Poetry competition CLOSED 11th July 2016 9:09pm
WINNER
Anonymous
Anonymous
RUNNERS-UP:
Hepcat61
and MayRayn
Can you write a sonnet?
Anonymous
MayRayn said:A Sonnet, Such As It Is (take 3)
I tried to put my brain to work so hard,
a sonnet to extrude; it feigned at being coy.
It flinched, it writhed, it didn't take to heart
its ass it wriggled, and poked me to annoy.
I pushed my brain to get its wheels in gear
to prod and tempt its timid toes to wet;
to stop biding its time, with little fear
throw caution to the wind, plunge in and sweat.
In fits and starts, its wheels it slowly turned
it ground out tetramer iambic prose,
and much as I did tempt it--spoils showed--
it finally reared its head and humor chose
with this, this silly loath-full little rhyme.
Without it, I have naught with which to chime.
It's exciting to see this take shape. I think you are getting an idea of the process, no? Now here are the remaining problems:
Line 2 has six feet, and needs a trim:
a SONnet TO exTRUDE; it FEIGNED at BEing COY. (remember that in iambic pentameter, strong and weak accents must alternate, which is why the word "TO" receives an accent. BTW, does one feign "at" something? I have never seen that usage.)
Line 4 has one syllable too many -- you could easily drop the "and."
Line 7 still has that problem with "biding" -- you can't accent the second syllable of that word. I see a very easy remedy, if I may make a suggestion: "to bide its time no more, with little fear"
You are doing a great job with the rhymes, but you overlooked the third stanza where you have "turned" struggling to rhyme with "showed."
In line 13, why "loath-full" when you have the option of "loathsome"?
I tried to put my brain to work so hard,
a sonnet to extrude; it feigned at being coy.
It flinched, it writhed, it didn't take to heart
its ass it wriggled, and poked me to annoy.
I pushed my brain to get its wheels in gear
to prod and tempt its timid toes to wet;
to stop biding its time, with little fear
throw caution to the wind, plunge in and sweat.
In fits and starts, its wheels it slowly turned
it ground out tetramer iambic prose,
and much as I did tempt it--spoils showed--
it finally reared its head and humor chose
with this, this silly loath-full little rhyme.
Without it, I have naught with which to chime.
It's exciting to see this take shape. I think you are getting an idea of the process, no? Now here are the remaining problems:
Line 2 has six feet, and needs a trim:
a SONnet TO exTRUDE; it FEIGNED at BEing COY. (remember that in iambic pentameter, strong and weak accents must alternate, which is why the word "TO" receives an accent. BTW, does one feign "at" something? I have never seen that usage.)
Line 4 has one syllable too many -- you could easily drop the "and."
Line 7 still has that problem with "biding" -- you can't accent the second syllable of that word. I see a very easy remedy, if I may make a suggestion: "to bide its time no more, with little fear"
You are doing a great job with the rhymes, but you overlooked the third stanza where you have "turned" struggling to rhyme with "showed."
In line 13, why "loath-full" when you have the option of "loathsome"?
I'm not getting the 6 feet in line 2 - I only count 5... (aha, I see your edit, thanks).
Last night loathsome just did not appear in my brain - d'oh! Thanks. Nice suggestion for the biding line - I had an alternate but not as good.
Last night loathsome just did not appear in my brain - d'oh! Thanks. Nice suggestion for the biding line - I had an alternate but not as good.
A Sonnet, Such As It Is (take 4)
I tried to put my brain to work so hard
a sonnet to extrude; it feigned being coy.
It flinched, it writhed, it didn't take to heart
its ass it wriggled, poked me to annoy.
I pushed my brain to get its wheels in gear
to prod and tempt its timid toes to wet;
to bide its time no more, with little fear
throw caution to the wind, plunge in and sweat.
In fits and starts, its wheels it slowly turned
it ground out tetramer iambic prose,
and much as I did tempt it--gifts it spurned--
it finally reared its head and humor chose
with this, this silly loathsome little rhyme.
Without it, I have naught with which to chime.
I tried to put my brain to work so hard
a sonnet to extrude; it feigned being coy.
It flinched, it writhed, it didn't take to heart
its ass it wriggled, poked me to annoy.
I pushed my brain to get its wheels in gear
to prod and tempt its timid toes to wet;
to bide its time no more, with little fear
throw caution to the wind, plunge in and sweat.
In fits and starts, its wheels it slowly turned
it ground out tetramer iambic prose,
and much as I did tempt it--gifts it spurned--
it finally reared its head and humor chose
with this, this silly loathsome little rhyme.
Without it, I have naught with which to chime.
