2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 14

The April PAD (Poem-A-Day) Challenge is designed to help poets do one thing and one thing only: Write more poems! The process of revision may go on for weeks, months, and years later, but this challenge is all about getting that first draft. Please poem along with us–either in the comments below or silently at home.

For today’s prompt, write a sonnet. For those who are not familiar with the sonnet, it’s a 14-line poem that rhymes. Some contemporary sonnet-eers even ditch the rhymes and just write a 14-line poem. Go with whatever feels right.

Here’s my attempt at a sonnet:

“spring”

she enjoys the lightning less than thunder
and wonders why. lightning tears at the sky
but leaves too soon. a buffoon that blunders
across the earth, thunder rumbles good-bye
like an overzealous hug. on her rug,
she counts the heart beats between flash and crash
as if waiting for lovers to re-hash
the past. lightning is bright, but thunder’s snug

and a little thuggish–in a good way,
she thinks. street lights slant in through the rain drops
collecting on the pane. maybe he’s home,
she thinks, alone again. but he might say
he’s more into lightning. quick sting and hop
away. thunder a thought that’s free to roam.

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Workshop Your Poetry!

Writing poetry is exciting, but the hard work of poeming is working through the revision process. The best way to work through this process is to workshop the poems with other poets, and that can be done with the Writer’s Digest 6-week course, Advanced Poetry Writing.

*****

Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

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Quick note on commenting: Please always save a copy on your computer. There have been moments in the past in which comments have disappeared, and I don’t want anyone to lose their work. Heck, I’ve lost some of my work here in the past, and it’s not a great feeling. That said, commenting here is a lot of fun, especially in April. If you’re completely new to the site, you’ll be asked to register (don’t worry, it’s free), and your comments might not appear initially until I manually accept them. However, after that initial phase, your comments should appear without my help.

Want some more poeming fun? Check out these previous Poetic Asides posts:

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180 thoughts on “2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 14

  1. cstewart

    (Soft sonnet)

    Sonnet Alluding

    Winter in the mind of the audience
    They had paid no attention, or
    They did not get it, the sense.
    The orchestra had taken a soar,
    The announcement to commence,
    The bass had vibrated the floor,
    But there were looks quite dense,
    Glances that preluded the door,
    There was a slight nod of pretense,
    A symbolic wave of – no more,
    Twice the music rose only to wince,
    At the soft reception at the core,
    He took her hand with a tiny pinch,
    And the theater notes fell to the floor.

  2. drwasy

    Alpha and Omega: A Sonnet

    A sonnet is but a poem, I mutter under my breath
    About love unrequited often leading to death
    Words strung together, a mere fourteen lines
    The trick’s not the length but the dad-blasted rhymes
    I can haiku, shadorma, and do senryu,
    Sestina’s a cinch and I can even pantoun.
    My page fills with centos, concretes, and cinquains.
    So why does the sonnet drive me insane?
    Willy compared thee to a summer’s day
    “Love is not all” spouted Lady Millay
    Even Wordsworth found life surprised by joy
    For me, the sonnet only serves to annoy.
    I surrender my paper, my ink, and my pen
    In hopes I shall not ever sonnet again.

    ***
    Written–at last–on Day 30. Never again! Peace…

  3. PKP

    On level ground

    Lift my eyes to the sky
    And then lower them slow
    So that I look by and by
    To all that in interim does go
    Lift my eyes to the sky
    And then lower them slow
    Until my lash blink meets your eye

    And on the this level ground
    We shall stand tall
    Facing one another found
    In the universal call
    Lift my eyes to the sky
    And then lower them slow
    Embrace me as seed in hand we sow

  4. stepstep

    UNLIMITED

    The things we speak, make known to one another
    On the famous street of communicate
    May even reach us to the core of our soul
    Keep all lines open before it’s too late.
    Our eyes, often, windows to our being
    Wide open conduits of joy
    Expressions that exhibit no limit
    Of oceans of emotions without a ploy.
    Ride me here, take me there,
    Open all doors, let’s commit to share;
    Each experience exposes a new face
    We have not a minute to waste
    In this world there are no limits
    Only infinity opportunities to embrace.

