Doth thou, my dear, recall us still?
Tho' years quietly hasten'd on.
Do doves yet fly near Towne's Mill
and carts clang up'n cobblestone?
Are thou still light as summer's day,
with golden lockes o'er which I wept?
Did winter steal thy look of May?
For I was gone, and long I slept.
A dream this be and quite strange;
else I have fall'n, hit my head.
Village has known a bit'r change,
while April vanish'd from my stead.
Doth life but dwell within a rhyme,
ere each day lost to heedless time?
January 6, 2023
for "Shakespeare in 2023" contest
by Anoucheka Gangabissoon
I found her jacket folded 'midst the drift,
Atop her shoes but 'neath a ribbon, red,
Tied to a strainer that she'd used to sift
The sand, for treasures left by tidal shed ...
The streamer I had given her that morn,
Around a bunch of flowers and the ring
Upon which all our promises were borne -
Our romance and our future, taken wing ...
Her note had led me here so I could find
Her single set of footprints on the shore,
That to our special spot, did slowly wind,
Then disappeared into the tidal bore ...
That answer, I can now ne'er understand -
The words 'I'm sorry' ... written in the sand.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Footprints Old Or New For A Prize" Poetry Contest, Carolyn Devonshire, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "English Sonnets" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
( Syllables = ten per line, counted at HowManySyllables.com )
my parody
My husband's like to water, I to oil.
We're masters of the knock-down, drag-out brawl.
We just don't mix. I cause his blood to boil
and he enrages me. The dude has gall!
Why in the dickens are we both still here?
You'd think one would vamoose to parts unknown,
but each holds our vast property so dear,
we keep a death-grip on it, scowl, and moan.
Explaining our relationship is hard;
We're cold as ice, with tempers blazing hot.
All sense of reason from this home we've barred.
Will white flags soon be waving? I think not!
Such is the power of assets owned so long
by two who daily scream, "I'm right; you're wrong!"
Edmund Spenser’s sonnet (see notes) follows the rhyme scheme of
ABAB BCBC CDCD EE.
The rhyme scheme of my parody is English/Shakespearean.
Date: January 11, 2020
Contest Title: English Sonnets Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
How fortunes turn, I awake by myself
No company just a cold empty space,
Beside me your picture sits on the shelf
Each morn I gaze at your beautiful face.
Often I weep, unsure what I'm feeling
I struggle to breathe, for what is now left
Once filled with love my mind is now reeling,
My home is empty, my heart is bereft.
Had I not ascended love's lofty heights
I would have been spared the pain loss can bring,
But would not have known of love's sweet delights
Whose memories hold a bittersweet sting.
Sweet is the love that she placed in my heart
Bitter the ending, my soul torn apart.
Entry for
English Sonnets Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
7/1/2020
The loss of love is far beyond love's gleam
Tomorrow comes to see the end come true
Know the depth of sorrow will now convene
To paint the world's color of deeper blue
And bows the head in open palms and cries
When painful dark begins the day now new
With each last memory that fades and dies
As hearts still bleeding hide from times they knew
From love sworn, to be now cold of mind
As desire lost will leave a vanquished shell
Though both will cling to fragments left behind
And search fresh springs to fill love's empty well
This pain-filled time always comes with a cost
And the bond between this love shall be lost
1/5/2020
Contest English Sonnets
judged 2/7/20
Golden Roses
...to one who has faith, no explanation is necessary...to one without faith, no explanation is possible...Thomas Aquinas.
Roses side by side where the grotto stood
A golden garden not seen by their eyes
Bernadette could see as she gathered wood
Kneeling upon hearing of heaven’s cries
A Lady did appear in rose bush wild
A seraphic voice with no deception
With a white dress and girdle gently smiled
‘I am the Immaculate Conception’
For the town of Lourdes was quick to demean
Sadly scoffed as the poorest peasant girl
She dug a hole and a well would canteen
To make believers of the crippled churl
Bernadette let your song of roses hum
Upon this let processions hither come.
Aug.17.2018
New Sonnets Only
Only English Sonnets Are Acceptable
(Fourteen lines, ten syllables per line - abab cdcd efef gg rhyming scheme.)
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
Video clip from the movie"The Song of Bernadette"
N/A for contest
Stressed/unstressed syllables (ten to a line,
remember!) take their turns. Fourteen in all
(that’s lines, not syllables), which often fall
in blocks of eight and six. You’ve got that? Fine.
Now for the rhymes. Petrarchans intertwine
like this, in staggered couplets, as they sprawl
the page. Americans are apt to call
Shakespearians, “English” sonnets. These align
in neat alternatives, until the end,
which forms a rhyming couplet. The sestet
(the six-line bit) has ordered rhymes, which tend
to vary. Feminines are lines that get
a final, unstressed, syllable tacked on it.
And there, in fourteen lines, you have a sonnet.
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.