Anonymous
MayRayn said:A Sonnet, Such As It Is (take 3.5)
I tried to put my brain to work so hard
a sonnet to extrude; it feigned being coy.
It flinched, it writhed, it didn't take to heart
its ass it wriggled, poked me to annoy.
I pushed my brain to get its wheels in gear
to prod and tempt its timid toes to wet;
to bide its time no more, with little fear
throw caution to the wind, plunge in and sweat.
In fits and starts, its wheels it slowly turned
it ground out tetramer iambic prose,
and much as I did tempt it--gifts spurned--
it finally reared its head and humor chose
with this, this silly loathsome little rhyme.
Without it, I have naught with which to chime.
I would say that your poem has undergone a pretty impressive transformation, the fruits of a bit of cognitive exertion. There are still a few minor wrinkles; line 2 is iambic pentameter only if you consider "being" to be a one syllable word, but plenty of great sonneteers did exactly that sort of thing. Line 11 is missing an unstressed syllable, which should be no trouble to fix; perhaps "gifts were spurned." Your sonnet does have a volta of sorts: at the 9th line, you describe how you begin to make progress, where the tide is turned. Good work.
I tried to put my brain to work so hard
a sonnet to extrude; it feigned being coy.
It flinched, it writhed, it didn't take to heart
its ass it wriggled, poked me to annoy.
I pushed my brain to get its wheels in gear
to prod and tempt its timid toes to wet;
to bide its time no more, with little fear
throw caution to the wind, plunge in and sweat.
In fits and starts, its wheels it slowly turned
it ground out tetramer iambic prose,
and much as I did tempt it--gifts spurned--
it finally reared its head and humor chose
with this, this silly loathsome little rhyme.
Without it, I have naught with which to chime.
I would say that your poem has undergone a pretty impressive transformation, the fruits of a bit of cognitive exertion. There are still a few minor wrinkles; line 2 is iambic pentameter only if you consider "being" to be a one syllable word, but plenty of great sonneteers did exactly that sort of thing. Line 11 is missing an unstressed syllable, which should be no trouble to fix; perhaps "gifts were spurned." Your sonnet does have a volta of sorts: at the 9th line, you describe how you begin to make progress, where the tide is turned. Good work.
After Kale and Garlic, Persimmons Taste Like You
(a sonnet)
While you were gone to trade your bucks for stars,
And I was making breakfast for myself,
That kale and garlic recipe of ours,
I saw the Fuyus orange upon the shelf.
I sliced them long, all center-spoked and round,
In half again and fanned them on the plate.
The greens spoke earth, with taste of fall abound,
With ripe flesh paired, a flavor sweet… but wait!?
Like tongue upon your silken lipped delight,
With fingers delving softly in between,
Encouraging a spring of milky white,
I savor, drinking deep and licking clean.
It’s odd such fruits your lusciousness recall,
Still odder, we get out of bed at all
(a sonnet)
While you were gone to trade your bucks for stars,
And I was making breakfast for myself,
That kale and garlic recipe of ours,
I saw the Fuyus orange upon the shelf.
I sliced them long, all center-spoked and round,
In half again and fanned them on the plate.
The greens spoke earth, with taste of fall abound,
With ripe flesh paired, a flavor sweet… but wait!?
Like tongue upon your silken lipped delight,
With fingers delving softly in between,
Encouraging a spring of milky white,
I savor, drinking deep and licking clean.
It’s odd such fruits your lusciousness recall,
Still odder, we get out of bed at all
Anonymous
Hepcat61 said:After Kale and Garlic, Persimmons Taste Like You
(a sonnet)
While you were gone to trade your bucks for stars,
And I was making breakfast for myself,
That kale and garlic recipe of ours,
I saw the Fuyus or'nge upon the shelf.
I sliced them long, all center-spoked and round,
In half again and fanned them on the plate.
The greens spoke earth, with taste of Fall abound,
With ripe flesh paired, a flavor sweet… but wait!?
Like tongue upon your silken lipped delight,
With fingers delving softly in between,
Encouraging a spring of milky white,
I savor, drinking deep and licking clean.
It’s odd a fruit such lusciousness recall,
Still odder, we get out of bed at all
This is a good sonnet. You are very meticulous about rhyme and meter; my only suggestions would be these: I don't think it's necessary to contract orange to "or'nge" -- the great sonnet writers like Keats and Shakespeare simply assumed that the reader would follow their intentions on reading the meter, and "or'nge" is distracting. A few grammatical quibbles -- in normal writing, the names of the seasons are not capitalized (you may have a particular reason for capitalizing "Fall.") In line 13 you have made fruit singular, so that it disagrees with your verb. You could instead say "It’s odd that fruit such lusciousness recall."
