If you like classical poetry.....
great idea Tom and Tina!
You can also check out this older one
It's a great way to learn random new forms.
Newest
I'd Rather Write a Sonnet.Life feels so weak, so void of life without Music, words that sing the morning dew in Or compliment some wild rose about Frailty, softness stretched across your lips thin As something longs for art, for life in words Mediocre days suppress zeal slowly The writer soon learns life strives to bombard (Bards of old were downtrodden and lowly). I’d rather write a sonnet than follow Tired rhythmic schedules, daily normals. To make ev’ry word rhyme, express, and flow, Stately words abolish course informals. And something in the air will make them sing Lyric sonneI'd Rather Write a Sonnet.
by ~DuscaMei
Sonnet VII-SpenserianMy heart, which feels as faint as those that break, Is kept alive by but one thing—your voice. Yet speak not for my heart’s sustainment’s sake, But verbalize your own hearts words. This choice, Which my strong mind, considering, enjoys, Shall bring the energy that my heart needs, And I hope by this vague, inviting ploy, To plant the flower of our love’s first seeds. So turn that wanted organ on what breeds Not hesitating fear, nor hate, but love, And focus on that higher thought, which leads My frenzied mind to realize things above. Not onlySonnet VII-Spenserian
by ~DuscaMei
Favourites
Sonnet XVIIIDo not send me roses. I much prefer Them lustily blooming with pink-tinged breath And sacred thorns. I do not want them dead But vibrant, budding vines that can concur With blossoming love rather than confer With shallow, cracking vase. Lust painted red Must flower free and bright-it can't be led To grow once plucked. Love should not be metered In thornless bunches. Rootless, inconstant Passion does not burn. Do not deliver Flowers to prove that your love is sincere. I will not kiss you, but brokenly lament A shadowed love whose petals will quiver And die, unsustainSonnet XVIII
by =tina-go-lightly
Valley of SearchWe three kings of orient are: one in a taxi, one in a car; one who forgot to pay the rent; another whose life is nearly spent; one who is trapped in reverie; one, when young, got stuck in a tree.Valley of Search
Together we come, together we go, trav'ling through lands we never have known; trekking through towns and over craggy peaks, hoping to find the one we must meet.
We three kings of orient are: lost in this city, can't see the star; fixing our tire, 'cause it's bent, griping at everyone, just to vent; but thank goodness, how Heavenly; the son of God
by ~catnipkitty
English Sonnet IVFor I felt it first in the silver sound Of the quick swallow behind wild hedgerow, In the gravel churned on tire turned ground And air that rushed through your car window.English Sonnet IV
Short have we languished in these sunlit scenes, Not ten times have I softly held your hand And surely as you grace my star-soaked dreams You are beautiful to your last gold strand.
At the highest point on the Warden hill We'll find each other at the end of day, Share in a heat, impervious to chill As time stands still and the world is away.
So let us lie above the Luton lights &nbs
by *Penessence
Devious Info
- Favourite movie: Gran Torino
- Favourite band or musician: The Weakerthans, The Shins, Death Cab For Cutie
- Favourite artist: Salvador Dali
- Favourite poet or writer: Edmond Spenser, John Keats, George Gordon, Poe, Shakespeare, Frost
- Operating System: Windows
- Tools of the Trade: A notebook and finepoint pens
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~pamelaski
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Poetry should please by a fine excess and not by singularity. It should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost as a remembrance.
-John Keats
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Let the winds carry us to the moon if they will...
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Poetry should please by a fine excess and not by singularity. It should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost as a remembrance.
-John Keats
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If you expect the unexpected, doesn't that make the unexpected, the expected?
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Poetry should please by a fine excess and not by singularity. It should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost as a remembrance.
-John Keats
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