    LaSteph

  5. Yolee

    Beyond the avocado tree, he sweats
    planting basil, cilantro, tomatoes.
    My window boxes in a blackened threat
    boiling its fog on a new tornado.
    I give the glass a hard rap to warn him.
    He looks at my finger poking the air.
    Rain will send a dark letter on a whim
    chasing out plans through the birth of prayer.
    Callas bow as if to shield their white bloom.
    Roses nod and bend to nature’s command.
    My shutters flap and rage in the monsoon.
    Pages from nowhere surf the swell at hand.
    Then I gaze at my door and in he comes
    to unhinge worry, and save his green thumb.

  6. finallyhereiam

    If you were me

    If you were me, then you would see,
    It is not easy, to display that glee.
    To hold forth, on what the world shuns,
    To trudge on, to stick to ones guns.
    If you were me, then you would find,
    It comes not easy, to be good to the unkind.
    To smile in sorrow, not scream in pain,
    To be more patient, nothing’s in vain.

    And you will see, beneath that face,
    Hides a soul that seeks solace.
    And eyes that best can con you, yes,
    To believe all is good, when the soul’s in distress.
    And a smile, that cheats you to agree,
    Here’s a jester, a gabber, who is so carefree.

  7. Nadienne

    The Problem with Being a Ghost

    Lena could pass through walls. Lena could float.
    Lena could waggle her fingers and cast
    her silver voice from a gruff sailor’s throat.
    Death was full roses and blush wine, a blast,
    a swirling, whirling flit from happy hour
    to happy hour: Non-living Lena knew
    how to live. The pranks within her power—
    the plates that shattered, the candles that moved—
    diversions without limit. And to watch
    drunken strangers in strange rooms who fumble
    affection: ’Twas high comedy a notch
    above staged plays. And yet as she ambled
    to the next soiree, skinless, unattached,
    she longed—wished—for someone to hold her back.

  8. Dini

    All right, all right, all right, I hear you call
    Sorry just now I can’t give you my heart
    Chase after you – now that’s the hard part
    Have I missed you? No, no, not at all
    I’m answering only ‘cause the grass is too tall
    Be you called Honda, Toro or Wal-Mart
    Still, rumble, groan – you’re so hard to start
    When I pull and tug, I hope you don’t stall
    Once we get started, we go round and round
    Following you just makes my heart pound
    Of course you’ll first want a full tank of gas
    Give me a break, I’m tired of your sass
    Okay, you’re right – I should not be so mean
    Without you, spreads no carpet of velvety green.

  9. tunesmiff

    SPRING SONNET 414
    A Shakespearean Sonnet:

    A rainy Sunday afternoon,
    Lazily sitting side by side,
    The weekend’s ending much too soon
    I say as much to my dear bride.

    She smiles, but doesn’t say a word,
    The chain creaks as the porch swing swings;
    It’s almost like she hasn’t heard;
    Rain drums the roof, the downspout sings.

    Dogwood and wisteria; white
    And purple hover in the trees.
    Slowly the clouds soak up the light,
    And birdsong floats in on the breeze.

    What do they think who sit and think,
    Stare into space, and dare it to blink?

  10. Brian Slusher

    BUSHMAN’S LESSON

    If some day you go to San Francisco
    And you happen to wander to the wharf
    You will find a street that’s really a show
    That demonstrates the world’s a stage. For proof,
    There shines a man, his skin painted silver,
    Mechanically taking change, while Ben
    The Backward Poet stands and delivers
    His re-verse to astonished lookers-on.
    But among the musicians, mimes, and clowns
    The King of all is the Bushman, who hides
    Behind plastic branches of green and then
    Springs out, leaving passerby terrified
    One intense second, the world upends—
    You feel your heart and learn to live again.

  11. RJ Clarken

    Forecast

    “A poet is someone who stands outside in the rain hoping to be struck by lightning.” ~James Dickey

    Brilliant ideas, like flashes of light
    hide in recesses of the poet’s brain.
    With a pen in hand, we scribble, we write,
    as thoughts, words and phrases stream down like rain.
    I am a cistern. I collect droplets
    and translate them into a collection
    of prose and poetry which are portraits:
    they’re drawn as a watery reflection,
    but unlike Narcissus, I do not drown
    as I stare at the beauty before me.
    I wait for lightning, I wait for rain. Brown
    mud and blue lakes appear protectively.
    I am a poet, so I’ll stand outside
    and wait for the rain ‘til it has replied.

    ###

    I wrote this for the rain prompt at Poetic Bloomings, but as it’s a sonnet, I figured it worked just as well here, too.

