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Poems On / About SONNET  10/23/2014 2:57:35 AM
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Best Poems About / On SONNET
 
 
 
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  117.     

Between Ghent And Bruges

AH yes, exactly so; but when a man
Has trundled out of England into France
And half through Belgium, always in this prance
Of steam, and still has stuck to his first plan—
Blank verse or sonnets; and as he began
Would end;—why, even the blankest verse may chance
To falter in default of circumstance,
And even the sonnet miss its mystic span.
Trees will be trees, grass grass, pools merely pools,
Unto the end of time and Belgium—points
Of fact which Poets (very abject fools)
Get scent of—once their epithets grown tame
And scarce. Even to these foreign rails—my joints
Begin to find their jolting much the same.
 
Dante Gabriel Rossetti

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  118.     

This Isn't

This isn't a love song
Its a song about blood
This isn't a poem of hearts
Its a poem of broken love
This isn't a story about strength
Its a story about pain
And I'm not suicidal
Just fucked in the brain
This isn't a requiem for love
Its a requiem for my heart
This isn't the epitom of healing
Its the epitom of breaking apart
This isn't an epitaph for you
Its an epitaph for my gun
And I'm not depressed
I just hate everyone
This isn't an epiphany of sweet surrender
This is the epiphany of a whore
This isn't the epilogue of my life
Its the epilogue of many more
This is not a love letter
Its a letter to proclaim
Thats I don't want to kill you
Just blow out your brains
This isn't a haiku about succeeding
Its a haiku about how you fail
This isn't a sonnet about praising the lord
Its a sonnet about shattering the holy grail
This isn't a soliloquy about being fixed
Its a soliloquy about being forever broken
And I'm not obsessed
I just remember every word you've ever spoken
This isn't a broadcast about good weather
Its a broadcast about disaster
This isn't a sign to slow down
Its a sign to go even faster
This isn't an interlude of safety
Its an interlude of harm
And I swear I'm not sedated
I just have sedatives injected in my arm
 
Tatianna Rei Moonshadow

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  119.     

And flowers shall mourn

Scarce for a moment a gloomy grimace,
A sad looking face nor curt countenance,
All-knowing smirk, nor haughty arrogance,
I wonder whence flowers get such good grace!

A child is born with angel’s easy grace,
This goodly grace soon to a grimace turns
As this human bud grows to get grown face,
And is ne’er the same till childhood returns.

Like humans some plants are wildly grown weeds,
Yet, while the weeds forest fragrance far spread,
We, human weeds, spread forth foulest of deeds,
Forcing all neighbourhood to turn its head.

An if one distant day a child is born
With a grimace of frown, flowers shall mourn!
______________________________________________________
A simple sonnet with three quatrains, abba/cdcd/efef,
and a Volta, rhyming gg.
______________________________________________________
- Sonnets | 09.02.07 |
 
Aniruddha Pathak

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  120.     

Eyes know none of the truth of heart

Her flitting form I saw when last evening,
My eyes captivated were by the art
That was her beauty, drawn a pale painting
On to mind’s canvas as stray parts sans heart,
And framed as-is-where-is, loosely defined—
Portrait captured by camera-like eyes,
Perspective passioned by a biased mind;
Yet, etched within a true image there lies.

We know how good a painter poor eyes be,
How fair a fleeting form the mind can keep:
Know, no painter paints better than can see,
No mind retains any better than reap,
Mind’s eyes enamoured get by painted art,
Knowing none of the truth captured by heart! _______________________________________________
‘Pitfalls of human eyes’ is the theme of this
sonnet. Eyes paint no better than they see;
see only what they want to see. But heart sees
what the eyes can’t.
_______________________________________________
- Sonnets | 14.11.08 |
 
Aniruddha Pathak

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