By the time Wyatt and Surrey introduced Petrarch to England, sonnets were
popular throughout Europe, including France where a group called "Pleiade"
was dedicated to importing Italian poetry.
French Sonnet Posts
A wanderer whose quest calls him away,
may touch with fingertips, a stroke of fond,
a tender kiss, a brief encounter bond,
as, with each sip of wine, love meets half way.
A smile speaks more than words could ever say,
not lingering on lips as it responds,
but reaching to the depths and far beyond
into eternity, without delay.
Come, listen to my eyes, hear what is meant,
for there youíll find my love, my true intent.
Yet, could we talk together, eye to eye,
no doubts to cloud our vision, torment free,
connections finding silence as the key
to holding hands, and never question why?
Blank paper its time for you and I
to color the empty
with words of beauty
as I begin this task I cry
For many reasons I know not why
I feel this need to be pithy
knowing it is my duty
to give thoughts that are frail and shy
New wings to travel and explore
and gently open each closed door
for it is better to try
to write than not at all
and answer ones inner call
to be free to fly
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It's easy to compare love to a rose;
The delicate and dangerous cliche's;
Emerging and yet rooted in its ways;
The darling bud that every sophomore knows;
The haute couture of all of nature's clothes;
Enjoying care and loving sunny days;
Surviving, even thriving cutting blades,
As season after season the heart grows.
And then I'd have to write myself the bee
Whose fascination I did not foresee;
As yours became my garden to attend,
Sweetly. Marking your tendency toward light,
And hopefully, remaining in your sight,
I'll come to see which way the vine will bend.
Eleventh Hour Reprieve
Gliding on mighty dragon wings,
Floating high oíer silken cloud,
Of sweet white cotton candy crowd,
Looking below makes my heart sing.
Ploughed field are not for kings
Tapestried earth make farmers proud
But fit warriors only with a shroud
And dragons think of different things.
We think of gold as common stuff,
Greed and power is the sin of clan.
Whilst what we have is quite enough,
Humans acquire what eír they can.
Being told that their life is tough,
This is the first lie told by man.
Within the setting sun
As muscles strain and quiver, breathing slows;
I concentrate and straighten up my spine,
distracting thoughts are offered on a shrine-
my sanctum, where a thornless rose now grows.
With every inhalation freedom flows-
old bonds drop off as vertebrae align;
I stretch my arms behind me, hands entwine.
On breathing out I bow and touch my toes.
In yielding mind and body Iím set free-
I balance on one foot- a pliant tree.
As fragrant incense wafts from copper bowls,
it enters nose and sinuses- dissolves
each blockage met, till slowly peace evolves.
Soft music thrills my ears- reborn, I'm whole.
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