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Places Sonnet Poems | Sonnet Poems About Places

These Places Sonnet poems are examples of Sonnet poems about Places. These are the best examples of Places Sonnet poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Sonnet |

TRUE NORTH

Lost loons sulk in song, their search for meaning sends us to sleep. The park holds a stillness, but I dream of winds, ardent pines leaning towards waves, soothing the lake’s brokenness. Morning pulls us and from our tent we crawl, hailed by dawn’s parting, greeted by pale mist. While coffee perks on the campfire, I’ll put my head on your shoulder, find your kiss is as smoky as the breakfast you fry. Later, we explore the mossy woodlands and stray from the path, surrender to sighs shading the forest floor, under the span of birch. Night falls and winks to wet lovers who roll in stars then rock moonlit waters.
About this poem This is a modern sonnet. It uses off rhyme, unusual punctuation placement and contains plenty of enjambment that extends past the usual insular quatrains. Killbear park is a provincial park in Ontario. Its sites are quite... private ;-)


Details | Sonnet |

San Francisco Fete - Co-authored with Thvia Shetley

Cornices, and Gargoyles with eyes turned low,
hold fast the passing in a frozen stare
as slow vapor rising from vents below
is churned by soles into thick city air.
 
Undeterred, the well-heeled leather bottom
wingtips fly past sandaled sloths at crosswalks
while clicking heels kick dead leaves of autumn
and wind their way through crowded city blocks.
 
Just above a breezy sidewalk café,
sheer fabric wafts a low-loft window sill,
two pair of empty vamps and laces lay,
removed in shameless haste and lustful will.
 
Beneath the sheets, a naked feet affair,
entwined, aligned, with dreamy souls laid bare.


Michael F. Lewis and Thvia Shetley
3/6/2013


Details | Sonnet |

Fresh Pillow (Kyrielle Sonnet)

At night I lay my soul to sleep,
Closing my eyes there is no peep,
This soft bed is just so mellow,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.

Forgetting the stress of the day
I am in bed without delay.
Soul at ease— the mind must follow,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.

Satin sheets over my shoulder,
Keep me warm—not getting colder.
Fantasy dreams I now billow,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.

At night I lay my soul to sleep,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.


Details | Italian Sonnet |

All Through Tuscany

The afternoon outlined. The sunny strokes
of a samurai blade on her body
revealing things the eyes feign see.
Tempted, wounded, the virgin parchment floats
between her skin and satin cloak.
Artist; afternoon, craving company
draws her inside-out so innocently,
on purpose leaves the yolk indwelling.

The painter in the corner moans,
he jealous of the afternoons artly
sensual oration.
Improving skin, bare olive tones
of subtle pastel, the moment partly lost
to the constellations.


Details | Sonnet |

HEROES, A SONNET FOR CRAIG

Near somber guards, units of children heap 
dead leaves, naive to any else fallen.
Friend, you chuckle, but your posture speaks
of duty on this day of contradictions.

Firefighters bow heads in silent paean, 
while polished trucks stand at attention.
Families have again answered the call
to attend this festival, so uncommon.

Here, laughter rings around the memorial
for exuberance must never be doused,
Gloriously wrought, a sculpture of angels
commiserates with each mourning house.

You say, I see valor in lives that inspire.
 I see heroes and their lines of fire.








Contemporary sonnet.


For Craig, a hero in many ways . Someone who has served his country, loves his family 
deeply and always writes from the gut and heart without compromise or fear. 
I think the world of you, Craig. 

The Kitchener Firefighter memorial and funfest is an annual event held in the fall. 
The festival is held in Civic Park, a small park adjacent to the library. 
I think Craig would like it there, the juxtaposition of joy and sorrow is something I
 often see in his work.

