One smooths regret under an indifferent sky.
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- 796 reads
Monday Sonnet: The Trial of the Mind
I do believe that I’m the only man Who’s sane upon this globe, and since we find It’s fact you’d have to have gone mad (or blind) Not to be mad in love with you, madam,
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- 806 reads
Thursday Sonnet: Storm
Because the storm of love is raging On a chest too young to claim It has weathered storm and rain I build a house and, in it, staging Pantomimes of rigid bliss, I tell myself and tell myself
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- 962 reads
Thursday Sonnet: Becoming Spring (I)
This was my entry for the abctales competition, just adding it to my archive. :)
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- 637 reads
Thursday Sonnet: Becoming Spring (II)
Ditto per below, part II of the same thing
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- 734 reads
Tuesday Sonnet: Merits
I love the way you speak of sadness as A gift that none of us deserves, like we Had not done work enough to find its tree And pluck its fruits (these our tradition has
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- 998 reads
Friday Sonnet: Silver
No wine these grapes of hurt set free, No coin is bartered for their taste: my lover, My friend, you do no longer look at me… The forging of my fantasies is over:
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- 1030 reads
Tuesday Sonnet: The Wisdom of the Old
I know not of the wisdom of the old. I do not even know who called it that: Perhaps an old man, mumbling where he sat – Which means it’s vanity. Or was it told
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- 1371 reads
Tuesday Sonnet: Theatre
It’s funny how, now they’re demolishing The theatre, it should reap such great success: There’s crowds, there’s shoves – a rally to be witness! I only walk as though abolishing
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- 980 reads
Saturday Sonnet: Eternity
It’s true my love for you is not eternal – but then Again, you aren’t either. Would you really Want something that’s been forged so goddamn steely
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- 568 reads
Monday Sonnet: A Tapestry of the Air
No, I would not believe that brazen man Whose autumn bronze now rusted by my street: He said I should not breathe your air that sung, Nor tame its winds and tend them at your feet.
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- 565 reads
Wednesday Sonnet: The Stream (I)
Part 2 to follow in a couple of days.
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- 576 reads
Monday Sonnet: The Stream (II)
Direct continuation of the previous sonnet, took me slightly longer than expected.
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- 498 reads
Thursday Sonnet: Flourish
The first time that we met your eyes were lined With streaks from lights that now have turned to ash. It still was winter then; the season sighed In mists on the concrete, you were a slash
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- 677 reads
Sunday Sonnet: Matrimony
Before mature emotions come to plant In me their sense or blindness, I will speak This thought (no doubt condemned within a week). I write this to my wife. Although I can’t
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- 1056 reads
Looking at your old photo
Your face is there, your smile, your ways, Those lovely eyes that you have got, But not the passion, no, and not The searing tenderness which days And days saw burnt like matchsticks in
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- 519 reads
Drunk
My head is spinning. Where are you, And where’s your sweetness now? When will I taste your fallen glow, Or kneel to kiss your hands of dew Which bear the morning light? No: never …
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- 519 reads
Rome
Dull centurion, genitor, I’m tired of your dire gates, The journeys East, the plums and dates, I can not fight your sunset war. And you, Cleopatra from New York,
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- 562 reads
Monday Sonnet: Lindt D'Or
Monday morning rant. Take it for what it is. :P
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- 679 reads
Tuesday Sonnet: The Garland
When I was young, I used to take the flowers From home, my square green garden, up your slope. But then, since I’d eroded all my hours (Which left me one by one, like bars of soap
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- 467 reads
Trains
There’s trains that rumble like a herd That’s lying siege around the hills, They’re loaded with their tales, their thrills, And runes and legends still unheard.
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- 526 reads
Thursday Sonnet: To Mars
If by the light of Romulus and Remus You spelt revenge upon us for the sons Of dissipated Troy, burnt out like suns Before you saw their fruit of rage, then deem us
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- 575 reads
Tuesday Sonnet: I have mingled my bread with weeping
Written when feeling very down in the dumps. Title is from the Bible, fyi.
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- 663 reads
Library
No, I shall not; I’ve had enough Of libraries as mute as moons, Of limpid autumn afternoons For sharing books and quotes and fluff. One whole season I’ve been lost
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- 683 reads
Orpheus
It's not to leave, but to return That matters to this fallen plume. I took an echo from an urn Of empty pride to be a tune Of peace and words of friendship, and I followed it into the bottom
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- 528 reads
Helios
This is a poem that I write Because the words have failed the tongue. This is a canticle of night Because my grail has spilled the sun. I was religious, though I thought
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- 545 reads
Saturday Sonnet: To the Nephew
I seldom write of death. I’m still too young; My pen has yet to spell of lives dispelled, And when I walked my way, the hand I held Was not the shadow I’ll hold down the long
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- 713 reads
Sunday Sonnet: To the girl who smiled
Here in these streets of judges and police Where we unlace the textiles of our days, I used to search you in the tales from Greece Which speak across the eons, phrase by phrase,
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- 902 reads
Monday Sonnet: Hope
I’m asked to write of hope, a subject which Resists festoons of metaphor with almost The same propriety as death. Foremost Among the skills that make a poet rich
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- 534 reads
Tuesday Sonnet: Immortality
“When I am gone, I shall not be the dust That licks your soles beneath your steps wind-borne, Nor yet the thread of ash that, shorn of lust And reason, trails the mantle of the storm;
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- 477 reads
Friday Sonnet: Monologue
Because I find a glance of yours can raze Me to the ground, as though I were the corn Or rye and you the mother of the storm, I purse my lips and turn away my gaze,
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- 529 reads
Saturday Sonnet: Little Proverb
If there’s a name for you, it is pronounced In whispers, in a tongue we speak no more; A tongue that’s only used to write the lore Of sacred things, and books of past accounts.
