Sonnet Seeking Friendly Advice Poems
#sonnet
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Poem Published
29th Mar 2025 5:15pm
29th Mar 2025 5:15pm
Memories of Lesbos
Womanhood has such magic within it
think; Songs of Hestia from her secret dell,
that the feminine in some men is spirited
to strike the shackles off of their man made hell.
It can compel a girl to leave her father's hearth
or a woman vacate her husband's rude bed,
and feel no remorse as they are moved to part
from the false authority of manly heads.
Don't think, Hoplite, those citizen warriors,
grooming each, naked, preparing to die at fight,
but rather think Aphrodite's sacred whores
welcoming little deaths on holy nights. ...
think; Songs of Hestia from her secret dell,
that the feminine in some men is spirited
to strike the shackles off of their man made hell.
It can compel a girl to leave her father's hearth
or a woman vacate her husband's rude bed,
and feel no remorse as they are moved to part
from the false authority of manly heads.
Don't think, Hoplite, those citizen warriors,
grooming each, naked, preparing to die at fight,
but rather think Aphrodite's sacred whores
welcoming little deaths on holy nights. ...
#sonnet
65 reads
2 Comments
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Poem Published
19th Feb 2025 8:23pm
19th Feb 2025 8:23pm
As If?
He carries round his window cleaning gear
whistling some well known bohemian air,
wears gold earrings, (street cred' is now so dear,)
and runs up ladders like his bedroom stairs.
Tanned and sleek, full of self-confident wealth,
he growls, '' you're next !" (in hope to hear a purr?)
rippling muscles, bouncing around with health,
with a chest full of lush, gorilla, fur...
He cleans windows like an athletic cat
stalks those streets, an animal on the hunt,
but I know the repertoire, all the chat,
and the sleazy way he says...
whistling some well known bohemian air,
wears gold earrings, (street cred' is now so dear,)
and runs up ladders like his bedroom stairs.
Tanned and sleek, full of self-confident wealth,
he growls, '' you're next !" (in hope to hear a purr?)
rippling muscles, bouncing around with health,
with a chest full of lush, gorilla, fur...
He cleans windows like an athletic cat
stalks those streets, an animal on the hunt,
but I know the repertoire, all the chat,
and the sleazy way he says...
#sonnet
61 reads
0 Comments
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Poem Published
13th Feb 2025 3:47pm
13th Feb 2025 3:47pm
So Richly Chased...
Too few torrid tales our past could now tell
if we could just play 'Do you remember?'
but such astounding things they'd ring love's bell
round the cosmos's last, dying ember...
And oh, how fiercely rich, our brief time came,
that all Titans' black oil could not purchase
these memories, Fort Knox's gold, mere grain
compared to your dream, here, so richly chased.
But as our brief life reaches its full height
the deepest sleep descends to quench our schemes,
when time starts to stick in its sneaky knife
I...
if we could just play 'Do you remember?'
but such astounding things they'd ring love's bell
round the cosmos's last, dying ember...
And oh, how fiercely rich, our brief time came,
that all Titans' black oil could not purchase
these memories, Fort Knox's gold, mere grain
compared to your dream, here, so richly chased.
But as our brief life reaches its full height
the deepest sleep descends to quench our schemes,
when time starts to stick in its sneaky knife
I...
#sonnet
97 reads
2 Comments
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Poem Published
7th Jan 2025 1:25pm
7th Jan 2025 1:25pm
Little spring-lamb...
I remember being a new-born lamb
kicking my heels high, high, with joyful bleats,
bah, bahing, at tuts and frowns from my dam
needing me to hide mid the bleating sheep.
But I sought answers, chewed the hows and whys,
among the grass-nibbling, nose-down, docile flock
my eyes searched for fields higher in the sky
where grass must be greener but, just got mocked...
Time passed and winds blew a sense of unease
old ones seemed to roam...
kicking my heels high, high, with joyful bleats,
bah, bahing, at tuts and frowns from my dam
needing me to hide mid the bleating sheep.
But I sought answers, chewed the hows and whys,
among the grass-nibbling, nose-down, docile flock
my eyes searched for fields higher in the sky
where grass must be greener but, just got mocked...
Time passed and winds blew a sense of unease
old ones seemed to roam...
#sonnet
78 reads
3 Comments
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Poem Published
22nd Sep 2024 9:34pm
22nd Sep 2024 9:34pm
A Closed Door.
