"I want nothing but death." - Jane Austen
Fatigue, weakness, and bilious attacks
I am dying day by day, night by night.
Each of my bones, like a worn-out twig, cracks.
Each split moment is an eternal fight.
My eyes yearn to see my bright day of death.
When my worries will be buried with me
Gentle breezes of heaven fill my breath.
Angels and seraphs all around I see.
Poesy has gone dry like desert streams.
Nocturnal beings pervade my blank mind.
I miss those buoyant aureate sunbeams.
Within my withering self I'm confined.
Let this life here on earth end like a feast.
Let me, from all my bondages, be released!
She was well-versed in writing,
With words which touches the heart more than the pierce of a nose ring,
Her characters are bold,
With a nature both haughty and cold.
Elizabeth did find her Darcy at last,
Though she did not explore him much,
Like finding a piece of creamy cake after hours of fast,
And finding someone who is one such!
She wrote at a time when much women could not,
Thirsty for expressing - like the oozing blood from a cut without getting clot.
She wrote of prejudice and pride,
Of sensibility and sense.
She wrote of love, sometimes requited, sometimes not;
All in an age of elegance (for those who could afford it)
She never found romance herself,
Or, when she did, declined it.
She realised, perhaps, that what she wrote
Bore no resemblance to the real life she knew.
No Darcy there to rescue her,
No Knightley to give sage advice.
Her mother lacked the zeal of Mrs Bennett
And settling eight offspring defeated her.
Her father was a humble priest
And no-one in their circle
Had five thousand pounds a year
Perhaps she should have used the Emma Woodhouse Agency,
Although her record in that field was hit and miss.
So she lived her romance through the written word,
Inspiring others to pursue their dreams
A sofening touched a light aglow,
as a remote trail took a slight bend,
Saw nature pray o'er a sheet of snow,
twas but a gust of wind, to and fro,
I thought 'twas a hoot if I pretend.
Further down the bend had turned a bit,
now at the bottom of the foothills,
the park's bench, I saw the whole of it,
the stars were fantastic I admit,
to the whole, it was gifts of the wills.
The half-slept town lay barely ahead,
the late farmers market was open,
fresh was sold out, not much on the spread,
since they're closing, all half-priced instead,
I knew of it, I heard it spoken.
So where, with my bag of groceries,
as I walk along the boulevards,
stalks of leafy vegetables and cheese
while shops close, a late-night snack will please,
nice dress, pricey, best give my regards.
At last, my penthouse view of Paris,
a message from Mom who's in Boston,
Mom ... M]why there ... you lived here ... M]I don't miss,
You met Dad here ... M]well, he's on the list
Will I be them ... M]the next Jane Austen?
English writer Jane Austen -
Reading was a thing she could get lost in.
Never married; died at forty-one.
With romance novels, her readers' hearts she won.
he gets a first chance to make a second impression – she requites him
seeming silliness of love perception in insolent search for self
Salutations from a girl who is sometimes in love,
a girl who's been convinced her special man should
fit her hand like a glove.
I am grateful for your stories of love amiss - of young,
sassy women & their tales of a long-awaited kiss.
Though I appreciate your novels, subtle insults, poems, & a well-put quote -
I must say, I often long that a special man on me should dote.
Write me a story, o dear, lovely artist,
may my true love appear soon - I suppose he is just
traveling his farthest.
Everyone knows who this famous lady is
with her novels of romance for 200 years
but it wasn't until a soup contest I found
she also wrote poems though none were renown
Her novels we know take nations by storm
"Pride and Prejudice" "Persuasion" and "Emma"
"Sense and Sensibility" along with her notes
Jane Austen can always cause a dilemma
========================
When stretched out on one's bed by Jane Austen
(excerpt from Jane's poem)
Our own bodily pains
Ev'ry faculty chains;
We can feel on no subject besides.
Tis in health and in ease
We the power must seize
For our friends and our souls to provide.
Jane Austen
PINNACLES OF HUMAN FELICITY
To write only for fame,to give
satisfaction,a morning of doubt
spent in uncertainty.
This sacrifice to art,then all is
smooth and easy,when imagination
is everything.Did the little repose
restore? Regard this is my pen
I partake again this pretension of
self-consequence,by no means
unpleasant,agreeable enough I
will endeavour to deserve,with
magnamity.A sensation of pleasure
basking in the sunshine of prosperity
exalted in the utmost pinnicle of
human felicity.Every sentiment
complete,perfection where
grace and spirit are united.
From letters of Jane Austen
*A Phrasis is a structured verse where the poet uses selected prose phrases of another writer’s to compile unique poetry therefrom as a tribute thereto,the word phrasis is Greek for phrase.
Listen to me read this phrasis verse of mine on youtube under name ichthyschiro
PINNACLES OF HUMAN FELICITY
To write only for fame,to give
satisfaction,a morning of doubt
spent in uncertainty.
This sacrifice to art,then all is
smooth and easy,when imagination
is everything.Did the little repose
restore? Regard this is my pen
I partake again this pretension of
self-consequence,by no means
unpleasant,agreeable enough I
will endeavour to deserve,with
magnamity.A sensation of pleasure
basking in the sunshine of prosperity
exalted in the utmost pinnicle of
human felicity.Every sentiment
complete,perfection where
grace and spirit are united.
From letters of Jane Austen
*A Phrasis is a structured verse where the poet uses selected prose phrases of another writer’s to compile unique poetry therefrom as a tribute thereto,the word phrasis is Greek for phrase.
Listen to me read this phrasis verse of mine on youtube under name ichthyschiro
PINNACLES OF HUMAN FELICITY
To write only for fame,to give
satisfaction,a morning of doubt
spent in uncertainty.
This sacrifice to art,then all is
smooth and easy,when imagination
is everything.Did the little repose
restore? Regard this is my pen
I partake again this pretension of
self-consequence,by no means
unpleasant,agreeable enough I
will endeavour to deserve,with
magnamity.A sensation of pleasure
basking in the sunshine of prosperity
exalted in the utmost pinnicle of
human felicity.Every sentiment
complete,perfection where
grace and spirit are united.
From letters of Jane Austen
Listen to me read this phrasis verse of mine on youtube under name ichthyschiro
Fineness
Finesse
For and in Honor of Brian Strand
And Contest
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.