Death Italian Sonnet Poems | Examples
These Death Italian Sonnet poems are examples of Italian Sonnet poems about Death. These are the best examples of Italian Sonnet Death poems written by international poets.
Enticed, seduced, and speedily distilled,
stumbling dumbly, she trips into the arms
of decadence—(such hedonistic charms!)
—and finds her stubborn inhibitions spilled
in a puddle around her thoughts—and, stilled,
her mind is free (of any and all alarms (!) )
of worry, fear, and doubt—beyond all harms
she thunders for a fresh martini, chilled.
Teetering at the brink of another drink
she’s helpless against gravity’s stout
strength—down(and further still)into its wink
sinks the hopeless dupe into the abyss;
with more and more foaming from the spout,
she slips into a lethal, silent kiss—
A couple soon to be said newly wed,
yet swiftly snuck behind the family’s back
to swear the vow inside th’old shack,
quick forgot’n, buried a secret dread;
A reek awaftin’ out a country shed
left long and fast behind by Spring-heeled Jack,
the stench o’ rot stinkin’ from a sack
discovers a soiled corpse ‘n’a mangled head;
Well…, they ‘was a murder in the red barn,
an absence none—nor husband—could explain,
’til—guess,—what befell the fair lady’s kin?:
’twas a strange dream th’unwound the twisted yarn.
On that farm, packed ‘nside a sack o’ grain,
a body lay stuffed deep down ’n’a storage bin—
A lunar luster spills a silvershine
cascade of nebulating moonshine lilt
onto a night-time field, drawing a quilt
of pale radiance over the still vine.
A myriad of glowing serpentine
twines sleep.—but, slithering round its stout stilt,
a wakeless plant is working out its tilt.—
It’s fruit will not be ripe enough for wine.
So see I, amidst the flourishing grape,
the withering blossoms of one string;
And gazing on this midnight unlandscape,
—too, upon this weakling growth, this failing
sproutling,—I sense the shiver whispering
through the light leaves,—all but those yet ailing.—
Though matter may not be destroyed, the form
must be deformed; absolute fluidity
demands—with absolute rigidity—
that bonds made break free from an unstable frame.—
Erratic molecules and particles swarm
beyond the confines of lucidity;
But we, in stupor (and stupidity),
(poor things), give to fluidity a name…
I mean to say: Destruction is a must!
For,—given that something new’s to be built—,
creation draws from the dead flower’s wilt.
The energy that binds two atoms:tight:
is Love, attraction in the highest light!—
I mean to say: Destruction is the Just!
Toppled by a bottle, collapsed upon
her painful past, asleep—but well awake!—,
unmoving, but for her mind stirred aquake,
the girl is yawning before her black dawn.
Alone, couched by a burning blanket drawn
over a conscience guilty at the stake,
slipping into the sly hands of the snake,
she sees not clearly the sickening con
which lures her slowly to her deathly state.
Unknowingly, she’s dozing, edging deeper
into the dreamrealm, into the hazy
murk of the promised land.
Her name was Daisy—
until, unexpected, said the reaper,
“Poor thing… if only you could now change fate.”
My Fair Lady Lidja--disquiet--sigh
Limit thine opinions, my Lord Miltrose,
Thy intent fails midst tardily shadows
Albeit findeth tis aid satisfy
Ahh! My Lord Sir Gilroy, tis nice surprise
Twill thine fair milieu idle pitched moist lips
Delivery thrills with a smile post scripts
Admittedly the id did simplify
A lady said the incident eclipse
Ships neither sink nor swim in tranquil Springs
Flights robins and whipper-o-willow wings'
Claims to an anointing gift rectify
Blessings of an innocent child ... heartstrings
Mildly midst millennium ... a voice sings ...
“My Lord’s-in-waiting, beseech thy favor
an ear and harken of woven words will
of a lifetime breathes I, here and now,
True Lord in Waiting in time and place
for us to be … somewhere, someplace,
… for all time."
Late autumn winds are quickening the leaves
igniting metamorphosis of fall
where spectral colors burst forth and enthrall
a rapture brief, then vanishes and flees.
With fading eyes, she stares through window's eaves
to view the ancient oak, its heartbeat call
she feels the length of years, a weighty pall
her fleeting life, like leaves, will someday cease.
A bitter cold now grips the ancient oak
where destiny does hasten nature’s blows
as dying leaves fall swiftly like a wave.
She wakens suddenly at midnight’s stroke
the scythe of death arrives, as her heart knows
she’ll join the leaves that settle on her grave.
