It's the Cupido, Stupido

[PandoraGlitters]

In the spirit of all things Valentines I hereby issue this challenge to EITHER write or share a sonnet on the topic of luuuuuuv. You can do it. Iambic pentameter, 14 lines, etc. If you don't do form, no problem. Simply share a sonnet that you like. I will try to do both. For now, here is my favorite love sonnet by Edna St. Vincent Millay:

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.

 

[butters]

how beautiful

such music in those lines, PG. thanks for posting this as i've never read it before and the world's a slightly better place for having done so

can't promise a sonnet, though i'll try.

 

[greenmountaineer]

Valentines in Teheran

She looks askance when Yousef turns her way
To say to some distinguished gentleman
As-Salamu Alaykum on the bus,
Perhaps a friend, no chaperone she pokes
At cousin Fatemeh who pokes her back
And takes the cue to talk about the bra
Her brother Hamed, Insha'Allah, might buy
For her in Istanbul, or so he said.

The next time Yousef looks her way, she thinks
She might pull back her headwear just a bit
To show more skin and lift as well the hem
Of her chador to show her evening toes
She didn't acetone, when after prayer
She fell asleep and dreamt she had no hair.

 

[The_Fool]

Sonnets are the root of all evil.

 

[butters]

She looked away when Yousef turned her way
To speak to some distinguished gentleman
He greeted on the bus, perhaps a friend
Or colleague, not a chaperone she said
To cousin Fatemeh who poked her back
And joked about the bra and pantie set
Her brother Hamed, Insha'Allah, might buy
For her in Instanbul, or so he said.

The next time he might look her way, she'll tug
Her headwear just a bit that he might see
Some more of her, and lift a bit the hem
Of her chador to show her evening toes

She didn't acetone, when after prayer
She fell asleep and dreamt she had no hair.

warmth, humour, and a shiver of fear

well-crafted, imho

 

[Remec]

Sonnets are the root of all evil.

I thought that was sestinas.

 

[butters]

ok, i gave it a shot

to my anonymous valentine


if music be the food of love, i'm deaf
or something's broke that i'm not wired for sound;
some awful disconnect leaves me bereft,
unable to interpret what is found.
to look at me you might not think it so
(as round and plump as if each night a feast
was conjured for these ears, fast food to-go)
but hunger gnaws me, starved mid-winter beast.
i'd dine on mantovani, the ramones,
some ludwig, nelson, armstrong, floyd or james;
mixed metaphors aside, i'm seeking tones -
no tinkering or playing childish games;
ergo, to ask as plainly as i can,
are you the engineer or odd-job man?

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Greenmountaineer, that poem was so touching and beautifully formed that it struck me speechless for a day or so. Chipbutty, I think this is my favorite poem of yours. Wonderful grace note.

 

[greenmountaineer]

to my anonymous valentine


if music be the food of love, i'm deaf
or something's broke that i'm not wired for sound;
some awful disconnect leaves me bereft,
unable to interpret what is found.
to look at me you might not think it so
(as round and plump as if each night a feast
was conjured for these ears, fast food to-go)
but hunger gnaws me, starved mid-winter beast.
i'd dine on mantovani, the ramones,
some ludwig, nelson, armstrong, floyd or james;
mixed metaphors aside, i'm seeking tones -
no tinkering or playing childish games;
ergo, to ask as plainly as i can,
are you the engineer or odd-job man?

Almost Shakespearean the way it starts out and weaves its way up to "fast food to go" and then immediately back to "Will-full" word play with "but hunger gnaws me.". Loved it!

 

[Tzara]

The Lit Poet to His Muse

I love too well, too easily. I know
That isn’t the most admirable of skills,
Like calculus or knowing when Brazil’s
Economy’s about to crash and blow
The markets ‘round the world down to new lows.
Love’s just a meretricious path to thrills,
But as a fish unlearnèd uses gills,
For me in love is just the status quo.

So as To Love’s my personality,
I’m grateful my attraction singles you
To serve as Muse, albeit absentee,
For poems as rich and thick as cheese fondue.
So bear with me, and celebrate my verse
Is posted here, for Facebook would be worse.

 

[Tzara]

She looks askance when Yousef turns her way
To say to some distinguished gentleman...

Excellent, as usual, gm.

 

[Tzara]

to my anonymous valentine


if music be the food of love, i'm deaf
or something's broke that i'm not wired for sound...

Excellent, as well, cb. Made me laugh, which I hope is OK.

 

[butters]

Greenmountaineer, that poem was so touching and beautifully formed that it struck me speechless for a day or so. Chipbutty, I think this is my favorite poem of yours. Wonderful grace note.

thanks, PG
not written much at all for months, but that came easily after the first line ('cos i didn't have a clue where to start so borrowed unashamedly from shakey since that's who first came to mind re sonneteering).

Almost Shakespearean the way it starts out and weaves its way up to "fast food to go" and then immediately back to "Will-full" word play with "but hunger gnaws me.". Loved it!

yeah, lol, not quite up to will's standards but hey - i'm not a sonnet-maker as a rule. glad you liked it!

