Sonnet Seeking Friendly Advice Poems
#sonnet
Rew
Poem Published
21st Mar 2023 3:58pm
21st Mar 2023 3:58pm
Her Loving Parts.
My love reigns supreme in her loving parts
I see it in her golden eye and smile,
we hasten to each other from being apart
in her furry softness she has no guile.
But she has another place I cannot reach
some secret spot where in her mind she flies,
within there she has no sight or purring speech
If she stays there, then, surely I will die.
I have no choice but to hold her, just so
till eyes flutters open into the light,
and her nose suffused with her golden glow
and again we enjoy our silent night.
My Sally cat and...
I see it in her golden eye and smile,
we hasten to each other from being apart
in her furry softness she has no guile.
But she has another place I cannot reach
some secret spot where in her mind she flies,
within there she has no sight or purring speech
If she stays there, then, surely I will die.
I have no choice but to hold her, just so
till eyes flutters open into the light,
and her nose suffused with her golden glow
and again we enjoy our silent night.
My Sally cat and...
#cats
#sonnet
30 reads
3 Comments
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Poem Published
15th Mar 2023 7:51pm
15th Mar 2023 7:51pm
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...
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...
#men
#sonnet
#humankind
46 reads
8 Comments
Rew
Poem Published
14th Mar 2023 4:15pm
14th Mar 2023 4:15pm
On the Writing of Sonnets and an Exampled One
Sometimes square words make a reluctant fit
in sonnet's round-holed ten-syllabled line,
I find hammers and razors used, with wit,
can usually shape 'em up, make 'em rhyme.
Then craft them suckers with files and chisels
to hack out drivel, if you crack your thumb
with the hammer then try not to grizzle
but use the pain to exercise mind's tongue,
and write with passion and bloody anger
use the same blood dripping down on your page
do not write with some drab assumed languor
but spit it out, with your hatred and...
in sonnet's round-holed ten-syllabled line,
I find hammers and razors used, with wit,
can usually shape 'em up, make 'em rhyme.
Then craft them suckers with files and chisels
to hack out drivel, if you crack your thumb
with the hammer then try not to grizzle
but use the pain to exercise mind's tongue,
and write with passion and bloody anger
use the same blood dripping down on your page
do not write with some drab assumed languor
but spit it out, with your hatred and...
#sonnet
63 reads
12 Comments
Rew
Poem Published
9th Mar 2023 7:31pm
9th Mar 2023 7:31pm
The Old Stone Wall
Strange how a stone wall grows to great value
this sight which lacks meaning in passing eyes,
but I played my childhood games in this view
saw me chase, chased, and heard my shrieking cries.
My mother's grandfather played here with mates
as they bounced bamboo hoops or balls to school,
and, likely, stopped to look back from the gates
to see later kids play the self same fool.
There's nothing much left of our vanished past
a few bricks here and there and these old stones
blackened and weather...
this sight which lacks meaning in passing eyes,
but I played my childhood games in this view
saw me chase, chased, and heard my shrieking cries.
My mother's grandfather played here with mates
as they bounced bamboo hoops or balls to school,
and, likely, stopped to look back from the gates
to see later kids play the self same fool.
There's nothing much left of our vanished past
a few bricks here and there and these old stones
blackened and weather...
#sonnet
38 reads
4 Comments
Poetic_Quill
Mister Write
Mister Write
Poem Published
6th Mar 2023 10:44pm
6th Mar 2023 10:44pm
Pink Velvet
your pink velvet that inspires me to write
I love the way you pulse, shiver and leak
you invade my mind, haunt me through the night
I worship you with words I cannot speak
but my mouth is the only thing that’s dry
your tight grip, intensely warm and dripping
the slick dream and the whisper of your sigh
slakes while from your velvet cup I’m sipping
I am face to face with your sultry haze
I love your slippery clit, mouth and thighs
thinking of your tasty slit fills my days
now I come to you my sweet, sticky prize ...