Deciduous defines days of our lives
by temporary scenes upon its stage.
There we progress from infancy to age,
so often judged by wealth our death survives.
Deciduous events tempt youthful eyes,
producing all that energetic rage.
Each generation writing its new page,
changing values deemed societal strives.
Inconstant is the work of nature’s hand,
casting shadows on deciduous moons.
By nightly shifting, rhythm of the tides,
its waxing, wanning angles will command,
some human heart give yield to passions’ swoons.
Ephemeral emotions brief, felt prides.
From the chimes settling morning—
Another time, another change
I slept in your clothes yesterday;
The break in brass and sleep numbing
Red blur— buried color, holding
The lasting eyes in my love's grave—
Would this dawn, you could only stay,
Instead heaps of morning glories
Summer beats down, passing morning
On from our daydreams in the night.
Your ghost on some green there walking,
In shadows and flowers besides.
Winter, approach as ice now freed—
Our love for time, distance of chimes.
I ponder, lying pale upon my bed;
my head a 'roaring deep in notions... whys.
My thinking moves to plans for my demise
with comfort from my Lord in what He said -
I go to build your palace overhead;
just keep believing, death will loose the lies
of those who groan with transitory eyes.
Take note: I grant relief to you instead.
This body’s death transports my soul to God
and lets the dread of evanescence flee.
My faith persists, like leaves, although life dims;
God’s evergreening grace is no facade.
My hope is anchored on my Savior’s tree;
His resurrection weakened Satan’s limbs.
Doom smiles at us all, so we smile back.
Wilted petals on the Tree of Life don't die.
A most modest craftsman or a devil's eye.
All will perish one day on the one-way track.
Drain the grime off your toes; nothing lack.
Yet it may be apart above and beyond the eye.
Death burns as a candle; light has gone awry.
Gowns were thorny throughout the stack.
Wrapped in tears interwoven inside a sigh.
You will never feel agony as you rise above.
Grief isn't disarray; grieving is the only cure.
A solid and lasting trail of rays in the sky.
Restore the broken visions as a wing dove
That proves we're ill, and alas, "Are we sure?"
Written: May 23, 2023
First tears do heat and drench the cheeks, flesh weak.
A London fog rolls in and life seems gray.
You can’t make a U-Turn, can’t find your way.
Without the love of one, bright days are bleak.
Energy drained, no words - it’s hard to speak.
In church - it’s hard to praise, it’s hard to pray.
Memories caged - mourners, what did they say?
Words near but far away - the muddle’s Greek.
But tears, they dry, they cool - hard to believe.
Except long years - to breathe - hard to be brave;
became two of a kind - soul’s interweave.
Some can’t overcome grief - dig their own grave.
The truth is this: of death we’re all naïve.
We can’t prepare ourselves for the shock wave.
10/15/2022
Old age can be a lonely time for some;
friends fade to acquaintances; slip away.
Though your achievements bolster your resume,
they've stagnated with time and seem humdrum.
The atrocities of wars left you numb;
morals sink when hate is a stowaway.
And as the future gets bleaker each day,
you're left discombobulated and glum.
Children have lost the wonderment of youth,
comparing friends to likes; they interface.
Love's still spontaneous, but unlike hate,
it's an elusive, transitory truth.
Hypocrisy and lies are commonplace,
and death can seem a less frightening fate.
Three long years since my love has gone away
And I have settled into a life of lonely self-ease,
Seeing no regrets or sorrows I need to appease
Still sometimes I think I live in perpetual disarray.
If morning should portend a dark and gloomy day
My personal freedom ensued from a dread disease
That took my loved one away like a chilly breeze,
Leaving me alone and bewildered in fogs of gray.
So, this quandary lingers in my oft-grieving mind
How to move my life into exciting new adventures
Without feeling guilty that my love is left behind,
That she is no longer able to grace my ventures
Which will not prevent me keeping her enshrined
And honoring her among my cherished treasures.
written October 26, 2021
This hearth and home, my ivory tower,
where in complete and thoughtful solitude
I daily think, then ponder and often brood
reflectively with creative power:
in the place where I fear not or cower,
where I, here dignified, feel understood;
where I sometimes am seized by raptured moods
that alter my loneliest, and darkest, hours;
and where, waves of pure bliss can clarify
and wash my confusion and gloom away,
filling me with an overpowering high,
a feeling of elation every day,
that only thoughts on God can magnify
and make perfect in the springtime of May.