Long Petrarch Poems
Long Petrarch Poems. Below are the most popular long Petrarch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Petrarch poems by poem length and keyword.
The muse inspires her inmost poet:
when moved by divine breath she composes
sonnets of three quatrains and one couplet
with such grace that we send her red roses.
Iambic lines by fourteen, five beats per line
she strings together like beads on a cord
forming verses so resoundingly fine
that we adore her with every kind word.
Her sonnets' warm and passionate intent
are lovelier and much more temperate
than untrue kisses when begrudgingly sent
(alas, Petrarch himself was ne'er so great!).
In time, her sonneteer skills down the years
will kindle Shakespeare's envious, green tears.
"The Wanton Rapture Blazing"
I hear you in the ribbons that sing
tied to poles of gallantry where charged
with acts of misadventure love carried me
to your walls, I wrote on them then, as I do now
to trace each mark, each a scar on the other's groove penned,
a key for the turning buried deep in a forgotten heart
revenge does not exist there, it lies in state numbed
on the boundaries where ruined territories whisper, best buried
never to be found again, what judgement made you misadventure,
to seek me here, standing on the other side of inside out exposed,
with my runes tempting futures with an inner fortune split
and rendered aligned with waning moon, we call to each other like loons,
you seem to be full of the Icarus waxing lyrical, billowed you, approaching
the all seeing I, your valentine downfall, the wanton rapture blazing
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Valentines Day
“Bayonne”/ Elysian Fields
https://youtu.be/6XSekP_8Gp8
Inspired by Petrarch’s
“To Make A Graceful Act of Revenge”
https://petrarch.petersadlon.com/canzoniere.html?poem=2
Petrarch
(Francesco Petrarca, 1304 -1374)
Philospher, Poet
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Petrarch
LYRICS/ “Bayonne”, Elysian Fields
https://genius.com/Elysian-fields-bayonne-lyrics
As the undertow is pulling me down
With your cross examination
I'm receding in the teeth of your plow
But I won't dig my own grave
As you're twisting every word that I say
There's a snare in the forest
Under brush where you want me to play
But I won't dig my own grave
I.
Can you hear the scale in D major as it plays a cantabile manner? Please gather around and hear my words as they will become the banner to which you will march. My one fear is to be rejected by the angel; however, I know that the angel may be a demon trying to get me to give up and never find true love. Unfortunately, for the demon, I am the lion that says you and I will not give up. My scars are a testament to what I have endured. Without them I would not be able to give my love to a deserving person. Looking into my past, I learned that there were four stages to completing a life goal. The four principles of what needs to be accomplished can vary from person to person. The first step is to know what you want. For me that would be a wife from a different country that speaks more than one language or is willingly to learn more than her language even if it is difficult to understand my second language. I am having her be positive and strong when to comes to interacting with others and not being afraid of having me view her as a walking angel. No, she has not fallen as she walks with beauty. Petrarch would weep at my words as he wrote five hundred about one woman. All I need are three words to tell her every day. The second stage is to have a plan. I plan to constantly speak with her in my tongues and eventually in her tongue. Let the scale switch into a rock ballad (Smooth as Silk).
Who knows! Maybe our tongues will intertwine and be closer to one another. Acting is different as the move may be unwelcome or fully welcomed. All I could do is read the signs of her body. The final stage is to review and renew my goals. If my goals are not meant to be with her, then my heart will be in a steel cage to which Davy Jones would feel pity as my heart is only meant for my true love. Once you have my heart you will have my love and loyalty. I pray that God places us together in situations where we become one and then build upon our mutual likes. No matter which country I travel to, I am constantly hearing your name, even when it is in my country of Italy.
I'm the sonneteer of another era,
Struggling for fame and dreaming of glories...
Living free in prosperous America,
Where there's hunger for interesting stories.
Invite me to share yours as thrills resume;
I will give my opinion anytime,
But perfect syllables count and strict rhyme scheme
Are required for rhythm to happily chime.
Petrarch and Shakespeare were the greatest
Poets who created remarkable sonnets;
Read their works with unquenchable zest:
You'll discover they wrote them in the hundreds!
Study the unique forms of each sonnet;
Model yours on them with true interest!
The death of once-great swans I oft' lament;
and ask in vain, “Where have all the bards gone?”
No more are written lines as eloquent
as in the days of Poesy's ancient dawn,
when Homer sung the epic war for Troy,
and the odyssey of a Greek-hero king;
or, when the poet Petrarch sung for joy
of Laura, his love; and Dante, whose dayspring
of the heart was Beatrice. The Romantics
of bygone days, alas, are forgotten!
The lyric odes of Keats, the Byronics
of George Gordon, are now misbegotten
by great reams of abysmal, free-verse styles
today ill-writ by mental juveniles.
