Grief Italian Sonnet Poems | Examples
These Grief Italian Sonnet poems are examples of Italian Sonnet poems about Grief. These are the best examples of Italian Sonnet Grief poems written by international poets.
What makes me smile?—For one: the grin of life;
but, too, its touch of giggle grazing on
my ticklish skin,—Though soon again withdrawn,
yet long lingers in memory, full, rife.
This makes me smile—(the laughter of a leaf
fluttering through the airs of yawning dawn.
I think it now, though next I’ll find it gone,
but note the chimes of mirth and bells of grief.)!
But, most of all, the experience of love
—of that of other, self, or all of all,
precedes, exceeds, (impedes?,) towers above
every other need…—Question marks abound,
and, gently litling to a waltzing bawl,
re(sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound))))))))).
how long and sourly sobs the lonely heart
depends on how grave the weight which grieves the tears
pouring from the despondent spirit’s pores.—
a witness, too, will know the surly sort
of rain that beats down harshly on the court
called Sorrow Drive.—sure seems like nothing cheers
up the—nor nothing soothes the—nasty fears
nesting in somber nooks.—no, only art
comes close to curing spiritual sores.—
but even it leaves quite untouched the cause.—
able only to act as numbing gauze,
art is the first of many guarded doors,—
engraved on its threshold,—and colorfast—:
“seek you now to enter your wounded past?”
Remember, long ago, enrapt of Venus,
in college, brought to meet by chance,
how, falling into that first, most fateful glance
a straightaway spark flirted between us?
And, too, can you recall the eager shyness?
On the day that turned up next, a thrilling trance
hurled us into an uninhibited expanse
which then crackled with electric newness.
But nowadays, that’s just as far away
into the forlorn yesteryear as you
are distant now—and, almost strangers, we’ve
matured apart, growing further every day.
A curse upon wicked fate! who withdrew
her blessing and unraveled our fragile weave!
Love’s the elixir that banishes grief,
an infant sucking on his mother’s breast,
two childhood friends lost in banter and jest,
an ambedo trace granting soul relief.
Joy is soul’s diamond but ego’s the thief,
employing thought spirals that do not rest,
taking control by invading heart’s nest,
yet when touched by love, we turn a new leaf.
Octaves of love, the hues of a rainbow,
colours distinct, yet remaining entwined,
one with the universe, a seamless whole,
where boundaries blur when we bend down low,
lotus in full bloom, with bliss beats aligned,
music of the spheres and song of our soul.
Humans are quite a deciduous lot.
It's our nature, but not Mother's motif.
We fall from grace without faith and belief
when fleshly flaws make us stumble, besot.
Tousled emotions are tied in a knot
as though weatherbeaten, love ends in grief.
Reddened eyes, the shade of a cast-off leaf
from tears spilled and splattered like an ink blot.
We fall in and out of love. It's a chance
taken, like planting trees for greenery.
Then, we watch deciduous leaves perish,
borne on blustery winds in one last dance.
Windswept limbs despoil Winter's scenery.
Love and lush foliage, we should cherish.
Wistful shades of light in orange and gold
Pouring out heaven’s great plans on still limbs
Breathing calm through the hills, like cherubims
Brushing souls with cascades of light untold
With Autumn’s twilight comes the early cold
Verses dance on soft skies like gentle hymns
Loitering o’er grey, wistful clouds, grief dims
Wrens and robins lift beaks, the air to scold
Old souls who love rustling woods, heed God’s voice
Listening for the calm of warm solace
Who lives in the song, moving through forests
O’er mountains, through the valleys, souls rejoice
With autumn’s outburst, splendor is flawless
Fall, juicy spice of gifted folklorists.
My tendency to slip into the dark-
a matter you have now begun to press.
In realms of time and pain, I ache no less;
you undervalue still, its lasting mark.
So see me stand before you, bare and stark;
I pray you’re not dismayed when I confess
the ticking clock alone cannot repress-
this sorrow hovers on a timeless arc.
I do not wish to burden or deceive;
if I could craft a spell, I’d cast it quick.
