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Sonnet Places Poems | Sonnet Poems About Places

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

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Details | Sonnet |

Where I Want to Go

Out in a pretty meadow running free, where laughing, we fall down in the clover, or even better, down beside the sea watching as the brilliant sun sets over the village that we have been visiting - a quaint idyllic European place. I picture it is summer or late spring because the sun has bronzed your handsome face. And somewhere else I want so much to go - upon a cruise with such fun things to do - stop at exotic spots or see a show aboard the ship, then eat and dance till two. It matters not the place so much as this - I want to go someplace that we can kiss! March 12, 2017 for Nicola Byrne's Where I Want to Go Contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017

Details | Sonnet |

A Contest Win of Friendship

A fledgling poet round two thousand three, I found some friends who mentored me; they led me to a site called Shadow Poetry. By mental challenges there, I was fed. I learned to better write according to specific forms or themes, and I was thrilled by all the many things that would ensue the more time there I spent; I was fulfilled! The annual big contest, Shadow Ink, gave not just money, but a chapbook deal. I paid to enter it and did not think I stood a chance. How good I soon would feel! My best friend and I tied. We HAD to call our chapbook “Friendship Garden.” That said it all! Note: Shadowpoetry.com was not able to be maintained as an interactive poetry community and after several wonderful years, the owner had to pull out. All our chapbooks were removed from the bookstore and the contests are no longer done. Today it is a website for writers' development only.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |



My heart so yearns for the day’s way back when
your golden soil caressed my weary feet.
My mind is filled with treasures now and then
of the timeless land with its warm retreat.

Let time and distance take me back to where
the kookaburra’s sing and Banksia’s glow,
where the Aussies with their wit, show they care
with welcome calls; “G’day mate” and “ have a go”.

As the memories of the past unlocks
distant places to view your beauty’s might,
open spaces, grandeur of sculptured rocks,
the outback draws to its amazing sight.

As I seek to explore your beauty’s core,
most of all I long to see the Nullarbor.

11th March, 2017
For contest: Where I Want To Go  
Sponsor: Nicola Byrne

Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2017

Details | Sonnet |

Springing Sea of Green

I love it when Spring finally comes The buds showing their little sprouts Yes indeed from this seasons of four I'm awake many sleeping plants shout I love it when I walk through the parks When these buds turn to a sea of green Forgotten are the plants being so stark This birthing season just has to be seen I love it when I sit on the park benches When the breeze caresses Sakura trees The airs scented by their pinky blossoms Mother nature and man in total agree When I retire I'll grow a green thumb for I love it when Spring finally comes

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet |



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.

*For Craig


Surreal, the way a contortionist knots
himself as the escape artist breaks free.  
Uptown, buskers beckon with what-naughts,
drawing thousands. Candyland, sighs New-Dali

at its epicenter, his true element,
and he takes it in: the sword swallower,
blindfolds, jugglers, clowns miming laments,
fire-fed gals, stilted-men and tots taller 

on shoulders. This carnival can endear,
turn heads, but only one with a seer-heart
studies the music box dancer, then swears
that she spins perfect webs with street-smarts.

Mirroring that swivel, awed by his entourage,
He becomes centrum to his own collage.

*For Chan, fully alive in Heaven.


Your brows are up. The Princess Cinema
is not your choice. C'mon, I don't fit here,
you snort. You, with all your charisma 
and kindness, stand in a short line, fearing

boredom or worse ... pretense. Promise me,
that we aren't about to wallow through
subtitles, you sigh.  Give me clarity,
a story, something that I can relate to.

But the charm catches you by surprise,
a star-struck atmosphere, the seats are new
and the popcorn is still warm. Friendly eyes
laugh, then amusement streams from you

for these Global TV spots simply delight
like each snippet that you joyfully write.

*For Andrea


There be Scots as farrrrrr as the eye can see.
Brawn calves and bright kilts delight lasses 
while pipers swagger out of the pub, tipsy.
Your smile broadens as a caber is tossed

end over end. Then, across the glen, highland                      
dancers in ghillies beckon with hearty flings.
Auch, it’s hot yet heather dare no’ wilt. Clans
gather, roguishly rib each other, as wool spins

in wheels. Aye, the romance can fair overwhelm
e’en the sensible. Worse for we, the fanciful. 
Come, here’s the tea tent. Let soft fiddles calm
as we nibble oatcakes. Tartans and tunes pull

heartstrings. We sit raptly, lost in Brigadoon,
put pen to napkin to let wee thistles bloom. 