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- 770 reads
Tuesday Sonnet: Huzzah!
Scared of me? You bet! I've seen your tragic Castles and the holes beneath your cuirass. Paint me stupid – I am full of magic, Bright like stuff of dreams, as warm and true as
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- 528 reads
Spirituality
They slide away, the days of yore, From wood to ash, from ash to flame Like pages turning in the frame Of an old book, and then no more. Look: in this question of our hour,
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- 538 reads
Thursday Sonnet: Paris
Paris, Paris, I have not come to light Or spin you, I’ve not come to sing la Senne, My throat seeks no refreshment from your night And I’m not asking where to go or when.
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- 798 reads
Pandora
O Pandora, we have lost, There can be no golden chest, The immortals don’t know best And we know less than them at most. And we will never be remembered, We will never be forgotten
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- 542 reads
Thursday Sonnet: About Milkshakes
Let’s sum it up; I’m in a break-room, work Begins again in twenty, in which time I barely find the space (or wits) to rhyme, And I am asked to conjure from the murk
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- 1002 reads
Iphigenia
I want to know whose war it is That I have fought without a bruise, Without a sound, without the news Of where the breach or the defeat is, I want to hear the name, the cause
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- 486 reads
Saturday Sonnet: Meditation
It’s true, I am a mess in certain ways, Unstable in my tides of joy and grief, But I am satisfied in the belief I own the grain to feed the mill of days.
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- 596 reads
Dove
You before all others I Am loving with the silence of The secret hands which hold the dove. My bells stand still before the sky; I draw a single letter in The gravel on your path of choice:
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- 544 reads
Eagle
The storm is past. Perhaps it was Too brief. The cloud that belts the forehead Of the eagle by the shore, said To be bird of Zeus, has Become an urn of sleep; it pours
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- 440 reads
Tarot
The train is riding, rocking gently While it takes me to Bordeaux. Outside, the grasses slowly grow Beneath the mute age of each bent tree. The swelter’s melting into glue
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- 476 reads
Monday Sonnet: On clothes
Written when a friend commissioned a poem on clothes. Enjoy!
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- 1082 reads
Monday Sonnet: Diversity
Some harsh language, hence I'm filling up the teaser to avoid it showing in the preview. :P
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- 630 reads
The Disciple
If you let them say you’re free, And you let them, like they do, Take their guns to me and you, They will frame you, and you’ll see, All your gains will be their own,
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- 775 reads
Wednesday Sonnet: The Actor to the Audience
When I still had the sunlight in my hair I thought the gods of theatre had misspelt My stage directions; was I Caesar’s heir? I did not feel the quiet others felt
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- 691 reads
Peace
I’m done with fighting. That is what I’m done with. Rise, o thousand words, And screech like pyrotechnic birds The chorus in my throat, Peace, not Crows or spears or medals, only
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- 491 reads
I will
There still is so much work to do, My friend and cell-mate, if our fates Not spell-bound by a state of states Will lead to valleys of the new. I watch my spirit slowly grow;
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- 705 reads
The Path
There is a voice that’s not of crone Nor crow’s nor rooster’s, yet recites An exegesis days and nights. It speaks to you, to you alone, It stains your every dawn, it soaks
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- 546 reads
Wednesday Sonnet: To Italy
There is a vine that binds us, made of rose And olive leaves, and figs and spikes of pine; It is entwined with sunlight, grain and wine, The song that is our language lets it close
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- 645 reads
Thursday Sonnet: Dreams that die
Written on submission by a girl (she suggested the title).
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- 477 reads
Epic Song
I am the song of dark dark dark I am the bloody neck of lamb I am the scent that hires the shark I am the horn of dithyramb I am the scavenged breast of hope I am the flower of the war
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- 743 reads
Odysseus
Dawn breaks through the window of My eyes and neurons, and my pen Can barely hold the furious shove Of light’s invaders, fierce like men. I add another to the suns In my portfolio of sky,
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- 604 reads
To an ideally beautiful girl 1
First of two sonnets to an unbelievably beautiful (but, alas, rather stupid) girl I met some time ago.
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- 1454 reads
To an ideally beautiful girl 2
Second sonnet to that impossibly beautiful, remarkably stupid girl.
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- 575 reads
Tuesday Sonnet: Sonnet to an attractive girl
In line with the previous two sonnets, though this one girl was not quite as attractive (and a great deal smarter).
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- 771 reads