  12. lionmother

    It took me awhile to get to this, because it needs so much thinking.:) Having read the ones here, I’m not sure mine is up to the standard. However, it is an attempt. I might have goofed in the rhyming, though.

    Reverie

    The night creeps in later now as the days grow longer
    And I feel the hunger that Spring brings
    Making my feelings grow stronger
    for the joy of simple things
    Summer days filled with sunshine and fun
    fly through my brain as I recall the joy
    watching my children laugh, play and run
    their fingers drifting through the sand as they played with a toy

    The hours dripping with the syrup of days well spent
    Climbing feet scampering over jungle gyms
    My heart in my throat hoping they won’t fall on cement
    Holding them close having escaped the cataclysms
    Love filling my days like a river’s current
    My life spilling over like a waterfall on its descent

  13. Catherine Lee

    The Potter

    His dripping hands reach for the formless lump
    he pulls from a cool hollow in the earth
    as if he can already see its worth.
    But it is only clay, a filthy clump
    of dirt, and still his hands begin to pump
    the slab, reviving hands around its girth.
    Each push is a resuscitating birth
    of shapes creating shapes inside the jump
    start of a fading pulse and dying heart.
    The spinning whirr is silent as the wings
    of little hummingbirds and humming flies.
    The pressure of his fingers leave a mark
    upon the clay and other softer things.
    The artist’s touch is where its value lies.

  14. foodpoet

    I would like to believe I am the wind
    blowing through leaves of your autumn forest trees
    touching breathing through your hair with my breeze
    but I am not the wind able to blow and bend
    all in my way to your side. In the end,
    I know that no matter how I please
    tease cajort all is nothing in the cold freeze
    of our hearts. We once were one a blend,
    now we are cross elements blowing apart
    never more to touch to hold.
    I long for one long touch
    but you are silver fire all abstract
    I am the gold of day concrete stone cold
    logic living facts not fancy severing loves failing touch.

    or ugh how I hate the sonnets well first attempt

  15. MeenaRose

    Moon Beams
    By: Meena Rose

    Have you happened on the thief
    Who has stolen all my smiles?
    Whose subtle words bring on relief?
    Whose tales show off his wiles?

    Have you happened on the thief
    Who makes the Moon blush?
    Whose gentle laugh serves as aperitif?
    Whose hinted banter makes me flush?

    Have you happened on the thief
    Who transforms Dark to Light?
    Whose ministrations have ended all grief?
    Who makes me feel like a bird in flight?

    Moon betrays his presence;
    Yes, I can feel his essence.

  16. Never2L8

    Petrachan Sonnet

    Poets love to write of love. What is love?
    Wild nights, wild nights, ecstasy and desire
    Mouths that cling, lean bodies of heat, afire
    With animal lust. Hormones just won’t quit.
    Poets love to rave of love. What is love?
    Beer and lemonade, June nights! Youth’s ardor
    Riding inferno’s fires, higher, higher
    Till firestorms of desire are spent. Unlit.
    This is love? This is all? Oh, heart bereft,
    Oh rash thought. Any fool can fall in sex.
    It is more, much more than this. Love’s what’s left
    Of glowing coals, smoldering in each breast,
    Contented as a cat’s purr. Does this vex?
    Think, then, how things that touch your soul are best.

    lines from:
    1 Wild Nights – Wild Nights! (249) by Emily Dickinson
    2 No, Love Is Not Dead by Robert Desnos (mouths that cling)
    3 Novel, by Arthur Rimbaud (Beer and lemonade, June nights)

  17. mlcastejon

    I’m late again but this sonnet took me ages.

    An unexpected visit, a delicious present
    Exotic pearls of caring from overseas
    A shy smile remembering the sweet scent
    that push me to enjoy, a day to seize.

    These are days to keep me wondering
    If risking it all is a well-considered choice
    Or the loss won’t be big or thundering
    But for first time, I’m listening to my voice

    No time to waste, the decision is taken
    No place for feelings on hold
    I don’t care if I’m right or mistaken

    I can’t postpone it for too long
    I can’t help myself to be shaken
    This is the path I’m walking along.

  18. EbenAt

    Ode To Sonic

    I think that I shall never see,
    A Sonic burger not for me.
    From single meat to triple stack
    It’s my kinda super junk food snack.
    And ah! The Island Fire I adore
    Tho’ twice burned later doth make me sore
    I come back again and again.