* For Francine


Rustling maples break vows of silence,
naturally. As pleased, spears of hyacinth  
worship breezes with such soft reverence
that we give pause in this living labyrinth. 

Nothing here is still; wood thrush reverb
good news and cicadas buzz testimonials.
Nearby, a creek mumbles, Word-Word
while squirrels glorify their bounty. All

is abuzz with joy, save for the shade
under a weathered cross; it’s emptiness
resurrects veneration. A butterfly wades
the sudden hush, lands on your hand, nests.

My friend, you lift it to wood, sympathizing 
on bent knee, speechlessly evangelizing. 

*For Brian


Your eyes drink the hues of the Shisha Lounge:
art on walls, art brewing over charcoal.
This coffee ceremony is on the fringe,
far from the pallid and staid. I’ve marveled

at these dear blends, how culture can transcend 
barriers and ignorance. We order too much.
Tibsy, zignie, timtimo.. injera bends 
to each spiced delicacy as our plates touch. 

Gone is this haven where pleasure was shared.
Still, I’ll bring you there. Scribe, man of integrity,
sit with me. Exhale poetry. Imbibe tribal air. 
Mine, this moment and mine, this memory

but that mystifying brew, that receptive floor,
the smoke refined by deep respect… each are yours.  

*For my cuz, Scribe


A warbling vireo hops from oak to elm.
Your gaze wanders, too. This amphitheater
hosts the lyrical, almost overwhelms,
for beyond the mill ruins, the Grand River

is deep in thought, reflecting. It’s as though myth
lives; Summerland has come to the hillside 
where weathered fieldstones beguile the impish
to dance. They do or else tin flutes will chide.

Though cozy the spot,  the world's at our feet.
Tanned toes can not help but tap. Strong is the lure
of pipes and those songs that dulcimers keep.
When night softly falls, one group brings rapture. 

They sing until stars tire and all are hoarse
like poets rousing words to supplicate verse.

*For Carrie


Pure pageantry, how publishers' banners
wave over tents. Flocks of readers graze
on glossy trades, leaflets, hardcovers,
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

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |

I am a Red Rose

Regardless of the scene, I, determined to stand tall Wavering, bending slightly on breaths of breeze Allowing pertness to show flaunting to thrall My stem of strength tipped enlightening please Petals prom in blood red, they peak to bloom My curves of delight like silken sheets, splayed Undulations tremble as they beautifully plume Such an attraction so joyous in hungered display Let my scents lure, tickle those nature tongues Taste my nectar becoming entranced by I For every dawn allures my stem to sprung In stance I'm proud as wanting eyes espy I, the garden jewel, the prime delicate Rose Swelling whenever I'm warmed, boy see me grow . The beautiful Red Rose - meaning Passion & Love.

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet |


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. 

*For Catie

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |

On Maydays Day

I turn to my girl highlighting Mayday is near A day of spectacle that the whole village views There's Jesters of folly and Knights without fear Witnessing lances and jokes, always going askew To view such we can venture along different ways We can stroll by the river listening to many sounds In awe as we walk amidst most wondrous displays That on any given day beautiful vistas abound Decisions, decisions, as we contemplate which way It's such a special day wondering what to wear Beauty personified will my Olive be on this day Knights or Royal Princes, all they can do is stare So tomorrow we've decided to be our chosen route Two hearts in decision, declaring what's their suit <*> Mayday morn now greets as I turn next to me She my guiding light as beautiful as the dawn Excitement illuminates for into her eyes I see Onto my back I lie, that feel she's now upon Into this day we go heading along the river Crystal clear translucent such serenity in it's flow Under greened canopies cooled shaded deliver Wafting leaved dress in delightful fanned throw We sense the clearings near for scents we sense Sporadic clusters in capture of welcoming eyes Mayday games have started, distant heard suspense Knights on horseback mounted, now in espy Now we're in amidst encapsulated we now are She's here to cheer, her Sir James, soon to spar <*> Balcony she now awaits, white steed he's now astride Blinkered pairings gallop towards intended foe To win this Mayday he, to fight for her his bride Eliminate his enemy, witness his crimson flow His lance in now connect, thrown metal disperses Petals of beauty hurled of rainbows selected Images of we, now thinking marital rehearses To know on this day, her intended she's elected Moments of their previous now in recent past Knowing they're now free in kaleidoscopic stream Spectrum of feelings now in view full cast In colourful extremes, fight for your dreams .

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015

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.

Copyright © Jim Marshal | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sonnet |


A sunset of peach crowns the bay, aglow
While Manila lies in tropical bliss 
This city bustling with tunes as nights flow  
Along street cafes  where friends reminisce.

