Petrarch Poems | Examples

Petrarch

QUIET murmurs where we sat
and spoke about it

How the world is losing love
and kindness

You told me you loved me
and now there are tears.

I may not always see you
and sometimes we doubt it

Angels above will surely show it
and a single touch shows me
what I'd be without you

How through life we sing sometimes
bravely and at times out of tune
but together we get through it all
with the help of my lovely friend

Picnics, bills, mornings raining

Nighttime freezing is the season
of living and loving carefree by
hearts binded and entwined in love.

:: 03.28.2023 ::

Lament For the Makers

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.

Clerihew Petrarch

Petrarch the poet invented a sonnet
but to himself he kept it secret
Then in England a version came
for Surrey&Wyatt claimed his fame

Grandpa

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.

Sonnets - Pleiades

Sonneteer Petrarch, with
      Shakespeare, set the standards:
   so little space - fourteen
            short lines, each with just ten
         syllables. Yet greats like
                 St. Vincent Millay weave
               scripts pregnant with meaning.

[pleiades]

Written 21 Oct 2020

If Nobody Speaks of Remarkeable Things

If nobody speaks of remarkable things


Consciousness hides behind curtains of sleep,
Bright lights dim in the cerebral gloom,
Thoughts of tomorrow hold no credible guise,
A vacuum grows in the cognitive womb.
Fantasies slip into nothingness,
Dreams disperse on the breeze,
The words of Petrarch drift back into time,
 When rivers of love start to freeze.
Winter decries its slow painful thaw
When ambushed by warmth in the spring,
Tender new shoots would shrivel and die,
If nobody speaks of remarkable things.

The Laurel Tree

The tender leaves of Laurel trees, reveals a name so rare,
a crown made of chartreuse shades is believed to show you care.
In the fourteenth century poet Petrarch adored his beloved’s mystery,
she was a queen with unknown identity and shared the same name as me. 

My name is mine and only me can express the truth of grace,
at the time of my birth my mom could attest God made my tender face.
My name may not be well-known these days but I still love its beauty,
I show no fame nor hold a throne, but it’ll always be special to me. 

I’ve read and learned what my name means and it seems I can be brilliant,
it’s been said that those who share the same can be quite resilient.
My mother named me knowing I’d be gifted in ways others may not be,
but no other woman with my name could be full of more possibilities.


Couplet with internal rhyme
January 8, 2017

The Wisdom of Numbers

One
we go
Two three through
this life for all
they seek the Fifth column
they had a Sixth sense to 
recompense the poor the weak impoverished Ones
Petrarch, Dickens, Marx, Harding-Davis, Riis, Mother Teresa,
In form rare to Multitudes, but not these souls,
Thanks to human kindness amidst the insanity-- Ah the Humanity!

Laura Contest

Laura Contest

Latin for “Laurel” was a tall, strong tree,
Queens crowned with such honor and victory,
Poet Petrarch in love with the beauty,
Beloved Laura,  fourteenth  century.

So many years, nothing but love for her,
Laura was his soulmate, truth to be heard,
For he wrote her sonnets on notepaper, 
Longing to prove he was her heart keeper.

When someone asks what Laura really means,
Strong roots supporting my great Laurel tree,
Blossoming, blooming all colors of green,
Swaying in the breeze so sturdy and free.

Even though my middle name is Marie,
Queens crowned with my branches in victory.

Written By: Laura Urbaniak
Date: November 20, 2015

Cinderella's Slipper -Fractured Canzone-

Cinderella lost her slipper 
while she ran away from the ball 
tripped on a step, had nasty fall, 
her wicked step-sister hit her 
and got laughed at by the other, 
but, Cinders, did not care at all 
found the slipper, it hit the wall 
angered feelings started to stir. 

Smacked the sisters upside their heads 
laughed loudly, as she laid in bed. 

Copyright Cynthia Jones 
June.17/2007 

The Canzone, isn't supposed to have a couplet at the end. I got the idea from Thomas Wyatt. He took a sonnet and added a Petrarch couplet at the end of his writes. I don't know how many, but I thought, it was a great idea. So..... I tried one of my own. Cool. Eh? :oP

''The Muse Inspires Her Inmost Poet'' Revised

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 Thief of Hearts

THE THIEF OF HEARTS

I am she who gathers the wind
‘And hunts the hare with the fox
And swims against the incoming tide’*--
Who are you with your jagged sword
        To step into my reckless shadow?
Who are you to put your rough palms
        Against the plans of my yearning heart?

Shattered behind you are the discarded souls
      Of ten thousand tears—

Mine will not join theirs


 Victoria Anderson-Throop ©

*2  lines quoted from remembered poem, French or Italian, possibly Petrarch(?)

Weird Finger

Weird finger on my wall,
  Dripping ink of silly words,
Your lines embraced obscurity,
 Reading no originality
Write your lines like legends,
 Not far beyond legends,
Of which Shakespeare put on the crown of immortality,
Petrarch, the gown to rule till eternity,
In the mortal realm of humanity.

Cease tight this opportunity
 Of expose and print call
If not, your song book will answer the lovely cockroach call,
 Your voice will fade Because of guildline blockade,
 And forever unknown you shall be....

Sonneteer of Another Era

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!

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