IN-FORM POET WITH RJ CLARKEN – BYRON’S SONNET
So…yes, we’ve done a couple of weeks of short, fun, easy (ish) syllabic poems. But…I heard a bit of grumbling about that, so for October 30th, we’re going to do something that is somewhat more traditional – ta da…the Sonnet. But not just any Sonnet. Oh no. (Besides, that was done already here.)
This time, we’re going to do a variation on a theme, so to speak – Byron’s Sonnet. According to Terry Clitheroe, the showrunner of The Poets Garret (http://www.thepoetsgarret.com/sonnet/byron.html) this particular Sonnet can be in any meter (iambic pentameter, tetrameter, etc.) But there are rules.
Da Rules: Byron’s Sonnet
“Byron’s sonnets are obviously influenced by the Italian form rather than the English, and possess an octave and a sestet. The octave comprises a progression of three rhymes,
a-b-b-a a-c-c-a; but it’s the sestet that makes it unique: d-e-d e-d-e.”
Sonnet to Genevra
Thine eyes’ blue tenderness, thy long fair hair,
And the wan lustre of thy features – caught
From contemplation where serenely wrought,
Seems Sorrow’s softness charm’d from its despair-
Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine air
That-but I know thy blessed bosom fraught
With mines of unalloy’d and stainless thought-
I should have deem’d thee doom’d to earthly care.
With such an aspect, by his colours blent,
When from his beauty-breathing pen-cil born
(Except that thou hast nothing to repent),
The Magdalen of Guido saw the morn-
Such seemst thou-but how much more excellent!
With naught Remorse can claim-nor Virtue scorn.
~George Gordon, Lord Byron
Here’s an attempt by yours truly:
“The night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand.” ~Frederick L. Knowles
There was starlight for illumination
when Moon and Night went for a little stroll.
“Look up! It looks like a big ice cream bowl,”
said Moon, on viewing a constellation.
“I think it is just collaboration,”
the Night replied, “’Tween a spoon and a dish.”
Moon grinned broadly. “Night, it is as you wish.”
With a bit of prestidigitation,
Moon waved his hand, and a dish did appear.
On the dish? A Neapolitan brick,
which caused a bit of celestial cheer.
“Moon, however did you manage that trick?”
asked Night, “You are a clever engineer.”
Whereupon, Moon gave Night a kiss real quick.
So…are you up to a bit of a Byronic challenge? Ready…set…poem!
MARIE ELENA’S ATTEMPT
I find my heart is easily deceived,
And vain attempts to emulate my Lord
Just seem to leave my spirit in discord.
I try in spite of what I have believed –
No good apart from God can be achieved.
So why do I attempt this my own way,
While knowing I’ll most likely go astray?
How could I be so foolish and naïve?
Lord, sculpt my heart as putty in your hand;
Affix my soul, and do not let it roam.
Reveal Yourself, that I may understand
How fully You’re my heart, my hearth, my home.
Without You, I can keep not one command –
I need you so much more than I can poem.
WALT’S MISTED PASSION
YOU, IN THE MORNING MIST
The misty morning dew-fall lifts its veil,
the blushing bride of night begins her day,
and bathes in sun light’s ever-cleansing rays.
Your beauty does espouse this without fail,
my song of love and passion’s fervent tale,
and in the shadows we recline in love,
our blessing from the Mighty Hand above.
For into cool blue eyes my soul will sail.
The heart’s desires should not be restrained,
for passions burn like fire in our hearts,
and endless fonts of love, yet so contained
are not immune to Cupid’s “fatal” darts.
Here in the morning mist true love is gained,
reclined in meadows, you and I remain!
© Copyright 2013 – Walter J Wojtanik