Nature Italian Sonnet Poems | Examples
These Nature Italian Sonnet poems are examples of Italian Sonnet poems about Nature. These are the best examples of Italian Sonnet Nature poems written by international poets.
Like tufts of cotton colored red and rosy
And scattered through the baby sky at light
Eve’, twilight clouds are whirling around the white
moon, orbiting their spoke, all lush and lazy;
Or strands of cloth sent fluttering a’mosey
through late afternoon drowsying near night,
and circling about, like crimson kites in flight,
a beaming moon, swirling afloat and hazy;
The heavens, swelling into a wide expanse,
glow splendid. Strewn with stripes of ruby sweet,
engulfing night draws in to drape the day’s
affairs with its dark quilt. So the romance
of a thousand million stars takes its seat
by the moon’s glow, with effervescent rays.
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.—
Within a crack in grisly clouds one night
I briefly glimpsed the redish-orange hue
of the Australian desert poking through—
pillars of bunched up puffs, in the colored light
of a sleepy sun’s rosy rays,—and the might
of such a sight struck my soul’s drowsy blue.
So suddenly my heavy spirit flew
like a falcon to that unequaled height.
And soon returning home, I shut the door
on that marvelous fantasy of mine.
The evening heavens, far from human reach,
yet teach me a quite foreign form of speech,—
that of mysterious, metaphoric sign.?
Thus I transcend myself,—find something more.
A slivered moon is looming peacefully
above the pristine glow of golden dusk,
bathing in a navy sky,—me?, I bask
in her gush of seraphic majesty.
A careful look, cast in serenity,
reveals the silent shadow of her disk;
the sunless face wears a dark veil. Her mask
gazes upon me,—in return, I see
the full splendor of her thin sliced crescent.
Admiring the elegance of her curve,
I vow, tonight, my job is to preserve,
with my Poetry, her luminescent
form. I testify that, yes, I have tried—
?succeeded? that’s for others to decide.
Crepuscule creeps along the cusp of daylight,
encroaching duly on the day’s blond glow.
As lumbering dusk steps upon its foe,
Flowing forth spills the wine of sanguine twilight.
Behind the ruby blush, with runaway light,
a dazzled sky, baffled by the overflow
of effervescent stars, begins to show
the milky way’s great triumph, it’s broad highlight.
And now that night has firmly settled down,
the radiant band that proudly streaks bright
across the midnight plains shines grandiose,
adorning heaven’s glorious mane, a crown
of speckled jewels, in its brilliant might,
Pouring out its resplendence, saccharose.
My springtime blood did flow a river’s rush
in stream bed’s cradle anchored to the land
as dreams rode jet streams to the cirrus strand.
I grew beneath the nimbus, thunder-lush
but autumn’s dry-leaf-drought did bring a hush…
though soul, a snowy owl, not stuck in sand,
as slowly stilled my river came to stand —
my thirst now nursed by rapture of the thrush.
I muse about this skin and skins worn past,
rebirth perhaps… a dolphin of the seas.
This river turned a ripple wanes tonight
surrender of what’s mortal… not the last.
My sigh the sylph that finds the Pleiades —
this breath I shed, a winter’s wisp of white.
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.
Sweet juices spilt Spring, free thee greeneries
ye lands amend, then weave to Summer's eve
ere its proclaim windswept name, a said leave
from Indian grabbed drum who beat the trees
sown years to be, made wholly thick of leaves
that fairs their surrender the length life cleave
presence parting, color-filled glimpses, grieve
end tone boughs under the rainbow it heaves.
Promised life gift wrap, belly breathless dews
touch, process the fallen heaps, hues go dark
as arched sensed the passing, a rainbow drift
abroad, probed closures, 'tis bit of year, clues
deem it's Autumn, chills stretch a wintry mark
tho' Thanksgiving's present in the swing shift.
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.
For manic, listless, bipolar, mad souls,
the rate of solitude increases fast,
like the second derivative; to last,
velocity accelerates near black holes,
which tug light into singularity's sinkhole.
If isolation never speeds up past,
if desolation, forever steadfast,
must for eternity blast, then controls
despair all? Not so! Space-time's curvature
let's us all firmly stand on Earth's hard ground
of hope: shielded by her vaulted feature
of pure blue sky, and atmosphere all-round
this sun-bathed orb (free from mankind's nature,
this life's dismay, and gamma-ray background)!
Farther down the glade beyond Myrtle Creek
Where, as a kid, I went hunting for raspberries,
We discovered a ripening patch of blackberries
Grandmother and I went there for a solid week.
One early morning we heard a frightful shriek
And, we didn’t stop to entertain any inquiries,
Hastening out with half a bucket of ripe berries
Truthfully, in our stomachs, we felt kind of weak.
Grandmother’s pies were enhanced by the tale
Of our sudden departure from the berry patch,
And how we hurriedly left with a half-filled pail
We embellished the story of our quick dispatch,
Always leaving the impression, without a fail,
That we had met up with a real live Sasquatch.
Written July 3, 2021
I’ve gone outside to sit nearby my tree,
which bloomed this April, and on the first day!
With pen in hand (the good old-fashioned way)
I pause – to let impressions come to me.
More than a blushing willow do I see.
The thing most striking is that winter’s grey
has vanished! In its place, a vast array
of nature’s jade gives spring green majesty!
The dingy cloak of winter now is gone.
My eyes adore the jewelry of spring -
the leaves and grass of emerald and on
my pretty tree, in sunlight glittering -
those rose quartz gems! Right now above my lawn,
from beaded boughs, a bird begins to sing!
April 8, 2018
For Brian Strand's 'LATE APRIL 2018 PREMIERE CONTEST,ANY FORM OR NONE,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 lines' Poetry Contest
Springtime, camped between the mountain valleys.
Air filled with tickled laughter ventured through
canopy of leaves bathed a golden hue;
labyrinth fields sun's freedom to rally.
An owl rides the air stream, into darkness
against the fading moonlight to confront
joy of flying in silence of the hunt,
while crickets sing loudly in the stillness.
Rumbling sounds reach deep sleep from twice its breadth,
barely glean the worth turning into dreams
grasping the state of mind lapsed into deep,
a twilight world that knows not its own depth.
Waking up in the light of morning beams,
cooing sounds of mourning doves in nature's keep.
3/22/2018
Italian/Petrarchan Sonnet first 8 lines) abba abba (next 6 lines) cdecde
It’s early spring, and tulips are in bloom;
as folks come out and shed their winter wrap;
the season comes alive from nature’s nap,
and warms the air, adorning outdoor room.
The birds all molt revealing spring’s proud plume;
their springtime songs of mating overlap,
and in the distance, sounds of pecker’s tap,
and tender leaves appear from winter’s womb.
But April brings such savage springtime storms;
tornados, hail and lightning cross the land,
and people must seek shelter once again.
Yet when the storms are gone and May sun warms,
and flowers come to life as nature planned;
the spell of springtime spreads from hill to glen.
March 15, 2018
As days grow longer, melancholy creeps
An uninvited guest, which winter brings
It dims the candle my mind tightly clings
Consuming light, from darkness whence he leaps
In doldrums dark, my heart held captive weeps
Held hostage by north winds that bite and sting
Entombed by winter's chill, awaiting spring
Time slowing to a crawl whilst nature sleeps
But then one day in March, an equinox
The light begins to overtake the dark
In color, daydreams dawn as dark does fade
Sad melancholy flees through fields of phlox
Now freed from winter's bonds, my heart embarks
To chase spring's sun into the summer shade.
by Daniel Turner