Sonnet Seeking Friendly Advice Poems
#sonnet
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Poem Published
13th Dec 2024 1:07pm
13th Dec 2024 1:07pm
A Tribute
Is there a finer way to pay tribute
other than the form they have made their own
singing songs to courtly Spinet and Lute
and if wrath grows then blasts of Trumpets blown.
There is great wealth in writes couched in past terms
linked to sleeping blooms where rhyme came of age,
and they in turn looked to their past and yearned
and this, by hap, ere the first paper page?
They build on legends just as Shakespeare did
the one great change lay in that of degree, ...
other than the form they have made their own
singing songs to courtly Spinet and Lute
and if wrath grows then blasts of Trumpets blown.
There is great wealth in writes couched in past terms
linked to sleeping blooms where rhyme came of age,
and they in turn looked to their past and yearned
and this, by hap, ere the first paper page?
They build on legends just as Shakespeare did
the one great change lay in that of degree, ...
#respect
#sonnet
52 reads
5 Comments
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Poem Published
25th Sep 2024 1:22pm
25th Sep 2024 1:22pm
There's Nothing New...
Like most folk I am not very saintly
and thinking that was struck by a dark thought,
about bibles and who's on the jury,
sifting evidence when I'm dead, in court.
For young life things found out, I got grounded,
or had privileges summarily stopped,
but that's for stuff mostly caught red-handed
there's more things that'll get Ma, truly shocked.
So, that's the thing, on Dread Judgement Day,
I'm gonna be stuffed when my crimes are read out
watching Ma turn pale then a sickly gray
unless, of...
and thinking that was struck by a dark thought,
about bibles and who's on the jury,
sifting evidence when I'm dead, in court.
For young life things found out, I got grounded,
or had privileges summarily stopped,
but that's for stuff mostly caught red-handed
there's more things that'll get Ma, truly shocked.
So, that's the thing, on Dread Judgement Day,
I'm gonna be stuffed when my crimes are read out
watching Ma turn pale then a sickly gray
unless, of...
#sonnet
125 reads
4 Comments
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Poem Published
22nd Sep 2024 10:34pm
22nd Sep 2024 10:34pm
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
74 reads
0 Comments
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Poem Published
4th Sep 2024 8:23pm
4th Sep 2024 8:23pm
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
103 reads
8 Comments
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Poem Published
3rd Sep 2024 4:50pm
3rd Sep 2024 4:50pm
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
85 reads
2 Comments
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Poem Published
2nd Sep 2024 7:29pm
2nd Sep 2024 7:29pm
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
89 reads
6 Comments
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Poem Published
20th Aug 2024 6:14pm
20th Aug 2024 6:14pm
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
103 reads
4 Comments
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Poem Published
15th Aug 2024 7:18pm
15th Aug 2024 7:18pm
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
103 reads
7 Comments
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Poem Published
4th Jul 2024 9:08pm
4th Jul 2024 9:08pm
Willed from Bed
History makes it all sound so tidy with,
' Shakespeare's will writ four weeks before he's dead,'
where their first, best-bed, used, goes to Judith
and Anne gets their brand-new, second, best-bed...
I'm having a laugh, of course, it's dread stuff,
I'm just gonna will mine on this hospice,
before they get picky and take the huff
at my junk and think I'm taking the piss...
My will's a paltry thing, just a gesture,
from my mouth to clean up all my loose ends,
I've spent a life cleaning up so for sure
I know what goes...
' Shakespeare's will writ four weeks before he's dead,'
where their first, best-bed, used, goes to Judith
and Anne gets their brand-new, second, best-bed...
I'm having a laugh, of course, it's dread stuff,
I'm just gonna will mine on this hospice,
before they get picky and take the huff
at my junk and think I'm taking the piss...
My will's a paltry thing, just a gesture,
from my mouth to clean up all my loose ends,
I've spent a life cleaning up so for sure
I know what goes...
#sonnet
#TruthOfLife
93 reads
2 Comments
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Poem Published
30th May 2024 12:56pm
30th May 2024 12:56pm
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
91 reads
0 Comments
IntoTheRain
Poem Published
22nd May 2024 3:58am
22nd May 2024 3:58am
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
160 reads
9 Comments
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Poem Published
10th May 2024 5:50pm
10th May 2024 5:50pm
Ode to Will.
O how we ache to ape your dexterous pen
from home to academe and beyond,
advertising addiction, once again
fat-witted, keyless to your fairylands.
We've compacted with devils, pilgrimaged
to the dual new place of birth and death,
become churchlike there, there to be amazed
to breathe air holding mem'ry of your breath.
Enrapt to hobnob where you, honeytongued,
for such gossip I'm a wanton glutton
enhoped to have pen and my words reyounged
to your age, to be kissed with your atoms,
Still sparkling nigh...
from home to academe and beyond,
advertising addiction, once again
fat-witted, keyless to your fairylands.
We've compacted with devils, pilgrimaged
to the dual new place of birth and death,
become churchlike there, there to be amazed
to breathe air holding mem'ry of your breath.
Enrapt to hobnob where you, honeytongued,
for such gossip I'm a wanton glutton
enhoped to have pen and my words reyounged
to your age, to be kissed with your atoms,
Still sparkling nigh...
#fiction
#historical
#nonfiction
#sonnet
#WilliamShakespeare
103 reads
8 Comments
DU Poetry : Sonnet Seeking Friendly Advice Poems