I love the way you pulse, shiver and leak
you invade my mind, haunt me through the night
I worship you with words I cannot speak
but my mouth is the only thing that’s dry
your tight grip, intensely warm and dripping
the slick dream and the whisper of your sigh
slakes while from your velvet cup I’m sipping
I am face to face with your sultry haze
I love your slippery clit, mouth and thighs
thinking of your tasty slit fills my days
now I come to you my sweet, sticky prize ...
#lust
#sonnet
#passion
109 reads
0 Comments
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Poem Published
14th Feb 2023 9:30pm
14th Feb 2023 9:30pm
My Old School Ties
It had no Latin, no French and no Greek
no aspirations to be Oxbridges,
no Eaton's playing fields just soot-grimed streets
and forever reeked of boiled cabbages.
But the area served some famous names
just not this infant and junior school's,
Keith Waterhouse, author of playwright fame,
and Richard Hoggart's literacy use.
And Mathew Murray and John Blenkinsop's
engine, on their world famous railway line,
and that Rolls Royce of prams...
no aspirations to be Oxbridges,
no Eaton's playing fields just soot-grimed streets
and forever reeked of boiled cabbages.
But the area served some famous names
just not this infant and junior school's,
Keith Waterhouse, author of playwright fame,
and Richard Hoggart's literacy use.
And Mathew Murray and John Blenkinsop's
engine, on their world famous railway line,
and that Rolls Royce of prams...
#sonnet
35 reads
0 Comments
Rew
Poem Published
11th Feb 2023 11:40am
11th Feb 2023 11:40am
A Little Schooling, A little fooling...
It was the center of my childish days
replete with gas-lit streets and killer smog,
the walls, black-soot-pitted from acid rains,
and outside toilets where, sometimes, we'd snog.
But the hand-basins now don't reach my thigh
and the rough Izal toilet paper, gone,
along with the coal-tar soap which stung my eyes
but I recall we chorused great school songs,
and weaved gay candy-striped maypole ribbons
as to the ' keel row ' we high-stepped a reel,
or...
replete with gas-lit streets and killer smog,
the walls, black-soot-pitted from acid rains,
and outside toilets where, sometimes, we'd snog.
But the hand-basins now don't reach my thigh
and the rough Izal toilet paper, gone,
along with the coal-tar soap which stung my eyes
but I recall we chorused great school songs,
and weaved gay candy-striped maypole ribbons
as to the ' keel row ' we high-stepped a reel,
or...
#childhood
#school
#sonnet #memories
#sonnet #memories
40 reads
0 Comments
Rew
Poem Published
10th Feb 2023 11:05am
10th Feb 2023 11:05am
The Old School
Round the granite dressed Carr Academy
in right grandly named crescent, streets and road
a host of terraced houses neighbourly
nestled, back-to-back, side-by-side and dozed...
On lift of latch brass-bell of corner shops
would clang telling folk shop might make a sale,
and growl of iron clad wheels and clip-clop
of brewer's dray-horse carting pub some ales.
But come four-of-the-clock great clamour screamed
as kids tight-sprung sprang out...
in right grandly named crescent, streets and road
a host of terraced houses neighbourly
nestled, back-to-back, side-by-side and dozed...
On lift of latch brass-bell of corner shops
would clang telling folk shop might make a sale,
and growl of iron clad wheels and clip-clop
of brewer's dray-horse carting pub some ales.
But come four-of-the-clock great clamour screamed
as kids tight-sprung sprang out...
#sonnet
46 reads
0 Comments
Rew
Poem Published
9th Feb 2023 10:25pm
9th Feb 2023 10:25pm
The Carr Academy ii
It was the old grey Carr Academy
where she, all stately dressed in granite stone,
waited to take and teach four-year-old-me
and did I hear my forebears fearful moans?
A school from that harsh Victorian age
erected in Eighteen-Seventy-Four,
when black-slate and chalk ruled not paper page
and teachers taught class tasks by rote and lore.