    And fries, those there are for sure
    But I find the dreaded tots more pure,
    Whether you like your spuds extruded or,
    Chopped and formed, as I do more,
    T’is certain that, Arriving early morn or late
    Comes a Bonny lass on roller skates,
    To make your junk food journey whole.

  19. WayneLMurphy

    “Winter Night”

    A whimsical ditty
    today I shall write
    It’s a story of the city
    one cold winter night

    It was 2 am
    the streets were bare
    I needed some rem,
    but also hearty fare

    on that cold winter night

    I walked for a mile
    had beer and a snack
    Then sat for awhile
    before I went back

    on that cold winter night

    Wayne Murphy 4/14/13

  20. THEGingerSass

    “A limerick on writing sonnets”
    -KB

    Shakespeare was one girl’s greatest delight,
    but writing in iams gave her a fright!
    So sonnets she avoided
    til her weakness was exploited
    and she had to learn them one fateful night.

  21. Linda Rhinehart Neas

    Sonnet #1

    I’d love to write a sonnet
    about how love stings
    a bit like a hornet
    yet also sings
    encouraging us to dance
    the night away
    perhaps leading to a chance
    for us to stay

    wrapped in each others arms
    as life goes swirling by –
    noticing only each others charms –
    that twinkle in the eye
    Yes, love may sting like a hornet
    but at least, I managed a sonnet!

  22. alana sherman

    A Path Winds Through Scrub

    Everything seems still
    but boughs creak, leaves
    scrape. The stone wall (not breathing)
    put there by once living hands
    is home to the (always
    breathing) mosses quietly

    green and tender to the eye.
    Nothing is motionless
    in the woods.
    A path winds
    through scrub and ponds
    whose sudden glaze of ice

    reveals captured undergrowth
    and frees the bitter spirit.

    alana

  23. Deri

    The Devil’s Nursery

    We live in a world of simple red death
    falling on cracked open knees as it bleeds
    while each moment draws in shuddering breath
    as on our black core it hungrily feeds.
    He will find us hiding in dark mirrors
    pushing our children in dressers drawers
    we sacrifice, put axes to pillars
    and leave precious things to writhing on floors.
    When for solace we finally do search
    there is a reckoning for our freedom
    it comes for us with a scream and a lurch,
    a monster giving us stillborn freedom.
    No comfort in death. Little more in life.
    The cosmic blink of a wicked midwife.

  24. finallyhereiam

    If you were me

    If you were me, then you would see,
    It is not easy, to display that glee.
    To hold forth, on what the world shuns,
    To trudge on, to stick to ones guns.
    If you were me, then you would find,
    It comes not easy, to be good to the unkind.
    To smile in sorrow, not scream in pain,
    To be more patient, nothing’s in vain.

    And you will see, beneath that face,
    Hides a soul that seeks solace.
    And eyes that best can con you, yes,
    To believe all is good, when the soul’s in distress.
    And a smile, that cheats you to agree,
    Here’s a jester, a gabber, who is so carefree.

  25. BDP

    “A Girl, a Gift”

    So tiny. Any of the men could lift
    her from the middle. Caught immovable,
    the convoy stalls in gun sights. If she’d shift
    a few feet either way, their vehicles

    could creep on past. The gunny spies the bear,
    the type his troops gave hand-to-hand last week
    to village kids. Clutching it, sitting there.
    He radios his plan, and swings his feet

    toward ground, then walking up, kneels, all the while
    the hidden targets him, big man—to some,
    invader, others, hero. Tries a smile.
    In Arabic, “Ya Bint, tell me what’s wrong.”

    She hugs her bear with frowning pantomime,
    points to a lump near her, a buried mine.

    B Peters

    P.S. A child in the Sixties, I went from in awe of my WWII vet relatives to dislike of war due to Vietnam. As did my oldest brother. So we were flummoxed when two of his sons joined the military after 9/11, with both serving in the 2nd Iraq conflict involving Americans. I have several poems from that time period. I’ve wanted to write this one for some time.

  26. Michelle Hed

    Pirate Muses

    Pirates abound in the tropical seas,
    so why do I see them roaming the plains?
    Between the trees and between every sneeze
    ducking behind grains, they’ve rattled my chains.
    I’ll give you the reins, my brain be addled
    find these pirate thieves and send them away
    before my body becomes more raddled,
    as sabers and skulls start filling my day.