The reel of guitars fill the moonlit air
Dizzy where hyacinths and bamboo delight…
Folks swaying on prancing toes everywhere
As skylines gleam across a harbor bright

Modern yet quaint, this scene is my life’s art
Afloat like an isle of eclectic flair,
Robed in temples,parks of inner child’s heart
For this dwelling charms with beauty to share.

In my abode of pearled Oriental grains,
Manila pulsates  in  festive refrains.

Where Are You From Contest
Sponsor: Joseph Soper
* Manila ( Philippines) 

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

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

Copyright © Michael F Lewis | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sonnet |

Whispers From The Past


     To walk the cliffs of ancient trails
     that speak of winds and loss laid bare
     midst sounds to tell of all the tales
     of lore and truths they beg to share

     Taxila, Sanchi and Petra call
     with voices rasping in their dust
     tongues only whisper since their fall
     of Gods who but betrayed their trust

     More than hidden treasure left
     is wisdom time holds in their stones
     a quest to seek their dreams bereft
     that repose within their poets bones

     Trails that lead to gilded wings
     oft will find more precious things

     Where I Want To Go Contest
     Sponsored by Nicola Byrne

     First Place Contest Winner

Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2017

Details | Sonnet |


~Fragrance of clear mist swathes the bouncing air,
Dizzy where jasmines and blossoms unfurl
That serenity ripples everywhere,
And gulls hover above a wavelet's curl:

Through morning sail into pastoral bliss
Orchards flaunt their Riviera  attire, 
While an islet lies warm as sunset's kiss
Till birdsong drools in rhythm of a choir.

Glow of evening sparks its luminous eyes--
When bathing of pasture ends, to rest 
Afloat my  dream island   how this breath sighs
For her verdant  trees, her water dance fest.

Lovely isle  beneath a tropical moon
Enticing my roam   like a ballad’s tune ~

3/14/2017 Where I Want To Go 
Contest of Nicola Byrne
Rhymes checked at ryhmezone.com
Syllables verified at howmanysyllables.com

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2017

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.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2008

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

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2008

Details | Sonnet |


Sunset. Synergy is moving between chairs
that don't quite match, widening tight circles   
of rovers. Muses Cafe, a small cove where
views internalize, so we heave heavy troubles

outside. Minstrel Mary Anne Epp shelters 
songs about happenstance. When a server drops
a plate, she ad libs, Save cracks for later.
Heads nod to her witty vibes, bite-sized bops.

Inspiration strums as parlance sighs, Good grief,              
my journal's at home.  You say, All's fine.
but your purse offers only ONE loose leaf,
curiously room enough for TWO to lay lines.

Pens groove. Friend, you prove that poets can wage
self-determined verse while on the same page.

*For Kathryn 

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |

River Laps Softly

River Laps Softly

The ripples of water lap river's edge
 quietly I sit, a man seeking love
The orange twilight stirs my lonely soul
 nearby, lonely call of a single dove

Sweetest place roaring river moans and churns
 fish splashing about in a soft replay
Continuance as the world slowly turns
 colors splash endings to wonderful day

The smell is that of fish , water and mud
 cool air spreading its greatest soft relief
Comfort gives to stop anger in my blood
 as Nature gifts a most calming belief

Soon its quiet , knowledge enters my soul
Victory came because I made it so

Robert J. Lindley, 08-08-2014

Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line:  10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10  
Total # Syllables:  140  
Total # Lines:  17  (Including empty lines)  
 Total # Words:  101  

Contest results....

Entered in the contest, Any poem under 15 lines, Poet Destroyer

First Place

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |

Postcard from Mykonos

Below the Grecian walls and pillared stone
  A great bridge does cross the river's divide:
And the Maroochy water's gentle groan
  Concentrates my mind betwixt moon and tide.
Its untrammelled swelling in bended route
  Can flood its great flanks in uncommon sight,
And pelicans a fisherman's catch loot
  From creekbed weir to mighty ocean bight,
Where cane ash over scorched earth river-north
  Flecks the golden sun till sleep's late curfew:
And me and "Johnnie in a can" gaze forth
  Puffing cigars on Bradman Avenue!
Let the Cod Hole streetlight shimmy across
Shine upon my postcard from Mykonos.


Mykonos was the name of the unit complex
I lived at in Maroochydore, Qld, Australia.
The Cod Hole was a well known local fishing
Spot on the river.