I’d wield a wand if it might do the trick,
but endless is this ache, I do believe.
To waste a wish on turning time is tragic,
for I have yet to come across this magic.
Alas, sweet Muse! How I desire, and burn,
to sing a joyous hymn no less, no worse,
than the most happy hymns in all of verse!
How I as well so oft' long for, and yearn,
to be inspired, have breath once more return,
so that my lines' too-early ride by hearse
no longer endures rhyme's creative curse:
so I may strive, write, and still live in turn!
Despite the pain, the everlasting grief,
I will set my sights on the rhymer's prize.
If rare reprieve, or wit, that's much too brief,
arrives, then howls of laughter dry my eyes,
as the grace of God, and of all that's chief,
provides me all I need, that I might rise!
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
You didn’t come that dreadful night
Or in the morning with the rain
Even through all my pain
You didn’t come, with all your light
You didn’t come to bring me might
And as though my loss were your gain
You didn’t come, you did refrain
From coming to take away my fright
And now my heart is cold and bare
And now you may come and see
That no love could be harbored there
And this is what I will always be
Because you didn’t come and didn’t care
©Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.
THE SCENT OF WATER
Forlorn, distance roots between you and I;
Carve 'neath fire silhouettes buried grief;
Burn then blurred by irrational mischief;
Has crimson love gone pale and soon may die?
Trampled with reasons leaving us tongue tie;
Falling, slowly falling, is marriage leaf...
Amor ebbing , ebbing, like a thief.
Divorce papers rocketing quite, quick high!
Heaven knows, flaws, deaden raw I want fix;
Reckon blows, glow, freshen love flow essence;
Leaden float the scent of water,redden snow mater.
Lessons learned bestow order resins of brighter hello;
Father God, bless aglow each corners in progression...
(c)olive eloisa
4:52pm
July 14, 2014
Sponsor Poet Destroyer A
Contest Name one sad poem
5th place, to God be the glory.. :)
***Inspired with the verse theme: John 14: 7-9 and the movie "FIREPROOF"...
When last they kissed, and passion's lease
bloomed brief and sweet, Sir Shakespeare's quill
would set in motion a deathly chill.
For Juliet, he could not appease
to win her smile and would not release
a tranquil tale...but did reveal
this tragic poem, where lovers fell
and would break our hearts with spellbound grief.
Behold, your eyes will weep for her,
and empty arms will flail, for him
Young lovers swept away, in love
Misguided youth that we hold dear
and through the years we pray for them,
as songs are sung by mourning doves
...
Their love, was a fever, sorely sought
Of passion's quest, she would requite
to bridge the wage of family strife
But, delusion, rides deceitful plots
To think him dead, she had no doubt
Despaired, beyond her wildest thought
Disquiet of the heart cried out
And death, would dim the stars that night
Their song still lives, as stories will
Upon two graves, we linger here
Such love divine, is ours to keep
A sonnet binds them, ever still...
A love that cannot be compared
While swollen hearts, with anguish, weep
___________________________
2/11/14
But fiction you are, our Juliet, unborn,
mere humans find love so hard to portray,
thus leading many to their death, astray,
fear not a Romeo is born each day.
Childless children be not to death forsworn.
Why leave the bloom of youth in this dark way?
To these false examples swear not, allay ...
these foolish gestures and stay unmourned.
What care true love for false sacrifice's knife
or petal poisons made by perverse form,
live and brave the days with courage cajoled.
Oh, waylay the cowards path, leave your grief,
for grief will come to all within life's storm;
live a full life linger for life is gold.
I'm named a willow tree and live in grace,
the whole of me distinctive in its shape.
My elegance well suits this lush landscape
of hillocks flung across the field I face. . .
and gentle rills meander through this place.
In spring I don a long virescent cape
comprised of many supple arms that drape
to earth and, with Eve’s shadows, interlace.
Oh, countless times Sun’s flecked my every leaf
and Sky distilled her stars as night would creep.
Young lovers, though, have fled, their time so brief.
They used to spread a cloth to eat; then sleep
beneath me in my shade. They knew no grief. . .
Not privy to their destiny, I weep.