Let me try to go by pioneering heroes' spirit
That motored their antique tides of phrase,
And treat rapt souls to a mild sublime ode,
Forged to rhyme with old sonneteers' pace.
Now where does a tottering novice start
As he pens such a crystalline work of art,
To honor champs in grave's dark repose,
And regale pupil protégés in equal dose?
Let me like Andrew Marvel swiftly pen
Authentic tropes to the best of my ken;
And as Shakespeare debug tart myths,
That wit eschews meekest wordsmiths.
And deal Wordsworth such fitting due
As meets his laudable classical styles;
And for Sidney weave echoing rhapsodies
That tell masked sagas via metered guiles.
I'll like Robert Frost's swiftly twined twists,
Blame melancholia for path-splitting mists.
silent, sparkling, saturating,silver
streaked-sky...
sleeping, sonneteers,in states of
sky-castles snore...
sanguine, self-assured,and so sunset-sure...
something supremely splendid to scribe...
softly, sylvan on some soul's snuggly, splendorous, spirit...
September 23, 2019
Stardust clusters scattered over seas
Moonlight caressing everything in sight
Balmy breeze eager to appease
Droplight for love by candlelight
Broken hearts swooning languorous lament
Until dawn ushers sweet quietude
As weeping willow, trusty confidante
Mourns infinite tears of solitude
Troubled emotions and bruised veneers
Park bench beckons all sonneteers
AP: 3rd place 2021
Submitted for contest TEN LINES FIVE WORDS: RHYME II sponsored by LAURA LOO - January 14, 2018 - RANKED 1ST
When I crave lines to take me to new “Haights”
with perfect form and themes that make me smile,
I find that Sandra’s poems satisfy
my need. I so admire this lady’s style!
When I seek sonnets that are sure to please,
I TURN to sonneteers here on this site.
In my opinion, Daniel’s are superb!
I read his frequently. What a delight!
These two are very talented and quite
encouraging, inspiring me to write.
CLEAR VISION
In a distant crowd innumerable
Our friends - like stars - look rather similar.
Their very sameness seems immutable:
Bland and unused days on our calendar.
Some dimly fill the nightly ocular
With colors varied. Small or large, although
As dwarfs or giants in vernacular.
Darkly far, stars and men but poorly glow.
But closer yet, all make a richer show:
A mother’s eyes unique, a husband’s handgrip tight:
We need their special soft attention so --
And life, as given by the Sun -- our right.
Our blessings true are always close at hand.
We do not see them in some distant band.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
(Spenserian sonnet in iambic pentameter)
Written by Sydney Peck
Entered in Debbie Guzzi ‘s Contest “Debbie and Cyndi's Sonneteers”
The crouching cat in stillness looked above.
Without a sound or motion there he watched.
That predator beneath the tree ditched love.
Another victory would soon be notched.
A squirrel scurried up and down the trunk.
Between the leaves and sunlight she did play.
With patient eyes the feline spied and slunk
The feast he planned would satisfy his day.
Nonchalantly, scampering, squirrel teased.
A little closer to the cat she came.
Her vibrant running up and down did please.
The cat and squirrel play a deadly game.
Then, teasingly the squirrel came so close.
A lunge! But squirrel maintained life; speed bestows.
Ó April 18, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Form: English Sonnet
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Debbie and Cyndi's Sonneteers
Sponsored by: Debbie Guzzi
Blood drips from a rose thorn in the spring rain,
your words resonate, humming in my ears.
Love, the cruel word, seeps from my lips in shame
while the bite from your lips has brought me tears.
A wicked game played, my heart, the dice rolled.
I came out the loser, 'tis sad but true.
A cowering heart shall one day be bold,
for now, my colors are fading in blue.
Shall time alone heal the aching within?
You laughed when I shared my adoration.
Days pass with head low, I walk in chagrin.
Your banquet has led me to starvation.
In time, I shall no longer taste your poison.
True love shall free me from this web you have spun.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, April 14, 2012
*English Sonnet
for Debbie and Cyndi's Sonneteers Contest
Honorable Mention
I have feelings of supreme loneliness and hate
I can’t imagine being without them now
Heartache and extreme pain I know as of late
The happenings of forlorn I feel exactly how
I’m a product of being worse and of falling apart
Stepping around the hurt and the terror
I’m alone seemingly timeless in my heart
A state of horrible being as looking in a mirror
Graciously she enters into my disheveled life
The love she brings is greater than I’ve ever seen
Her heart comes to me and finally ends my strife
My heart is filled more than there’s ever been
Her love for me is more than what’s really shown
Greater than any passion that has ever been known
Russell Sivey
Form: English Sonnet
Entrant into Debbie Guzzi's "Debbie and Cyndi's Sonneteers" contest
4/13/2012
The sun is slowly fading and it’s almost twilight time.
The ocean’s strong vibration beckons me to rise from deep.
The ship announces its approach, its horn an ocean chime.
Waking me from slumber in the ocean where I sleep.
I move with lightning speed emerging quickly to the top.
The sailors all come out to hear my haunting siren’s song.
I swim around the vessel as it slows and then it stops.
From that time, and forever, to me they all belong.
My lovely iridescent tail will sparkle in the night.
I serenade them with my tune while diving in and out.
A potpourri of colors that will dazzle and delight.
Before too long they will be lost inside my spell, no doubt.
I’ll circle all around the ship and mesmerize each one.
Then slowly hypnotize each man until the morning sun.
Written by: Samia Ali Arroyo
March 30, 2012
Contest: Debbie and Cyndi's Sonneteers
English Sonnet
Here’s to Margaret - the Linton lassie.
She hails from the lovely land down under.
She’s a sweetie, and I bet she’s classy,
since she pens her poems like a wonder.
I met awesome poets when I came here,
but none like Marge, for she is much like me.
She’s both a poetess and sonneteer
who writes in forms of classic poetry.
One day dear Margaret just disappeared.
I sent her notes, but she did not reply.
And then some time ago she reappeared
just to leave again! I’m not sure why.
Marge says she’s coming back, so I’ll not fret.
More sonneteers I‘ve happily since met!
For Cyndi MacMillan's "Missing Soupers - We Love You"
A Vishyssoise of poets
Chicken soup for the soul
A site for we, who use it
Our talents to extol
A borscht of bards and artists
A consomme of flair!
Sonneteers and writers
Who with our pen do dare!
Poetry Soup I love you!
Anonymous yet warm
A broth of faceless friends
A shelter from the storm
A hearty bowl of stock
With feedback, thanks and praise
A wonton soup of cyber chums
With talent to amaze!