October 1999

Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2014

Details | Iambic Pentameter |

The Shanghai Sonnet

Congealed upon the banks of this
tamed dragon sprawl stacks of crude buildings.
Concrete covers all but two glassy kings,
thick smoggy gusts give them a grimy kiss.
Insipid pillars choke sunlight, endless
roads incise the very earth, wings
of apartments cram into ev’rything,
ev’rywhere stacks upon stacks of units.
Herein lies the future, our dystopia
has arrived through the hazy looking glass.
Perhaps a reminder, utopia
is not coming, or maybe the hourglass
has but some time left. Then the route is clear.
We must turn everything around. And fast.

Copyright © Ashley Casteele | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sonnet |

Resting In These Tennessee Hills

Resting In These Tennessee Hills

Lazy mornings in these Tennessee hills
Horned owl in tree behind house hoots all night
Sometimes annoys but often gifts a thrill
As country-fired moon sends us brighter light!

Mellow breeze, waltz morn rays with soft touch
Tall trees wrapping such gentle slopping yards
Often this beauty just seems way too much
Never knew this blessing was in the cards!

How was this treasure hidden from my view
Clear streams flowing with splashing fish each Spring

Famous mountains are near but just out of sight
I've seen not but some day's visit I just might!

January, 05-2017
For Silent One contest: "Sonnet about where you live."
I live in beautiful Tennessee hills.

From , https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/East_Tennessee
East Tennessee
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Map of East Tennessee counties.png

East Tennessee comprises approximately the eastern third of the U.S. state of Tennessee, one of the three Grand Divisions of Tennessee defined in state law. East Tennessee consists of 33 counties, 30 located within the Eastern Time Zone and three counties in the Central Time Zone, namely Bledsoe, Cumberland, and Marion.[1] East Tennessee is entirely located within the Appalachian Mountains, although the landforms range from densely forested 6,000-foot (1,800 m) mountains to broad river valleys. The region contains the major cities of Knoxville and Chattanooga, Tennessee's third and fourth largest cities, respectively.

East Tennessee is both geographically and culturally part of Appalachia, and has been included— along with Western North Carolina, North Georgia, Eastern Kentucky, Southwest Virginia, and the state of West Virginia— in every major definition of the Appalachian region since the early 20th century.[2] East Tennessee is home to the nation's most visited national park— the Great Smoky Mountains National Park— and hundreds of smaller recreational areas. East Tennessee is often called the birthplace of country music, due largely to the 1927 Victor recording sessions in Bristol, and throughout the 20th and 21st centuries has produced a steady stream of musicians of national and international fame.[3] Oak Ridge was the site of the world's first successful uranium enrichment operations which paved the way for the atomic age.[4] The Tennessee Valley Authority, created to spur economic development and help modernize the region's economy and society, has its administrative operations headquartered in Knoxville and its power operations headquartered in Chattanooga.

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017

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.

Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2006

Details | Sonnet |

Night Watch

The harsh winds snarl and bite like fighting dogs.
No pity in this bull-black bitter night.
No stars nor moon can pierce the city fog.
No shelter saves the beggar from his plight.

The winds whip swirling grit and stinging grime.
Mad demons breathe out sour tasting wrath,
And wine red sky now marks the passing time
When, waking widows mourn the hour of death.

Although  the sulphurous gusts still groan and howl,
The night begins to fade for dawn's debut
While roaming dogs bare yellow teeth and growl
As smoky shadows slink through trembling dew.
The daybreak chimes, and morning sweetly sings,
Retreating night’s outshone by brighter things.

Copyright © Maggie Huscroft | Year Posted 2006

Details | Sonnet |

By This Hope My Spirit Often Measures

By This Hope My Spirit Often Measures

Pain and sorrow I need never borrow,
for Fate too often looks darkly my way.
I live today, knowing worse tomorrow,
may find me enduring a dreaded day.

Sun may rise but my lot crashes deeper,
as calamity grabs at my hurt soul.
If worse, I just may become a weeper,
and blackness reap its darkest, scary toll.

Pain and sorrow, I need no such bad friends.
This life may yet bring me far more treasures,
with sweet fruitful years before it dare ends.
By this hope, my spirit often measures!

Sun may rise, granting me sunshine so sweet,
my heart sings out in joy, not in defeat!

Robert J. Lindley, 3-15 2016

Syllables Per Line:	
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables:	140
Total # Lines:	17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:	
Total # Words:	108

Note: Back half of our home flooded Friday, from ten inches of rain in less that a day.
Four days of ripping out , cleaning and now drying.
No use in crying.
So I write a sonnet to mark this day and a better future that my life may find.