I was keen to be a part of things when young
like when I dragged a tinker to our door,
shrieking " he'll mend holes in your pans, Mum! Mum!"
then soon found, we were viewed as strange and, poor...
Or the guy hawking things to thread needles
and bribing kids with sweets and gay balloons,
" Quick, you want ribbons, go tell your peoples
the Sewing-Man's here and you'll have those, soon..."
There's not much for the likes of me these days
no rag and bone folk ringing big brass bells,
with us begging for rides on...
like when I dragged a tinker to our door,
shrieking " he'll mend holes in your pans, Mum! Mum!"
then soon found, we were viewed as strange and, poor...
Or the guy hawking things to thread needles
and bribing kids with sweets and gay balloons,
" Quick, you want ribbons, go tell your peoples
the Sewing-Man's here and you'll have those, soon..."
There's not much for the likes of me these days
no rag and bone folk ringing big brass bells,
with us begging for rides on...
#memories
#sonnet
106 reads
0 Comments
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Poem Published
4th Sep 2024 7:23pm
4th Sep 2024 7:23pm
Ten thousand years to write
A stick of burnt wood mashed in a stone cup
mixed to a thin paste with some cuckoo spit,
then draw scenes on hidden cave walls, high up,
those will last ten thousand years, within it.
Don't stop there, add china-clay and get gray,
or china-clay on its own and get white,
then the artist can picture night and day
and with flickering flame show birds in flight.
So electrifying to find such things
those reds and yellows right beneath their feet,
and it's from there, I see, that our art springs
and down ten thousand years, or more,...
mixed to a thin paste with some cuckoo spit,
then draw scenes on hidden cave walls, high up,
those will last ten thousand years, within it.
Don't stop there, add china-clay and get gray,
or china-clay on its own and get white,
then the artist can picture night and day
and with flickering flame show birds in flight.
So electrifying to find such things
those reds and yellows right beneath their feet,
and it's from there, I see, that our art springs
and down ten thousand years, or more,...
#historical
#inspirational
#sonnet
150 reads
8 Comments
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Poem Published
3rd Sep 2024 3:50pm
3rd Sep 2024 3:50pm
I'm not cutout for these...
Jack the Ripper was a well known cutter
(that should read infamous but it don't fit,
or Christian Barnard, I heard mutter,
" damn, this heart's too big, I'll shave off a bit."
And there's been lots of footpads and cutthroats
wielding bludgeons, saps and straight-edge-razors,
from Lands-End to way, way, past John-o-Groats
now roads are boring but, a bit safer?
So, those are things I'm not cutout to be
and my diction will never be cut-glass,
raising me higher than cute...
(that should read infamous but it don't fit,
or Christian Barnard, I heard mutter,
" damn, this heart's too big, I'll shave off a bit."
And there's been lots of footpads and cutthroats
wielding bludgeons, saps and straight-edge-razors,
from Lands-End to way, way, past John-o-Groats
now roads are boring but, a bit safer?
So, those are things I'm not cutout to be
and my diction will never be cut-glass,
raising me higher than cute...
#sonnet
141 reads
2 Comments
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Poem Published
2nd Sep 2024 6:29pm
2nd Sep 2024 6:29pm
Sepiia
Cuttlebones are found in budgie cages
where pretty-polly is seen pecking one,
used as gem polisher down the ages
and came from some poor cuttlefish's tum.
That beastie gave up this bone with its ghost
and pretty-pollies benefit from this,
Cephalopod, with eight arms, at the most,
swimming oceans, a mollusc, not a fish...
My grandmother would've known well, such stuff,
their education was wide and thorough,
but perhaps wondered how life vanished,...
where pretty-polly is seen pecking one,
used as gem polisher down the ages
and came from some poor cuttlefish's tum.
That beastie gave up this bone with its ghost
and pretty-pollies benefit from this,
Cephalopod, with eight arms, at the most,
swimming oceans, a mollusc, not a fish...
My grandmother would've known well, such stuff,
their education was wide and thorough,
but perhaps wondered how life vanished,...
#sonnet
158 reads
6 Comments
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Poem Published
20th Aug 2024 5:14pm
20th Aug 2024 5:14pm
A Mother's Time
Such a wealth of timepieces we command
all accurate down to the Nth degree,
some on wrist and some clutched in hopeful hands
but it's the same rigid time that we see.