(a sonnet)
While you were gone to trade your bucks for stars,
And I was making breakfast for myself,
That kale and garlic recipe of ours,
I saw the Fuyus or'nge upon the shelf.
I sliced them long, all center-spoked and round,
In half again and fanned them on the plate.
The greens spoke earth, with taste of Fall abound,
With ripe flesh paired, a flavor sweet… but wait!?
Like tongue upon your silken lipped delight,
With fingers delving softly in between,
Encouraging a spring of milky white,
I savor, drinking deep and licking clean.
It’s odd a fruit such lusciousness recall,
Still odder, we get out of bed at all
This is a good sonnet. You are very meticulous about rhyme and meter; my only suggestions would be these: I don't think it's necessary to contract orange to "or'nge" -- the great sonnet writers like Keats and Shakespeare simply assumed that the reader would follow their intentions on reading the meter, and "or'nge" is distracting. A few grammatical quibbles -- in normal writing, the names of the seasons are not capitalized (you may have a particular reason for capitalizing "Fall.") In line 13 you have made fruit singular, so that it disagrees with your verb. You could instead say "It’s odd that fruit such lusciousness recall."
I have made certain edits... orange was fully spelled out in the original, wanted to make make sure here that I was metrically accurate...
Thanks for the advice on the couplet, I have made a change I like better than the original...
Appreciate the feedback,
geoff
Thanks for the advice on the couplet, I have made a change I like better than the original...
Appreciate the feedback,
geoff
Anonymous
River
The river winds long through trouble and joy
We drift in a barge made of pine resin
The water is clear unlike your mind's ploy
Our vessel is worn it lets too much in
On the banks at the side lie dead willow
We are heading for rapids we don’t care
Look into the river and see below
The silt of our past lives withered and bare
Paint is pealing from our forgotten boat
Drifting down through reeds into muddy filth
Weight of our hatred will keep us afloat
Your actions that bite calculated stealth
Down the river you sold my heart and me
All the way into the beautiful sea
The river winds long through trouble and joy
We drift in a barge made of pine resin
The water is clear unlike your mind's ploy
Our vessel is worn it lets too much in
On the banks at the side lie dead willow
We are heading for rapids we don’t care
Look into the river and see below
The silt of our past lives withered and bare
Paint is pealing from our forgotten boat
Drifting down through reeds into muddy filth
Weight of our hatred will keep us afloat
Your actions that bite calculated stealth
Down the river you sold my heart and me
All the way into the beautiful sea
Anonymous
Jaykay said:River
The river winds long through trouble and joy
We drift in a barge made of pine resin
The water is clear unlike your minds ploy
Our vessel is worn it lets too much in
On the banks at the side lye dead willow
We are heading for rapids we don’t care
Look into the river and see below
The silt of our past lives withered and bare
Paint is pealing from our forgotten boat
Drifting down through reeds into muddy filth
Weight of our hatred will keep us afloat
Your actions that bite calculated stealth
Down the river you sold my heart and me
All the way into the beautiful sea
It's an interesting poem. It appears to be rhymed (although a few of the rhymes are little sketchy), but un-metered. I'm thinking that "lye" is a typo -- or did you intend that? I think that "minds" needs an apostrophe. I am also having trouble conceiving of silt as "withered and bare." However, I really like the irony of the concluding couplet, and it does what a concluding couple ought to do -- it puts the previous 12 lines in a new light.
The river winds long through trouble and joy
We drift in a barge made of pine resin
The water is clear unlike your minds ploy
Our vessel is worn it lets too much in
On the banks at the side lye dead willow
We are heading for rapids we don’t care
Look into the river and see below
The silt of our past lives withered and bare
Paint is pealing from our forgotten boat
Drifting down through reeds into muddy filth
Weight of our hatred will keep us afloat
Your actions that bite calculated stealth
Down the river you sold my heart and me
All the way into the beautiful sea
It's an interesting poem. It appears to be rhymed (although a few of the rhymes are little sketchy), but un-metered. I'm thinking that "lye" is a typo -- or did you intend that? I think that "minds" needs an apostrophe. I am also having trouble conceiving of silt as "withered and bare." However, I really like the irony of the concluding couplet, and it does what a concluding couple ought to do -- it puts the previous 12 lines in a new light.
(July 4th: new revision)
RAIN GARDEN
( a double English sonnet )
The petals of her flowers blooming red
To show the depth of her undying gift.
As flowing silver rivulets ascend,
The ringlets of her tresses, breezes shift.
These flowers that are rare and seldom picked
Will bloom when each full moon is in its phase.