My great-grandmother attended this school
as did four generations after her,
back then you'd be flogged for playing the fool
or not addressing the Masters as, sir...
...
where she, all stately dressed in granite stone,
waited to take and teach four-year-old-me
and did I hear my forebears fearful moans?
A school from that harsh Victorian age
erected in Eighteen-Seventy-Four,
when black-slate and chalk ruled not paper page
and teachers taught class tasks by rote and lore.
My great-grandmother attended this school
as did four generations after her,
back then you'd be flogged for playing the fool
or not addressing the Masters as, sir...
...
#sonnet
32 reads
0 Comments
Rew
Poem Published
8th Feb 2023 8:07pm
8th Feb 2023 8:07pm
The Carr Academy i
I well remember my first day at school
dashing eager through Victorian doors,
beveled glass refracting rainbows, wood smoothed
by countless sweet-bribed kids, pushed in its maw.
And the dour-faced whelping who greeted me,
so high, so mighty, so imperious,
who yanked me away, seemingly with glee,
from some toys, saying " Not for likes of us!"
Ah well, she's far beyond chastisement now
and the indignities? Surely, I'll forgive,
for she must've got something right, or how,
could I be penning this, little missive? ...
dashing eager through Victorian doors,
beveled glass refracting rainbows, wood smoothed
by countless sweet-bribed kids, pushed in its maw.
And the dour-faced whelping who greeted me,
so high, so mighty, so imperious,
who yanked me away, seemingly with glee,
from some toys, saying " Not for likes of us!"
Ah well, she's far beyond chastisement now
and the indignities? Surely, I'll forgive,
for she must've got something right, or how,
could I be penning this, little missive? ...
#sonnet
53 reads
2 Comments
Rew
Poem Published
4th Feb 2023 8:19pm
4th Feb 2023 8:19pm
Machine Writes.
I bet that Stratford lad, Will, what's his name?
when counting his fame never bemoaned moans,
scoffing bacon sarnies, top of his game,
with his pals hacking plays out of old tomes.
Some say an infinity of monkey
banging typewriters can write the same thing,
and algorithms on new machines, maybe
usurp us rhymers to make poems swing.
So I bang away like old king Canute
in the hope to keep this new tide from my door,
where one presses buttons, get writes to suit,
machines write perfect but I provide flaws.
...
when counting his fame never bemoaned moans,
scoffing bacon sarnies, top of his game,
with his pals hacking plays out of old tomes.
Some say an infinity of monkey
banging typewriters can write the same thing,
and algorithms on new machines, maybe
usurp us rhymers to make poems swing.
So I bang away like old king Canute
in the hope to keep this new tide from my door,
where one presses buttons, get writes to suit,
machines write perfect but I provide flaws.
...
#rhyming
#sonnet
60 reads
2 Comments
Rew
Poem Published
27th Jan 2023 8:41am
27th Jan 2023 8:41am
Reflection
There's something tragical about a glass
hanging there mutely absorbing the world,
silently soaking daily scenes up as
life parades past with quick looks in a whirl.
As I pass I glance at this one, sideways,
it shows Mum's coats still hanging in the hall
though these are from our past, our yesterdays,
there they are forlorn on hooks on the wall.
This was the mirror Mum used, as Mums do,
bustling in and out of our old rude home
and strangely, without my specks, as I grew,
I would glimpse her, in this glass, though alone.
...
hanging there mutely absorbing the world,
silently soaking daily scenes up as
life parades past with quick looks in a whirl.
As I pass I glance at this one, sideways,
it shows Mum's coats still hanging in the hall
though these are from our past, our yesterdays,
there they are forlorn on hooks on the wall.
This was the mirror Mum used, as Mums do,
bustling in and out of our old rude home
and strangely, without my specks, as I grew,
I would glimpse her, in this glass, though alone.
...
#sonnet
80 reads
8 Comments
DU Poetry : Sonnet Seeking Friendly Advice Poems