    They’ve plundered my thoughts, searching for treasure
    seeking my nuggets of silver and gold
    but I foiled them, I got their measure
    I gave them a scold, gave nothing but mold.

    With a hearty yo ho, I raised my pen,
    a flick and flourish I started again.

  27. Anya Padyam

    Rekindling

    The pinks and hues are out,
    Spring seems up and about,
    A celebration of life sparks,
    Be unto light from the dark.
    Refreshing the days out to be,
    Languishing is all I can see,
    As days go by it may get better,
    As, get out I do of grief’s fetter.

    Dejected gloom now consumes,
    As though a deadline looms,
    As I await the perfect day,
    Withering my present life away,
    The clouds shall one day, part.
    And, I shall head for a fresh start.

  28. BiblioGypsy

    a Keatsian Sonnet!

    Suffocating under anxiety
    so it seems, such a heavy load to bear;
    chest compressed and shoulders bent – try to breathe.

    There isn’t in me much of gaiety
    for gloom appears to have my soul made lair;
    light of sun those shadows rarely does pierce.

    Deep, the darkness inside me starts to seethe
    and boils up, overcomes sobriety;
    so hope dwindles, surmounted by despair.

    Midnight descending, my thoughts it ensheathes,
    devouring, scouring, cruel and fierce;
    overpowered, I’m weak, afraid to fight.

    My mind divided, those is but a tierce
    within; I’m unsure that there’s room for light.

    https://gypsywordsandwhims.wordpress.com

  29. taylor graham

    MUD SEASON

    I left the saucer with its cup, its bowl –
    so clean they cast no shadow on the cloth,
    as if Winter laid her lace camisole
    across the table. February’s moth
    flitted at the window – no, faintest sun
    to show the last of woodpile, almost gone.
    I walked out, leaving everything that’s done
    and settled. Such an undecided dawn,
    as if the pond that drummed against its dam
    could still be kettled and contained, kept from
    its tribal news of Spring, wild geese, and frogs.
    I walked out in galoshes, led by dogs
    in love with wild. Each step a suck and thrum
    of mud. Each slogging step declares I am.

  30. taylor graham

    SUDS

    It’s been a dirty week, a dingy day
    of laundromat and broken gadgets, rain,
    expired warranties, the same old pain,
    regret, and blocks of concrete city-gray;
    loves, hopes, ambitions gone astray.
    Why must this life be just a money-drain,
    a list of daily losing? Where’s the gain
    if all we do is buy and throw away?

    Outside, a bird is singing happiness
    without conditions or exceptions. Why
    worry about the laundry or the bills
    if you’re a bird? A bit of bright to bless
    the morning. Look, beyond our dingy sky,
    already sun’s rays climb the eastern hills.

  31. Lindy

    Shakespear was Sick

    I’m sorry dude, I cannot write a sonnet.
    Staring at format is like reading Greek:
    structure and scheme with isotopes on it.
    When writing my thoughts, it’s freedom I seek.

    The syllables don’t always stretch to ten
    or they spill over in tweens I can’t fix.
    Iambic parameter hates my pen –
    I swear to Almighty, Shakespear was sick.

    I’ve tried to complete the challenge today.
    No it’s not perfect – I gave it a shot.
    It’s more a prepositional essay
    than swimming poetry – that it is not.

    Maybe in some way I’ve learned a bit, though;
    to me, poetry is more about flow.

  32. Rosemary Nissen-Wade

    Cat Routine

    Her sixth sense is working well.
    Whenever my varying bedtime
    happens, every night, she’s there
    suddenly, from outside.

    She leaps lightly, lands
    at the foot of the bed
    and marches up to the top
    to lie close and purr.

    She is adjusting now
    to the absence of the man
    who used to be here too;
    makes do with me.

    In fact, insists on more cuddles,
    more fervent — as we both need.

    (This is a free verse sonnet — which, in other respects, follows the Shakespearian model.)

  33. Sharon

    To My Husband

    Time tells on everyone,
    in the night and in the sun.
    You remain my heart’s desire,
    my love for you a warming fire.
    Age and the shifting sands of time
    adds to our love oh so sublime.
    Growing always with our smiles,
    bonding forever in our trials.
    You for me and me for you,
    our marriage remains strong and true.
    We will part when one enters heaven’s door,
    rejoined when the others life is no more.
    For now we walk and share this life,
    I am so glad to be your wife.