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

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

Copyright © Margaret Foster | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sonnet |

My Backyard Volcano

My Backyard Playground....Mt. Lassen Peak

Our playground is a mountain steep
Come climb with me to Lassen's Peak!
It guards our valley, rust and green
Like roughing it?  A camper's dream!
Or take a picnic for the day
Such beauty takes your breath away
With lakes and streams and meadowland
Boiling mudpots, volcanic thrills
And sulpher springs to take a bath
With fish and game and hiking trails
In summer take your fishing poles
Or ski the slopes when winter calls

One hundred years, since last it blew
Prepare to run....'cause it ain't through!!!

.    .     .     .     .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .        .        .
Inspired by Brian's contest "SONNET ME"

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sonnet |

The View Out Of My Window

Question persists in the back of my head,
What do I see when through windows I look?
I see the nature, its hilltops, a brook,
Glideth like snake to horizon ahead.

I see the people, old fisherman’s face,
Girl is so joyful to hop there and run,
Hair is of hers into ponytail done,
While she delights in her butterfly chase.

I see the weather that's whistling its way,
Rays are such artists, so skilful when paint,
Hills with the colours and shadows which faint,
Playing the flute to this vivid display.

I see the lines of a silhouette blear,
That over view and its wonderful theme,
Hover in front or perhaps in the rear,
In such a way that the girl, hills and stream,
Which are so joyful and so full of cheer,
Only as subtile reflection mine seem.

Copyright © Peter Rangus | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet |

I Frame

I Frame 

As sure as I stand in the mixed of this garden, 
Glimmering gold falls to the earth by my call. 
Many are great and then some are a bit small. 
I release magnets clutching an obscene pardon. 

It is like balancing a beam that only I will harden. 
I wrap myself into a silver plated resilient shawl. 
Person place and time steadily climb up to maul. 
It’s a give or take rejection expected to turn on. 

One day ye shall see, 
My Moon half drawn, 
Ye see it was all of me. 
Your Sun will be gone. 

Only one Star shall rise up above my name. 
It’s a special place inside my heart I frame! 

®Registered: Ann Rich 2007 

Copyright © Ann Rich | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sonnet |


Recently I have had many frightening visions
of demons pulling me down into the infernal abyss:
to burn and torment my bound and shivering body...
as Dante envisioned it in his Divine Comedy.

Ah, Popes, Presidents, Kings made no apologies...
they were glad to see me join them in their cell!
I accursed them even in that place called," Hell. "
They accused me of unfairness reading anologies.

" My flesh will burn, not my spirit! " I desperately hollered.
" This is not a place where I should pay for my earthly sins!"
" Eternal fire and condemnation are wrong!" I protested.
" God loves everyone, and He only demands repentance!"

Finally, that dreadful vision ended at the coming of the sunrise,
I found myself on Earth witnessing the wonders of Paradise!

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sonnet |

Kiss This

<                              master of disguise menacing havoc
                                I fear not your pronged fork and wooden stick
                                but one illuminates from presents sight
                                tis I carries master key whom ends plight

                               brushstroke if must with your evilness twist
                               for I stand strong from an Hevenly bliss 
                               poke and probe away with your woven schemes
                               tis I'll be the one laughing though it seems 

                               your inferno fire from gates of hell
                               diminished by just one shake from this bell
                               so bring on your barriers and good grief's
                               tonight I'll be the one with good night's sleep 

                               sowing not fear of satin's smitten grasp
                               but turning check telling to kiss thy ass

Entry For
Thvia Shetley's
The Devil Made Me Do It
Sonnets Only Contest
G.L. All

Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sonnet |


When limbs of Montmartre tint the glow
chemise de nuit falls to the ground,
belle de jour, come moan a pale sound
through alleys winding lamp light’s flow.
Her fine heels toss on follies’ show
she, au naturel , caprice bound ;
taunting stars to rouse below.

Uphill, this mistress wraps fired lips
fleeting sighs mixing red-hot drips,
amidst night bistros’ fragrant plight
where rows of faces wet love’s sips.

Then like a dream, her bedgown flips
denying passion, oh one last bite.

©french sonnet/personification

*Montmartre—famous Paris hill where art,
music, romantic atmosphere, and bohemian
culture thrive despite its religious strains.

*belle de jour--- beautiful lady
*au naturel--- in a natural state, also, nude
*chemise de nuit--- nightdress

.        ….         .

by nette onclaud
for Cyndi Mac Millan’s Un, Deux, Trois contest
31 may 12

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2012