Least Read Sonnet Poems
#sonnet
Awakening
Finding myself in the fire, I seethe.
Roasting under the breath of your harsh words.
You are suppressing me; I cannot breathe.
Smoke fills my lungs, my deliverance slurred.
Long gone is the compassion I once felt.
I have been left here with horror and fear.
Asking for assistance, I remain knelt.
Can my voice carry any favor here?
Like the phoenix, I rise from the ashes!
Demanding that you look into my eyes
as my talons engrave you with gashes.
I free myself from your prison of lies!
Spanning my wings, floating...
Roasting under the breath of your harsh words.
You are suppressing me; I cannot breathe.
Smoke fills my lungs, my deliverance slurred.
Long gone is the compassion I once felt.
I have been left here with horror and fear.
Asking for assistance, I remain knelt.
Can my voice carry any favor here?
Like the phoenix, I rise from the ashes!
Demanding that you look into my eyes
as my talons engrave you with gashes.
I free myself from your prison of lies!
Spanning my wings, floating...
#breakup
#sonnet
#freedom
31 reads
15 Comments
This Thing.
I hate that deep, dark, cold of outer space
it mocks my feeble spark of being, so,
it's up there, lurking, but so in my face
with its life bringing ancient big bang glow.
It's waiting for my cold scattered ashes
this foul, heartless, dead but eternal thing,
to take my atoms like so much trash is
taken by trash carts though, I'll cling and cling...
It's the rotten fixed fate of emptiness
I shan't make a mark on space left behind,
this soap-bubble of my brief consciousness
will blink, snuffing out my life-spark...
it mocks my feeble spark of being, so,
it's up there, lurking, but so in my face
with its life bringing ancient big bang glow.
It's waiting for my cold scattered ashes
this foul, heartless, dead but eternal thing,
to take my atoms like so much trash is
taken by trash carts though, I'll cling and cling...
It's the rotten fixed fate of emptiness
I shan't make a mark on space left behind,
this soap-bubble of my brief consciousness
will blink, snuffing out my life-spark...
#sonnet
31 reads
0 Comments
I Wandered Through Each Chartered Street.
" I wandered through each chartered filth, filled, street
to eye things the poor are suffered to own;
rags, disease, high-rent slums, death, as a treat...
and in my impotence I can only groan.
The doorway sleepers, the ragged children,
just gallows fodder because they be poor,
boys and girls, hard labourers at age ten
no help, the rich bought out Jesus's roar..."
And today, (I am sick of all their Cant)
tents in streets of that, richest land of all, ...
to eye things the poor are suffered to own;
rags, disease, high-rent slums, death, as a treat...
and in my impotence I can only groan.
The doorway sleepers, the ragged children,
just gallows fodder because they be poor,
boys and girls, hard labourers at age ten
no help, the rich bought out Jesus's roar..."
And today, (I am sick of all their Cant)
tents in streets of that, richest land of all, ...
#sonnet
43 reads
0 Comments
Petrarchan #1.
At times, square words can make a wobbly fit
in sonnets round-holed-ten-syllabled-lines,
I find planes and spoke-shaves used on rhymes
can shape them suckers up if used with wit.
Chisels help, also sandpaper, fine grit,
and one or two glasses of Rhenish wine,
don't forget glue, a vice, butcher's strong twine
to clamp all, as you fight to fit the bits...
If your write takes on drab assumed languor
take care to give your thumb a timely whack,
the better to cure that lazy canker
and put poetic passion, back on track! ...
in sonnets round-holed-ten-syllabled-lines,
I find planes and spoke-shaves used on rhymes
can shape them suckers up if used with wit.
Chisels help, also sandpaper, fine grit,
and one or two glasses of Rhenish wine,
don't forget glue, a vice, butcher's strong twine
to clamp all, as you fight to fit the bits...
If your write takes on drab assumed languor
take care to give your thumb a timely whack,
the better to cure that lazy canker
and put poetic passion, back on track! ...
#sonnet
49 reads
2 Comments
This Fierce Flame.
When my sun goes down into that strange west
and my thoughts float away far past my eye,
and dimness creeps on at the grave behest
of the grim reaper's not so subtle sigh...
If I have strength left at my going, dear,
to be able to raise up one last praise
to show that my love was nowhere near mere
but a passion within some tender craze,
For in me now I have such a fierce flame
bordering on sweet apoplectic rage,
that Satan itself, if called by its name,
couldn't drag me to its dark, soulless, page.
And...
and my thoughts float away far past my eye,
and dimness creeps on at the grave behest
of the grim reaper's not so subtle sigh...
If I have strength left at my going, dear,
to be able to raise up one last praise
to show that my love was nowhere near mere
but a passion within some tender craze,
For in me now I have such a fierce flame
bordering on sweet apoplectic rage,
that Satan itself, if called by its name,
couldn't drag me to its dark, soulless, page.
And...
#sonnet
52 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Least Read Sonnet Poems
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