  34. Karen Jane

    Love Sonnet

    To take a love for granted never lit
    A fire; never blew the roof away;
    It never begged the storms of night to stay.
    A fallow field that aches with crack and split
    Is cursed to lie beside lush meadows fit.
    Cemented in while out the door love strays–
    A slave to iron words too crude to say–
    So unexpressed, this love will die in secret.
    The hopelessly romantic has a knack
    For filling every nook and cranny sweetly,
    But often as it finds a match completely
    Another perfect suitor slips in back;
    Left powerless to toe the line discretely,
    Romantic’s always fraught with what may lack.

  35. julie e.

    A POSSIBLE SONNET ABOUT SHARING.

    The dogs they cuddle every night
    while I am trying to sleep
    and even though my rest is deep
    they wake me up in fright.
    I startle when they lick my face
    (oft times from head to chin)
    destroying dreams I’m nestled in
    and cause my heart to race.
    You ask me why I let them stay
    upon OUR cozy bed?
    (and here my face is red)
    I lost the skirmish the first day:
    my big hubby who’s tougher
    couldn’t see the poor things “suffer.”

  36. uneven steven

    14 lines composed above rebel alliance headquarters

    Google calendar proclaimed today is the day
    to dream the improbable doodle dream in gif format

    Half time and this trumpet blew these lips blue
    what band played on I thought I knew

    Sister Mary Marguerite swaying in the doorway
    of her office like a non-sequitur

    and all the while one message awaits – facetime protocol
    dictating something as yet to be agreed upon

    friend requests sent and ignored – notifications duly
    noted and emailed to the email provided

    pinterest piqued and posted “Unique!”
    my one live feed to another and I have to confess

    my love from the bottom of my interface heart – one cursor eye
    blinking madly – please verify or delete this account

  37. MeenaRose

    Better late than never, right? Here is my first ever Sonnet.

    Moon Beams
    By: Meena Rose

    Have you happened on the thief
    Who has stolen all my smiles?
    Whose subtle words bring on relief?
    Whose tales show off his wiles?

    Have you happened on the thief
    Who makes the Moon blush?
    Whose gentle laugh serves as aperitif?
    Whose hinted banter makes me flush?

    Have you happened on the thief
    Who transforms Dark to Light?
    Whose ministrations have ended all grief?
    Who makes me feel like a bird in flight?

    Moon betrays his presence;
    Yes, I can feel his essence.

  38. Julieann

    Redemption

    Adam and Eve in the garden did play
    Among the animals and the birds and the trees
    Never suspecting that they could not stay
    Their time was limited, when God they displeased

    God gave instructions and blessings to man
    Animals were friends, plants and trees so grand
    All freely given, they were part of God’s plan
    Excepting the center one, it was banned

    But the serpent came with his lies and his schemes
    “Did God really say, you touch that tree, you’ll die?
    He did not mean it!” Satan said with a gleam!
    Eve saw it was good and with Adam did defy

    Separation of souls, death undefined
    Salvation complete, God’s perfect time

  39. P.A. Beyer

    We protect that which we need

    Windmills turning along the burnt hillside
    As hawks soar in search of unsuspecting
    Prey, before night’s new version of outside
    A pack of gray wolves howl, unrepenting

    From wisdom comes responsibility
    To protect this great land, to move beyond
    Kill or be killed, beyond man’s first duty
    To evolve from stimuli and response

    Believe the vision, like Ptolemy’s truth
    That the world does revolve around us all
    That red dirt and blue moon are floor and roof
    Sheltering even the meekest, the small

    The kind hearted who only see beauty
    And not the real world that you and I see

  40. vsbryant1

    An Ode to You

    An ode to you, the one I love
    Standing by me through think and thin you are my dove

    An ode to you, the one that I made all my vows to
    Promise to love, honor, and respect everything that you do

    An ode to you, the one I plan to share eternity
    Everlasting doesn’t seem long enough for this unity

    An ode to you, the one I call partner and soul mate
    Our family will be forever happy at the highest rate

    An ode to you, the one that makes me smile
    Life has never been the same sense you came around

    An ode to you, my meaning of happiness
    The sun, moon, and stars can’t compare to your kiss

    An ode to you, my life, my soul, my completion
    Every day is better, tomorrow brighter, our future a pleasure, all because I got to keep you.

