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Poems On / About SONNET  4/28/2015 12:16:46 AM
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Diversity For Friend Leslie

The sonnet form is capable
of being very flexible
It can be used to air your views
on almost anything at all.
From memories which you recall
to any subject you may choose.

Purists refuse to recognise
a sonnet form which in their eyes
is worthy of a total ban.
Because it differ from the form
which they insist must be the norm.
Petrarchan or Shakespearian.
Although they can stick to their views
I must refuse. I can’t agree


http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

Jeffreys sonnet
Devised by Scott.J.Alcorn.

*syllables per line
Two sestets with a cross rhymed couplet.

Rhyme pattern



ivor or ivor.e hogg

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Remember, O Soul

Preparing when thou art to purge thy old,
Worn out tired vehicle on a life-long lease,
To merge with earth, unto air to unfold,
Relax O Soul, repair to end-less ease;
Time it is thine impostor1 self to leave,
Thou art body nor mind nor intellect;
How long can ye amid the unreal live?
Time ‘tis from thine creaky craft2 to eject;
Arise from death to rekindle thy aim,
O Spark from infinite luminous light!
Remember all ye did dark was when night,
No use now seeking grace for acts of shame;
Repent, regret, all acts of sin, or brood,
Let true remorse pour in from heart as should.
This sonnet is allegorical and is addressed to
the soul— the higher one— which is the spark of
the infinite light of God, and the lower one
which identifies itself with the body, mind,
and intellect, and is known as ego. The sonnet
begins the soul is when in a state of confusion
of a kind all our souls may experience at the
time of departing from the body. It takes its
theme from verse # 17 of Isha Upanishad:

1. The impostor: It alludes to the lower self,
which is ego. Not being the real self, it
is called the impostor.
2. The faulty craft: The self is the pilot and
the vehicle it uses is the body craft. Now
that this vehicle is too creaky, old and
diseased, it is time to change it.
- Sonnets | 27.11.08 |
Aniruddha Pathak

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The Promotion

A comedy in some ten minutes


Mashudu A butcher

Steven A sweeper

Sithole A policeman

First Inspector

Second Inspector

Unseen Characters


Wife of Mashudu


A cold room in TheSculleryDepartment.The voice of Sonnet is heard as if it speaks from the desolate outskirts of the city.

Vice Of Sonnet:

Steven is the poor black boy
Who eats by himself in his dark
Room who shivers with the cold
Who endures in silence the cruel
Jibes that Mashudu hurls at him
Steven sits on a rock with his face
Cupped in his peasant's hands to s
Show the world that when days are
Dark friends are few. There is n
No furniture in sight in
TheSculleryDepartment because
It was stolen by the officials
Sithole is slumped in a sorry heap
In the dust on the floor to emphasize
His role of the lazy bribe demanding
Former cop.Mashudu's actions are a
War of movement to illustrate that he
Is impatient to get to the top and
Tople the board of directors and
Replace them with himself as dictator
For life in TheSculleryDepartment.

Mashudu{Looks in the mirror in disgust}No man.This is not me! Before I went to bed I perfumed myself applied heavy makeup to look beautylicious and interviewable to the interviewrs.Yesterday I was beautiful.{Throws lighrening fast finger jabs at his face in the mirror in exagerated anger}The thing that stares at me now is not me! {Screams}The mirror is lying! The mirror is lying! (Hurls the mirror to the floors where it gets shattered like the dream that never rose to become a reality) I refuse to hold a profesional liar and a damn anti me propagandist who wants to steal my promotion in my hands who says my face looks like the talons of a witch! (In a tone full of self pity) I paid the witchdoctor lot of money to help me get this promotion(Crawls towards Steven) Eh, do you sympathize with me Steven? Do you want to compensated me for my great loss, eh Stevie? (Angrily.In a beserk threatening tone raising his fingers like a great bird of prey that wants to catch Steven and devour him for his lunch meal.He swoops on Steven and attempts to strangle him!) I heard it from the grapevine! A little bird told me! (Shakes Steven head to and fro cruelly) You prayed with the pastors and now...their prayers are helping you! The inspectors when they interview you for the job of assistance manager are going to take your dirty lies into consideration and promote you and I will never reach the top echelons of TheScullerDepartment and be it's dictator for life and tople it's board of directors! (Beats Steven with his fists)
Steven: Mashudu! You fool! Swine! (He sends him sprawling to the floor with a well timed blow that the boxer Floyd Mayweather would be delighted to add to his arsenal) That will solve you.Get away from me! (Mashudu picks himself up from the floor and starts to crawl in his own exagerated and notorious way to Sithole.)
Mashudu(To Sithole) Sithole..listen to the wise words of one ike me who cares not for the things of the world like promotions.(Points to Steven and speaks lets loose a staccato of savage words at Steven) And why don't you change your middle name Sithole? Sithole sounds like sit hole.(To audience) And we know what the people who spend too much time do behind the toilet(Laughs.Hysterically) You are a cop you Sithole Sit Hole(Jumps and throws himself on Sithole lap so that it looks as if they are a same gender couple in the eyes of the amused inspectors who stumble in on the scene) Before even the interview(In a whisper full of the tempting promises of the serpents) begins you must(Points to Steven) arrest him with the hairstyle that makes him to look like an alarmed porcupine.(Hauls torn note out of his pocket and dangles it before the greedy eyes of the disbelieving Sithole) You are not a policeman you.You used to be a policeman.Your version of how you(Kisses him full on the mouth.Sithole grimaces in terror) got dismissed is that you assaulted somebody who called youSitHole Toilet to your face.(Sithole glares at Mashudu angrily.Hurls him to the ground) Ho man man.(Throws a torn note to Sithole) Don't kill me.Grab the money and enrich yourself.The triple x-rated street version of how you got dismissed from the police force is that you were eating from murderers left right and pickpockets Monday to Friday and prostitute wire wire(Sithole draws a gun.Aims it in the ready to shoot to death at the slightest provocationsat Mashudu) huge stacks of one thousand rand bills! (As if seeing the nuzzle of the gun aimed at him for the first time) Ho! You my Mandingo man! In the name of the law of an eye for an eye! Don't shoot! (Whips what is mercifully the last crumpled one rand note out of his pocket and smashes it into the extended hand of Sithole who wastes no time as he grabs it and stuffs it into his own pocket)
BurningDesire PhekoMotaung

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there was this friend
who wrote sonnets in high school

it was the first time that he fell in love
with a girl with thick glasses and fists like stones

i saw how she hit him and he did not do anything
except perhaps to write more sonnets

their love did not make it
they did not marry for love

Life did teach them many lessons
sometimes marriage is not love

profession is not daily bread
survival is not a struggle but simply numbness

living is just a day to day waking up and sleeping
and nights are even not for sleeping anymore

if you are my age you will know that this is not madness
but something that everyone in their normal lives

undergo, like a communion, a confession, a crucifixion
and a redemption

sometimes you are enlightened
like a yogi, you only live for the moment

your children are not yours
your properties are just passing things

like leaves blown away
like memories that no matter how you keep in photographs

all, all still fade away
and that one day, someone asks, ' what is this all about?

who is this? ' and someone who has a tight skin
and a small lit eye says

and lightly, utters, ' i don't really know'

but if they only care enough
the one who was forgotten was the one who wrote sonnets

and the one who said
i do not know is the youngest daughter of

the girl with thick glasses and fists of stones
who died not for love but only for the money.

Read more poems from RIC S. BASTASA >>>
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