I like the tick-tock of my wind-up clock
with its stylised Arabic numbers,
my brass and tin time machine takes me back
to when luminous hands watched my slumbers.
I didn't need clocks, of course, what kid did,
Ma's magic would tell the passing hours,
" Time for school!" " Lunch time!" and " It's time for...
all accurate down to the Nth degree,
some on wrist and some clutched in hopeful hands
but it's the same rigid time that we see.
I like the tick-tock of my wind-up clock
with its stylised Arabic numbers,
my brass and tin time machine takes me back
to when luminous hands watched my slumbers.
I didn't need clocks, of course, what kid did,
Ma's magic would tell the passing hours,
" Time for school!" " Lunch time!" and " It's time for...
#family
#memories
#mother #sonnet
#mother #sonnet
162 reads
4 Comments
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Poem Published
15th Aug 2024 6:18pm
15th Aug 2024 6:18pm
Time & gravity
Time was, once, good to me, it gave me growth,
from that which was wizened soon blossomed out
and bloomed with straight, lithe, limbs, nothing loath
I seized youth's rain like a lawn, in a drought.
But gravity, now, weighs heavy on me
and tries to slough from my bones, flesh and skin,
so that everything sags to some degree
now me's not me on my picture, within...
So, I'll hide behind my Spanish maiden
she who can write right for cherub or imp,
and hope she's leans toward angel not satan
cos at times she's a cheeky...
from that which was wizened soon blossomed out
and bloomed with straight, lithe, limbs, nothing loath
I seized youth's rain like a lawn, in a drought.
But gravity, now, weighs heavy on me
and tries to slough from my bones, flesh and skin,
so that everything sags to some degree
now me's not me on my picture, within...
So, I'll hide behind my Spanish maiden
she who can write right for cherub or imp,
and hope she's leans toward angel not satan
cos at times she's a cheeky...
#sonnet
155 reads
7 Comments
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Poem Published
30th May 2024 11:56am
30th May 2024 11:56am
Such a Lot.
I read comics before this writing lark
not Bunty or Judy, middle-class crap,
but subversive ones were more to my mark
like the Beano's Mini-the-Minx, tough lass.
Or the Dandy, with lanky key-hole Kate,
but she kinda stymied me with her specks,
but though, I was nearer four than Kate's eight,
her Pinocchio nose made me suspect,
She told lies, cos specks would clunk on keyholes
I thought, hugging myself in silent glee,
that's why her nose grows an just me...
not Bunty or Judy, middle-class crap,
but subversive ones were more to my mark
like the Beano's Mini-the-Minx, tough lass.
Or the Dandy, with lanky key-hole Kate,
but she kinda stymied me with her specks,
but though, I was nearer four than Kate's eight,
her Pinocchio nose made me suspect,
She told lies, cos specks would clunk on keyholes
I thought, hugging myself in silent glee,
that's why her nose grows an just me...
#identity
#myself
#sonnet
141 reads
0 Comments
IntoTheRain
Poem Published
22nd May 2024 2:58am
22nd May 2024 2:58am
Window Writing (a sonnet)
Her thoughts chasse' as she begins to write.
The heavy clouds create pillowing forms.
Inked prose seen only with the candlelight,
O' springtime evening bringing her sweet storms.
A whip-poor-will's enduring twilight song,
Fresh lilac tantalizing every word.
This conquest of her vision has been long.
Does rain bring presence begging to be heard?
My parchment strewn from gales, now raindrop skimmed.
Behold, the brilliance of a lightning arch!
Deep rest calls, the beeswax stick becomes dimmed,
Silent verses to slumber in the...
The heavy clouds create pillowing forms.
Inked prose seen only with the candlelight,
O' springtime evening bringing her sweet storms.
A whip-poor-will's enduring twilight song,
Fresh lilac tantalizing every word.
This conquest of her vision has been long.
Does rain bring presence begging to be heard?
My parchment strewn from gales, now raindrop skimmed.
Behold, the brilliance of a lightning arch!
Deep rest calls, the beeswax stick becomes dimmed,
Silent verses to slumber in the...
#night
#quatrain
#rain
#sonnet
#storm
238 reads
9 Comments
DU Poetry : Sonnet Seeking Friendly Advice Poems