  41. De Jackson

    A Little Sound or Song

    Swallow that moon and hum her sword,
    sharp as morning, twice as slight.
    Bold your promise; blown toward,
    shiver this breeze with all your might.
    Loose control to mockingbird tune,
    marry her to a skeptical sky.
    Saturate phrase in ink and croon
    a threshold hymn, a tree’s tall sigh.
    How often should we rest, or fret?
    Spool these stars and ask their shine.
    Memorize ocean’s silhouette,
    spill your lungs in salt and time.

    By what syllable shall we start?
    And can these stanzas unwind a heart?

    .

  42. Andrew Kreider

    First sight

    It’s said that if you wish to understand
    a person in her fullness – everything
    about her – in the end the road will bring
    you back to how she slipped into this land
    of light, the moment when she left the grand
    nocturnal ocean of the womb to sing
    upon a shore beyond imagining
    a splash of rainbows nestled in her hand.

    This much I know, when thinking here of you,
    my crazy diamond teenage girl:  the day
    you chose to burst into my life, you hurled
    me to the wind.  In truth, I never knew
    how love could dance until I saw the way
    you turned and turned again into the world.

  43. Alpha1

    The Ways of Love

    Love has made us closet friends
    of this much I am sure
    I pray it never ever ends
    this love we have so pure

    it stands out way above the rest
    this love so deep so wide
    it gives to life the very best
    of hopes of dreams of pride

    Love has made inseparable friends
    if only in our mind
    but this is how all love begins
    which once was hard to find

    I wish this love would never die
    but somehow I know it will

  44. DanielAri

    Not a sonnet, but a queron, which is my own derivation of the form:

    “Ocean waves”

    Wind-woven corduroy
    skirt of America—
    mothercloth to this boy
    borne out of Virginia
    on a westward convoy—

    the decades’ amnesia
    makes me feel native born
    in Pacific flora,
    though I have been root-torn
    by complicated noise.

    Nowadays, we acorns
    fall far, and even tress
    rove, until they’re road worn—
    but all roads end at seas.
    Cup me, California.

    Blow out my last unease
    with your clear, burning breeze.

  45. Sara McNulty

    Sheltering

    Taking refuge from clapping thunder
    under an awning, striped, faded,
    she glanced at her watch and wondered
    if his tardiness meant he was jaded.

    No, she was determined not to think
    in her past life negative fashion.
    Did she not dare to dress in hot pink,
    after earth-tone years lacking in passion?

    Rain sheets fell slanted, pelting the streets.
    She squinted, her eyesight was blurry.
    “Will you share my umbrella, my sweet?”
    he said, “I hope you were not worried.”

    At a table for two, fireside,
    he asked her to become his bride.

    Poetic Asides
    April Challenge – Day 14
    Write a sonnet

  46. tonijoell

    Don’t Wake Me

    It seems the sky itself has lost a star
    or otherwise you wouldn’t be with me
    here, now. Does the moon weep with you so far
    away? I will keep you safe; you and I are we.
    My eyes sear with the pure brilliance of you
    orbiting my mundane existence. How
    perfect that you choose to phase into view
    when it seems that I’ve seen nothing until now.

    Come, lay with me. Let’s brave the garish day
    as lovers do: curtains drawn, limbs entwined,
    blocking out the universe. Let us say
    what we want to one another—one mind;
    one soul. If only it didn’t seem
    so impossible; such a perfect dream.

  47. pmwanken

    Shying away from the “real” sonnet, I’m going with the permission given to write a 14-line poem. Seems fitting for the 14th prompt, after all.

    DEATH THEN LIFE

    Dormant earth;
    wrapped in a pall of
    death; few signs
    of life, and
    even fewer reasons to
    hope…til fresh rain falls.

    The seeds that
    died to self, take on
    new purpose.
    Hope is found
    after the storm, in the new
    life that emerges.

    Perhaps the best living
    comes after dying.

    2013-04-14
    P. Wanken

  48. Marie Elena

    BEMUSED

    I’m here to write a sonnet, yet I’m blank –
    Like climbing rung-less ladders to my muse.
    Recesses of my mind are deep and dank,
    Imprisoning my thoughts, which can’t break loose.

    Entirely uncertain what to do,
    I think of things that normally inspire
    But none of them can manage to break through.
    My situation now is getting dire.

    Iambic pentameter calls my name –
    A modicum of hope cries out to me.
    My sonnet-loving heart will soon reclaim
    Resourcefulness that now is absentee.

    The cadence of my heartbeat will resume
    Releasing inspiration now entombed.

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