My first sonnet, let's call it Sonnet #1

First sonnet

Sleep now, and dream of things of which you’re fond.
Perhaps we’ll meet somewhere on misty plane.
Oh joyous heart, my kingdom comes, you yawn!
My anxious hand is trembling as you wane.

Engaged in confines bounded by the page,
I pass some time as slumber seizes hold.
When my attention turns from yore, I gaze.
I’m satisfied the potion worked as sold.

The hour has come at last and you are mine.
I deeply search your body with mine eyes.
I hope you can forgive me for this crime,
I couldn’t bear to hear your carnal cries.

Bereft, oh me! Something is quite amiss.
A deadly dose! Her life extinguishes.


This is my first sonnet. It is in the Shakespearean style, with, I think, some kind of Poe-ish influence. It is about a date rapist. I hope you enjoy it.

[edit on 3/16/2007 by Zipdot]

Yikes, that's making me soooo annnngrrrryyyyyy!

I guess it worked.

Thanks. The Shakespearean sonnet style consists of three stanzas and a closing couplet, written in iambic pentameter with an abba cddc effe gg rhyming scheme. The concluding couplet is typically a twist on the plot of the poem, often a very surprising twist.

EDIT: Whoops, I mean abab cdcd efef gg. I was talking about Italian poetry earlier, heh.

I have been a fan of this style for some time, but this was my first attempt at adapting to it. One of my favourite poems is W. Shakespeare's Sonnet #147, which begins "My love is as a fever longing still," and concludes, "For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, / Who art as black as hell, as dark as night." Great stuff.

[edit on 11/16/2006 by Zipdot]

Yes, Shakespeare is a God among authors. I also very much enjoy Chaucer, Boccacio, and the Romantics; especially Coleridge and Keats.

That is Shakespearean/Poeish. I love Poe, poor man died a drunk. Happens to the best of them. So many brilliant works, it makes me ashamed to write.

Congrats on your courageous undertaking.

I wrote you a response to that sonnet.
(It really did make me angry.)
Mine is called -

Whores

Black the churlish and bedevilled hearts of men
Wanton and aflame with selfish penury,
Lusting after maidens innocent in glen;
Souls alit with love for all things heavenly.
Rifling conqueror's tomes to emulate
From pages black and long and of despair vast.
Earth's bosom muddied with blood inviolate,
While shines from heaven stars with graces aghast.
Her fragility seemingly abandoned
To cruel wickedness for which mute witness tells
All crude monstrosities contained in canons
Spewed from the brimstone of unsatisfied hells.
A prison bower their own loathe desire
Unquenchable to holy ardor's fire.





[edit on 19-11-2006 by clearwater]

Would work better if you didn't tell anyone it was about a date rapist until the end. That forces their mind to try and guess what going on. Nice imagery. The sonnet was well done. It made me angry too.