Behold Beatrice, Pitcairn
the paradise sunsets lie in Tahiti
sunrise, the folly of Easter
islands, sanitoriums, deluded, denuded
limbos and purgatories, the never evermore
Polynesian metaphors transmigrate my mind
O to graze with the deer, dear
the tree never falls silently
lizards scatter, birds scurry to flight
i could never buy into falling silence
let alone fate of Galileo's descending weights
church theologians preferring an atheist Aristhrottle
forgive me for being sententious dear
no pity for Cyrano
the hidden Darcy
in another failed Benedick in port
without Dante's delusions
love with no embrace
Service, woman, a slightly tainted saint
Tennyson's wound that never heals
Petrarch, Augustine, it grows insane
ah the vicissitudes, where was i
yes, leaving metaphors and literate men
your laughter starts in those ignescent eyes
ignition, brush fires of rippling ballerinas
facial muscles lost in abandonment
to some elfish music i see, never hear
lips widening, bursting rubaiyat pandemonium
i adore your infectious risibility
it is your amatory smile i love most
demure, candles gamboling in the moonlight
i am a moth lost in the flames
of your demanding timidity
it is then i see in your eyes
the dove gracing your hands
the beast who serves your lust
this is why the Norsemen
fear nothing but women
swords once ready, berserkers, Odin
now lie silent volcanoes in my heart, Freya
the seas are without headstones
and i am wondering again terricolous
all of this are the clouds overhead
it is the heavens i see in your eyes
not the red dawn i fear
we see the jungle, its' song, inevitable war
the struggle to stand in the light
possibly besotted, erratum
the seas have long not cared
with you, i learn, heal
we are undeniably humanity
we are paradise lost
the hells of yesterday
need not rule the heavens of today
your arms gravid with red sunsets
fill my deepest hopes of all morrows
its' ultimate price is gladly paid
Miramar 94 The Patient Stones
Revised 5/22 OKC
see on Youtube
Shakespeare's Sonnet 116 Is Not What It Seems
there are certain words in here common in 19th Century literature that always remind me....besotted with Jane Austen
Grandpa raised me to listen to the whisper of grace, tracing out miracles on the edge of my faith… by poet
~~~
Grandpa had hair like salt and pepper
His hands were old and wrinkled from time
As was his face – creased, not in his prime
Once upon a time, he’d been a high stepper
Grandpa knew about the old days and ways
And he looked almost ancient to my young mind
The thing that always struck me was he was kind
Gave from his heart, everything, even his praise
Grandpa loved me like no other possibly could
He welcomed me to his house with an open heart
He made me feel as if I was nothing but good
Thought I was so fully alive my joy would start
Giving back to the world - a love that withstood
The test of time and assured hope I would impart
~~~
The Petrarchan sonnet, perfected by the Italian poet Petrarch, divides the 14 lines into two sections: an eight-line stanza (octave) rhyming ABBAABBA, and a six-line stanza (sestet) rhyming CDCDCD or CDECDE.
The meandering Universe or tightly packed with no edges at all
The Universe huge and pulsing enough to give seed to the life forms is packed rock into a ball
The Universe did it know all along about Love?
Hey what is life anyway? Some say they know from messages above, within— without
Some say they know by analysis, some philosophers, mystics, priests, all claim they have the key to the riddle-- What do they know?
I have voyaged with Plato, and Aristotle feeling the firm ground beneath me slipping away,
I mourned the Passion, I have kneeled for Allah, Vishnu, Shiva, Yahweh, RA, Amun-Ra, Odin, and I have imbibed the mystic, elevating into a fugue
Hawkins, Sagan, Einstein have wisely spoken, I speak their words, “Where did God hide those confounded data?”
I have visited the land where law of religions becomes the external garb of man, atoms flowing rapidly energetically all from cloth to flesh and back again--
In those black holes I have held hands with Sagan, De Grasse
In search of other worldly terrestrial beings, and have floated into eternity embracing Hawkings into beauteous things— with water at the center of it all…
Plunged into darkness, and never found those dice,
What can I say, I am only man.
We have tried for millenniums to answer the puzzling riddles, what is the ‘mystery of inequity’, perchance it is of no substance at all, or is split asunder in the vital soul of man himself some slippery essence waiting to ooze out into the atmosphere,
The riddles are great, and the universe holds them somewhere in the abyss, of man blackest recesses perchance— Maybe there is no mystery at all… “Philosophy is a smile on a dog”
Some say they know by analysis, some Philosophers, mystics, Scientists, all claim they have the key to the riddle…What do they know?
In the desperate search of God we have despised our ways, Men have become haters of Love. I saw the birth of the humanist once upon a page-- Petrarch my father
He held the keys jangling with a smirk and rage…
Man disappoints man…