Another interesting variation to the English Sonnet form is the Keats
sonnet. Here the meter is not specified and different types of feet other
than Iambic are permitted, ie: Trochee, Spondee and Pyrrhic.
Keats Sonnet Contents
Replant the plots, that weigh the wasted ground,
their story has been told, and etched in blood
for all God's generations to behold.
The austere bone-white chronicles have browned
from ages of remorse. A sprouting bud,
too long confined, supplants the forests vast.
The phantom trees, still dance upon the wold,
their roots long ago forged in iron and drowned
into the sea. She crests the fostered flood
and glides towards horizons gilt with gold.
An argonaut swell, rippling from the past,
foreshadows the ends of her loveliness.
Askance, she tacks the wake, a mermaid cast
a-prowl, the crooked path to happiness.
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A floating collage of memories made
winter’s grey disburse and embraced my heart
with yesterday’s seconds I’ve shared with you
moments, fragile as silence’s blank shades
invisibly connected from the start
each one revisited like an old book
as I turn each page the past becomes new
no yellow pages this love does not fade
it remains untouched by time like great art
nothing can ever erase what is true
these flashbacks fill voids like spring rains fill brooks
buried treasures I’ve opened to the light
flood my senses with joy with just one look
like the first time we met on a spring night
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Sing to me again, my unseen friend,
Who tugs at all my senses, begging
A poem for every past transgression.
Words fly forth from soul to pen,
Pages filled with love or pain, sending
Notes in reams to a hidden tempter.
Teasing forth intense emotions,
Fiery feasts consumed in rapture, sent
Secrets threaded into stories spilling.
Seasons change; but heat of my obsession
Thawed not in winter's icy grip, but lures
Another purging ritual be told.
Pensive hours spent, find such simple treasures
In a muse who warms a heart once cold.
In trying to write a sonnet
As clouds descend on sounds of nightbirds' cries,
The weight of sorrow falls and comes to rest.
Thick blankets billow, blotting out the stars
And smother dreams in darkness’s disguise.
An aching heart still flutters in its breast,
So weak, yet holding promises to keep.
It quivers, finding places without scars,
For strength to see the gift in burdened skies.
Faint music sifts between the layers depressed,
A wafting serenade sent from afar,
Now straining through the clouds to one who sleeps.
Melodious awakening, Clair de Lune.
In shadows of the dark, no need to weep.
Above night’s eiderdown, there shines the moon.
No Words of Love
No Words of Love II
In swirl of cloak and tilt of hat magicians of the air
hauntingly lay down at the feet of heaven’s door
substantial evidence of well embedded dreams.
Palms up an open plea for gratuities deemed fair,
sideways leans a symbol of needing so much more,
and magic waits and listens for the beating of a heart.
Harmoniously in tune beats pound the halls of sleep
and the instrument of love ensnared with a prayer
welcomes in a world not ever known before.
Soul weeps amidst the dream; who dares her boundaries
and heals the wound restraining emotion of the past
so deftly and invasively to overthrow the mind?
Unbeknown magic dreams kick-start heart to last
and time the only factor in awakening love’s light!
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I must write these words whilst they are alive
I need to frame the smile you make in my mind
That passes without so much as conversation.
For those words would no longer survive
They would escape and be impossible to find
In the sanity and sobriety of what is today.
Curve of lips and brows fill my collection
That is impossible to never want revive
Yet to verbalise, words are difficult to find.
So in haste I bid all distractions, "Begone!"
In your eyes is a place, I remember yesterday,
A sacred place, in which I would often relive.
I will allow not anything to get in my way
Your indulgence and my absence please forgive.
Let Me Dance
Walk With Me
My garden is a treat for hungry birds,
with peanut garlands decorating trees
and empty flower pots offering seed.
Blue-jays and blackbirds flee winter’s blizzards,
jackdaws and gulls screech, fighting for cheese.
By wren and robin, spills of war are doffed-
"waste not, want not" was the word, they’d agreed.
A pair of magpies drops by, they have heard
there’s a feast on the menu- fat cookies.
On top of the shed I put bread to feed
skinny sparrows but the crows fight them off.
Hugging a chimney, the heron keeps warm,
searching for fishponds he utters a cough.
Against silver skies, a swan’s graceful form.
Still hidden from this scene,
a cat crawls near, eyes glean
the gentle pair of doves-
in brutal jumps ends love.
Precautions make us overconfident-
in surprise actions precious life is spent.
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