This form was described as a "mettlesome creature" and A.D.P Briggs
in his introduction to Evgeny Onegin states that Pushkin invented
a sonnet form which can go either way becoming Italian or English at the
flick of a switch in mid stanza.
couplet, e.f.f. e.....g.g. subtly different but you can see the English influence.
Pushkin Sonnet Contents
It was a dream. How cruel to break away
from sunlit fields that captivate the air;
from loving hands that would never betray
in echoes of parental pleas, 'Beware..'.
The putrid air escapes with morning mist,
as day surrenders to a Beggar's kiss,
while through the open door the light was lost
in white reveries of a Winter's frost.
The train awakes, and fires ascend the sky.
Destinies once asleep in fragile hands
are sold a ticket to the Shadowlands.
Come, Mother Earth, come claim your children by
the gate. They reach for you as a new born,
while we bolt shut the doors against the dawn.
back to list
(Sandwich Quatrain and Italian Sestet)
One year ago, there were no muddy paw
prints 'cross my white floor to clean,
or furniture scratched by tooth or claw,
or need to have dinner by five fifteen.
There was no kitty litter, I need to empty,
no bar sounds would ever break the still night,
or more interesting yet, a small town fight
and my lawn had grass and more than one tree.
But a year ago, there was no winding stream
to sit with you by, no ride in the park,
no watching the night skies with you at dark
and I couldn't hear your laugh, or see gleam
in your eyes as our furry kid's tricks do
often surprise, but I can say now, I love you.
I Used to Fly
His brim pulled down, head bowed, he walked in rain;
His thoughts downcast, his spirits drenched in pain;
His shoulders sagged, as if the cloud he wore
Was spilling doubts, which he could bear no more.
His raincoat beaded with the sweat of tears;
His collar lapping limply at his throat;
His trousers, bagged, no help to stay afloat,
Were dragging as his footsteps splashed his fears.
Invisible, the water, just like him.
He stopped. He stooped to touch a puddle’s ring
Which stirred the mirrored surface. Could it be?
He raised his eyes and, pushing up his brim,
He pondered on the meaning of this thing.
As clear as eyes in love, but could he see?
Gloria and Deb
I wish no more to write of falling tears,
No more of mournful winds that sweep the pines,
Though dreams, my dreams, are silent of life's cheers,
Of life's remorse, I wish no speech of mine.
To call upon a sparkle in your eyes
Or reaching for that place where softness lies
In keeping with the bubbles of champagne,
I wish to tickle, not to bring you pain.
So why, oh Muse, is it your words are found
In places dark, so quiet in my soul,
Where waves of raw emotion slowly roll
To turn again, my speech, the mourn to sound?
I wish no more to write these tales of woe,
these places, where these mournful winds do blow.
Deborah Bel -----
And what of stars, are they so far away
Under them we plan, and hope, and dream,
We know in time, like us they will decay
As they cease to shine so do our schemes.
In youth what stars shine, what plans we make
Wild things we do and say and risks we take.
Too late sometimes and one more star blinks out
But such is youth, ignoring the loudest shout.
We survive the day and in the eve that is age
Look up and see the sky, some stars are gone
Vanished just like some dreams we built upon
Having survived we are said to be a sage.
In truth I would rather see a fuller sky
Than the cull, where friends have to die.
Pictures in the Fire
Waiting For a Star to Fall
Huge mountains of white paper crowd my desk;
the gorges in between show deadly traps-
dark visions filled with living Kafkaesque.
The air is trembling heavy beat of raps.
Agendas overflowing, scratched out dates;
on each new page a lurking death awaits.
White bands of type-ex hide the cancelled meets-
the crossed-out failures of at hand defeats.
The top right corner is where terror reigns,
embodied by a heavy-set black phone;
its ever booming voice cuts to the bone,
it drives me mad and liquefies my brains.
On Friday morning, weekend’s freedom nears-
as BP lowers, stress relieves- mind clears.