Will be blogging about this soon…

Until then…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5-Jrb1FLPA
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e7Fn3BKZ7aA


Details | Sonnet |

WORD ON THE STREET, 2009, A SONNET FOR DAVID



Pure pageantry, how publishers' banners

wave over tents. Flocks of readers graze

on glossy trades, leaflets, hardcovers 

and chapbooks. My friend, a true gent, stays

his ground. Maybe, it is the press of page;

Its forthright weave petitions for slants,

favors unique fonts, yet gilds no edge,

sees no need for illustration, just verdant

language. I did not intend to read

over his shoulder. He grins good-naturedly,

tweed makes an allowance. Each line, poetry,

he praises and I still my chatter. We feed

on gems, unrushed, but their brilliance spurs

a verbose woman and a man of his word.






*For David, a wonderful man, a devoted husband,
a loving and dedicated father. We know him here
as a poet who encourages, shares of himself freely,
and gives such solid advice. 

He is a poet who does not waste words, 
nor mince them. but he does send them out,
like lifeboats, when he spots chums in need.

Think the world of you, David.

I kidnapped David with a time machine.
The Word on the Street is a bookfair which
was held in Victoria park but is now held
downtown. SIGH. It was much nicer in the park,
early September. The squirrels would natter
from the trees, geese would fly by, low, aiming
for the pond

BLOG TO FOLLOW SOON


Details | Sonnet |

DIVINE STEEPLES, A SONNET FOR CATIE

She lets me put violets in her hair,
good-humouredly, calls me Ophelia
in such a way that I spout, But Shakespeare
pushed war, not love. Resplendent, Thalia

strolls the peaceful paths of Victoria Park,
taken with the interplay of people,
the signs of change, bridges like love at work;
Often, her hands become divine steeples

of calm prayer. Yet there is imminence 
heard in fervencies, a tremendous will
wrought with words of truth and tolerance 
that dare to preserve all that is spiritual.

Three share our views in comfortable silence,
Me, hope and a Goddess of Non-Violence. 
 



*Written for a truly delightful and inspiring friend, Catie Lindsay, whose kindness
blends with ardent beliefs in wondrous poems

I am ever moved by her amity and wisdom. Such a BLESSING you are to soup.

I, too, believe there are a million doors in God's house, no matter which name 
you know Him or Her by.

Catie, I HAD to take you to the Nonviolence Festival in Kitchener Park, held annually
in the summer where people express one thing: a desire for global peace, acceptance,
compassion and servitude.

A blog will follow, soon, but


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N9vnoPqBByE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8ZqRD291yM


Details | Sonnet |

Fading Dream

I’ve loved her dearly since my childhood days
Watching her subtle movements under the sun’s hot rays
She was sheer beauty when calm and warm
And magnificent in the eye of the storm

She lured me with her magic charms
To far away places and a woman’s arms
To mysterious places and exotic sights
Under the Southern Cross, romantic nights

She reached inside me and touched my soul
She took my life and made it whole
The longing for her, my heart retained
A fading dream is what remained

I still dream of sailing her waters once more
As I stand alone along her shore.


Details | Sonnet |

Just Dreaming

Walk along the shore with me and let me see you smile
Close your eyes and visualize a romantic tropical isle
Palm trees and a summer breeze, sunshine overhead
Conversation with only our eyes, nothing being said

A secluded beach just out of reach, the surf the only sound
Two hearts one in the summer sun, a blanket on the ground
A sailboat dancing on the horizon, sun is going down
Tropical evening, harbor lights, as we walk back to town

Was it real or was I just dreaming as we walk along
And as we walk, the ocean singing her enchanting song
Feel the sand between our toes and taste the salty air
A falling star streaks across the sky going God knows where

You touch my heart and my soul in this island Paradise
The reflection of the Southern Cross in your loving eyes


Details | Sonnet |

Silver Strands




Silver Strands Woven in Gold ~~~~ Beneath the earth in the vale of the kings For countless years undiscovered, unseen In an old leather bag bound with brass rings A necklet so rare, ‘twas fit for a queen This beautiful piece with deep lustrous shine In beaten red gold and fine silver strands A stunning linked chain of complex design Depicting the skill of artistic hands From where had it come, to whom would belong? A Queen, or princess of elegant grace? Whose story was writ in the poet’s song Sung by the slave girls in this ancient place A priceless treasure found under the sands A link to the past in fine silver strands


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