Its waxing dappled light among them mixed
That gives to them their eerie, ghostly haze.
Then waves of rushing showers' piercing flight
As clouds surround to summon thunder's clap.
Till once again returning comes the night
To hide away its plunder's seep and pap.
Embracing everything that rain adorns
Brings scent to stir a love she's always worn.
She runs her fingers through the dampened grade,
Her roots to drink the deluge from the storm.
The gardener, who is near, lays down his spade,
And 'neath a leafy refuge is reborn.
So from cocoon begins the arc of life,
More intimate, more than our minds can hold.
Stone gods, the ancients did immortalize,
And still, the trees of worship to behold.
To reach and then embrace her grace and such
In Flora's and in Fauna's harmony.
While evermore will Nature bring her touch
To ev'rything that eye and lens can see.
Let order, even now, her force restore;
In time, evolve the way things were before.
RAIN GARDEN
( a double English sonnet )
The petals of her flowers blooming red
To show the depth of her undying gift.
As flowing silver rivulets ascend,
The ringlets of her tresses, breezes shift.
These flowers that are rare and seldom picked
Will bloom when each full moon is in its phase.
Its waxing dappled light among them mixed
That gives to them their eerie, ghostly haze.
Then waves of rushing showers' piercing flight
As clouds surround to summon thunder's clap.
Till once again returning comes the night
To hide away its plunder's seep and pap.
Embracing everything that rain adorns
Brings scent to stir a love she's always worn.
She runs her fingers through the dampened grade,
Her roots to drink the deluge from the storm.
The gardener, who is near, lays down his spade,
And 'neath a leafy refuge is reborn.
So from cocoon begins the arc of life,
More intimate, more than our minds can hold.
Stone gods, the ancients did immortalize,
And still, the trees of worship to behold.
To reach and then embrace her grace and such
In Flora's and in Fauna's harmony.
While evermore will Nature bring her touch
To ev'rything that eye and lens can see.
Let order, even now, her force restore;
In time, evolve the way things were before.
I posted this yesterday and it's disappeared, so I'll try again.
The Company of Gods
Who’d want to keep the company of gods?
They’re vain, ill-tempered, selfish and unfair;
In any game they’ll always rig the odds.
They never lose, they don’t know how to share.
The Greek lot never played by any rules,
Zeus lied and cheated, threw his weight about,
Sated his lust, treated men like fools,
Devoid of pity, conscience or self-doubt.
But would the Bible’s God be to your taste?
Can you imagine having Him round to dinner?
Vindictive, vengeful, always laying waste,
And it’s hell for ever for the poor, weak sinner.
No, gods, I think, should entertain themselves,
Along with monsters, fairies, gnomes and elves.
The Company of Gods
Who’d want to keep the company of gods?
They’re vain, ill-tempered, selfish and unfair;
In any game they’ll always rig the odds.
They never lose, they don’t know how to share.
The Greek lot never played by any rules,
Zeus lied and cheated, threw his weight about,
Sated his lust, treated men like fools,
Devoid of pity, conscience or self-doubt.
But would the Bible’s God be to your taste?
Can you imagine having Him round to dinner?
Vindictive, vengeful, always laying waste,
And it’s hell for ever for the poor, weak sinner.
No, gods, I think, should entertain themselves,
Along with monsters, fairies, gnomes and elves.
Theseus and the Minotaur
Through darkness thick as blood he feels his way,
The tunnel wall beneath his hand is cold.
What horrors lie ahead, he cannot say;
Poor Theseus feels more terrified than bold.
A bovine stench assails his nostrils now,
Close by, a dreadful Something scrapes the ground,
Irresolute, but mindful of his vow
He stumbles on, alert for every sound.
With bellowing roar, the beast leaps in the gloom;
Theseus goes down, but thrusts his spear ahead:
Wildly he stabs, screams echo round the tomb.
The deed is done, the Minotaur is dead.
He hurries back, impatient, out of breath,
To Ariadne…and his father’s death.
Through darkness thick as blood he feels his way,
The tunnel wall beneath his hand is cold.
What horrors lie ahead, he cannot say;
Poor Theseus feels more terrified than bold.
A bovine stench assails his nostrils now,
Close by, a dreadful Something scrapes the ground,
Irresolute, but mindful of his vow
He stumbles on, alert for every sound.
With bellowing roar, the beast leaps in the gloom;
Theseus goes down, but thrusts his spear ahead:
Wildly he stabs, screams echo round the tomb.
The deed is done, the Minotaur is dead.
He hurries back, impatient, out of breath,
To Ariadne…and his father’s death.