Excellent, as well, cb. Made me laugh, which I hope is OK.

if laughter be the food of l... ok, i'll shut up laughter's good, since it was more than a bit tongue in cheek and not to be taken too seriously ty!

 

[butters]

The Lit Poet to His Muse

I love too well, too easily. I know
That isn’t the most admirable of skills,
Like calculus or knowing when Brazil’s
Economy’s about to crash and blow
The markets ‘round the world down to new lows.
Love’s just a meretricious path to thrills,
But as a fish unlearnèd uses gills,
For me in love is just the status quo.

So as To Love’s my personality,
I’m grateful my attraction singles you
To serve as Muse, albeit absentee,
For poems as rich and thick as cheese fondue.
So bear with me, and celebrate my verse
Is posted here, for Facebook would be worse.

clever and funny, Tzara. it's not easy to work meretricious into a line without toppling it, surely, but you managed it with .. aplomb. yes, aplomb. that's a fine word for it

this thread's bringing out some neato writings. nice one, PG

 

[PandoraGlitters]

The Lit Poet to His Muse

I love too well, too easily. . . .

What a pleasure to read. Now if only Angeline would post. My satisfaction with most threads goes only to 10. But this one goes to 11.

 

[mynameisben]

roses are red
violets are blue
so, spread open your legs
and let me pump your gash full of my sticky, hot man goo.

 

[butters]

where's mizz annie got to? her strength with form is well known, so i'd love to see her post one for us.

 

[butters]

you 'um it, i'll play it

the summer's flower to the bee is sweet
but too much sweetness cloys upon the tongue;
it's true that love's best flavours shouldn't be
without some variation to be sung.
the bee grows dizzy with his bright full boots,
hums drunkenly from clover-tip to tip;
awash with pollinatious dust, it's moot
- the wisdom-worth of 'just another sip'.
is love's own richness not the better for
those clever combinations, nuanced shades?
when all is sweetness, how can we be sure
that savoury is not the bees-knees' taste?
and if it were that you should bumble me,
a bouquet of wildflowers would i be

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Lovely #2, CB.



this rose is not a rose

 

[greenmountaineer]

the summer's flower to the bee is sweet
but too much sweetness cloys upon the tongue;
it's true that love's best flavours shouldn't be
without some variation to be sung.
the bee grows dizzy with his bright full boots,
hums drunkenly from clover-tip to tip;
awash with pollinatious dust, it's moot
- the wisdom-worth of 'just another sip'.
is love's own richness not the better for
those clever combinations, nuanced shades?
when all is sweetness, how can we be sure
that savoury is not the bees-knees' taste?
and if it were that you should bumble me,
a bouquet of wildflowers would i be

This is remarkable, Chipbutty, particularly lines 11-12.

 

[Fractured_Soul]

Love is the greatest thing for which I search,
Beyond loneliness and internal pain,
Mind heavy with thoughts, toward you I lurch;
My true love lies ahead with much to gain;
For my lady I would lose all I've had
For my dear I would give my very life;
Prince or pauper, cupid's gift makes me glad;
The warmth of a lover, surmounts much strife;
My word is promised, a chivalrous oath;
My love is your light, yours my treasured gift;
Together this humble world is ours both;
Alone we can take our time or be swift;
With you my universe stops, it freezes;
Come to me for many loving squeezes.

 

[Tzara]

What I Learned of Love in Troy

I never worried about Penelope
on this journey some few gods have made

my penance for a war I only played
to win. I’ve dealt with other things—Circe,

Lotus-Eaters, rock-bound sirens swayed
by delirium of lust and need

to open their legs and sing, so that we
would smash our small boat off their stunted quay

just to get to them. I don’t need love that much.
I trust what waits for me in Ithaka

is all my blood, my son Telemachus
and his sturdy-bodied mother. Ah,

I long to luxuriate at home and slice
the fine-stretched throats of those who’ve loved my wife.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

The Hour Slain

My clock does not keep time as others do
nor beat a regular pace as others will.
It speeds ahead an hour, a day or two.
Sometimes it rolls, on hands, a mile downhill.
My time is paid in tension or in lieu
unearned, unschooled, untended in bastille.
I'd rather all my hours be spent on you
in second handed pockets overfilled
with palms and pulses regular as trains.
Alas my clock does not keep time so well.
It's less a thing of metal, more of grains:
some seconds pass uneaten, beaten cells
abysmal, beg to fall upon your plains
as all my beats before your feet once fell.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Thanks Ben, ChippyB and Tzara. You make me smile at the end of this difficult week. Fractured, pleased to meet you! Welcome to the PF&D!

 

[Fractured_Soul]

Thanks Ben, ChippyB and Tzara. You make me smile at the end of this difficult week. Fractured, pleased to meet you! Welcome to the PF&D!

Thank you for the welcome. I don't really think I'm that good. I started posting in this section on advice of a friend who liked my musings.