Sonnets Here, In-House

Copperfox said:
There is a Dancing Lawn member who, by her own admission, owes an apology to several other members. I was among the first ones to whom she offered her apology. I accepted her apology, but she is afraid of NOT being forgiven by others. Accordingly, I offered to attempt a sort of icebreaker here in my poetic thread. She was the first to see my new sonnet, and she approved of my posting it for the purpose I have indicated. So here goes:


If I become annoyed at anyone,
God grant at least that my shots never fly
At those who are contrite for what they've done,
But only those who stubbornly deny

Responsibility for doing ill,
And make excuses for an evil deed.
Where there's remorse, I hope I always will
Give grace and mercy, which is what they need.

From that point, let there be correction, meant
To help that soul do better afterward;
This is true love to those who do repent,
To make the right path clear for them, not hard.

"Those whom I love, I chasten"--so says Christ;
And when He's chastened them, let's treat them nice.
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I loved it! Beautiful! Have you ever considered getting an account on deviantart.com to post your sonnets there? It's free and it copyrights them, and it also allows them to be seen by more people around the world. It's only a suggestion, though. I think you have a lot of skill with these sonnets. :)
 
That was a really nice sonnet. I don't think I have anything to forgive anyone here but if I do, of course I would gladly accept an apology and forgive.
 
Look out, I'm going to commit the crime of disclaimers! My disclaimer:

I was directly asked to write the following sonnet! It is thus not a matter of my being too forward and personal, pushing my attentions on someone. Clear?

As in other cases, I searched the posts written by my subject in order to find material.


* FOR NARNIAGUARDIAN *

You had the vast Pacific blue to cross,
To meet this Colorado man online.
Like Pardine and yourself, I dread the loss
Of written words, which carry us through time

To many alternate realities,
Of course including Narnia, in which
We hope to conquer evil, not appease,
And without movies, let our minds be rich.

Upon your island, have you made a friend
Who both deserves your trust, and shares your taste?
If not, I hope you don't see a dead end
As your sole definition of that place.

By being unlike everybody there,
You have that much more new insight to share.
 
I recall it being said that one might write a sonnet about oneself without being thought narcissistic, if one did not flatter oneself in the writing. Well, I am confident that THIS will not strike anyone as bragging on my part.


A COMPLAINT UPON
BEING UNEXPECTEDLY
STRICKEN WITH GOUT


For those who have so much as heard of gout,
The image held most often is a slob,
Who gluttonously shoves his piggy snout
Into a feast which well could feed a mob,

Until his own greed makes him ill. In fact,
However, not all cases are this way.
The chemical condition "gout" attacked
One week ago, and put me out of play,

Though I'd been moderate in what I ate.
It's what I take for pressure of the blood,
A diuretic, which brought on the state
In which my foot became a swollen dud.

Now gout and high blood pressure both afflict,
Whose treatments, I'm afraid, will contradict.
 
Copperfox said:
I recall it being said that one might write a sonnet about oneself without being thought narcissistic, if one did not flatter oneself in the writing. Well, I am confident that THIS will not strike anyone as bragging on my part.
I can honestly say I never equated gout with gluttony, and didn't know others did.
And no, that was not in the least bit narcissistic. lol
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The following is for SMAUG.

Smaug, please note how I have marked out the meter (arrangement of accented syllables) for you. Read the poem to yourself aloud; get the feel of the classical "iambic" rhythm in your mouth and ears.


Please don't eat poison cherries; that would mean
You couldn't learn how sonnet-writing goes.
A poisoned brain won't catch the rhythm scheme
In which the work of William Shakespeare flows.

Make "Revelation" singular--no S;
Much more important, read the Bible through.
Don't trip on escalators, kid--unless
You've got the Rescue Rangers catching you.

Call me a Writing Ranger, for I seek
To help new writers be what they could be.
That's why I made the Market of Technique;
I hope that you will use it frequently.

Write haiku, or clean limericks, that's fine;
But build up your poetic product line.


~ ~ Here's an ironic thought for you: J.R.R. Tolkien actually considered the plays and poems of Shakespeare too NEW AND MODERN to bother with!
 
Copperfox said:
The following is for SMAUG.

Smaug, please note how I have marked out the meter (arrangement of accented syllables) for you. Read the poem to yourself aloud; get the feel of the classical "iambic" rhythm in your mouth and ears.


Please don't eat poison cherries; that would mean
You couldn't learn how sonnet-writing goes.
A poisoned brain won't catch the rhythm scheme
In which the work of William Shakespeare flows.

Make "Revelation" singular--no S;
Much more important, read the Bible through.
Don't trip on escalators, kid--unless
You've got the Rescue Rangers catching you.

Call me a Writing Ranger, for I seek
To help new writers be what they could be.
That's why I made the Market of Technique;
I hope that you will use it frequently.

Write haiku, or clean limericks, that's fine;
But build up your poetic product line.


~ ~ Here's an ironic thought for you: J.R.R. Tolkien actually considered the plays and poems of Shakespeare too NEW AND MODERN to bother with!
Click to expand...

Hm. That was cool. Thanks for the emphasis.
 
Copperfox said:
The following is for SMAUG.

Smaug, please note how I have marked out the meter (arrangement of accented syllables) for you. Read the poem to yourself aloud; get the feel of the classical "iambic" rhythm in your mouth and ears.


Please don't eat poison cherries; that would mean
You couldn't learn how sonnet-writing goes.
A poisoned brain won't catch the rhythm scheme
In which the work of William Shakespeare flows.

Make "Revelation" singular--no S;
Much more important, read the Bible through.
Don't trip on escalators, kid--unless
You've got the Rescue Rangers catching you.

Call me a Writing Ranger, for I seek
To help new writers be what they could be.
That's why I made the Market of Technique;
I hope that you will use it frequently.

Write haiku, or clean limericks, that's fine;
But build up your poetic product line.


~ ~ Here's an ironic thought for you: J.R.R. Tolkien actually considered the plays and poems of Shakespeare too NEW AND MODERN to bother with!
Click to expand...

Hmm Hmm X3
Awesome! Don't worry, I won't eat any poison cherries :3
 
FOR ZELLA:
in honor of her accepting the challenge I
offered for a sonnet-style exercise in line
writing on the "Marketplace" thread


Dan Ackroyd, in "Blues Brothers," ran in place
As his main dancing step; there was no rule
That he could not do so--yet frantic pace
Does not itself make an artistic school.

Great Francis Schaeffer taught that freedom needs
A form, as muscles need a skeleton,
To give direction to all sorts of deeds;
This would apply to anything that's done

In arts and writing, skills for sight and sound.
A talent with no discipline at all
Ends up just blindly throwing paint around,
And makes a mess, not murals, on the wall.

But Zella, you were zealous; thank you much!
You proved that forms don't kill the poet's touch.
 
Copperfox said:
FOR ZELLA:
in honor of her accepting the challenge I
offered for a sonnet-style exercise in line
writing on the "Marketplace" thread


Dan Ackroyd, in "Blues Brothers," ran in place
As his main dancing step; there was no rule
That he could not do so--yet frantic pace
Does not itself make an artistic school.

Great Francis Schaeffer taught that freedom needs
A form, as muscles need a skeleton,
To give direction to all sorts of deeds;
This would apply to anything that's done

In arts and writing, skills for sight and sound.
A talent with no discipline at all
Ends up just blindly throwing paint around,
And makes a mess, not murals, on the wall.

But Zella, you were zealous; thank you much!
You proved that forms don't kill the poet's touch.
Click to expand...

Aw, thank you so much Copperfox! I don't know what else to say; it was wonderful.
 
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