One More Sonnet

Category: education

  • A Natural Stamp

    A Natural Stamp

    The strength of argument is undermined
    when a salient point is overstressed.
    For combative sake, such is underlined;
    brought to fore, emboldened and overdressed.
    At front of mind keep things staid and subtle.
    Let the main point grow from a single source.
    Hold back on highlights, their shine can scuttle
    gentle persuasion (a more useful force).
    Let the shape of things assume a pattern.
    By design, logic itself will unfold
    its grand plan; and in good time, unflatten
    that which by rights should have its credits told.
    . Let the emphasis be a natural stamp.
    . Let the logic of truth light its own lamp.

    © Tim Grace, 18 October 2012

    To the reader: Fashion often begins as a bold statement that gains mainstream approval. Singularity becomes popularity. The norming effect absorbs distinction. Peaks of interest wane; become mundane… we simply lose interest in the fad. Used sparingly, boldness is an effective attention grabber; useful in assembling interest, drawing a crowd and gaining focus. Overused, it’s a crude and ugly device.

    To the poet: “Are all things to be boldly underlined?” Impacts can pack a punch and leave a lasting impression; as in a bruising affair. Then again, there’s a lot to be said for the subtle approach that through imperceptible gradations alters a line of thought or a chain of events. In poetry, novel nuance is equal to brazen boldness; our good-readers are alert to ambiguity; they’ll stop without a red-light flashing.

    A Natural Stamp A Natural Stamp
    Picture Source?
    http://youtu.be/tI7fktKY6OU
  • Brittle Surface

    Brittle Surface

    Then there’s the other playground, hidden
    from the cast of eyes, from the field of view.
    Given shape of whispers, a forbidden
    terrain that no survey could map as true.
    Due regard, a somewhat wise precaution.
    As with a grain of truth in rumour’s mill,
    this place has no scale of good proportion.
    All things can be ground to a common swill:
    ’til there’s nothing left of confidence,
    just the remnants of dignity, respect,
    and honour; nothing but shallow pretence,
    a bastion of moral poverty … wrecked.
    . Play, ground away, under spiteful attack,
    . Brittle is its surface; ready to crack

    © Tim Grace, 22 August 2012

    To the reader: As a school principal, I watched with horror the spiteful subterranean attack of girls on each others’ friendships. Damage to dignity inflicts a cruel wound; one that festers long after its initiation. The attacks were often highly orchestrated and finely targeted at a hapless victim. The remedy was to some extent exposure but humiliation of the perpetrator was fuel to the fire. Reconciliation was the broker’s joy!

    To the poet: This sonnet was constructed to highlight the fragility of a playground. Designed with a sharp tongue in mind. An outpouring of emotion, prone to pretence and posturing. A string of words nuanced with nastiness. If you’re listening carefully there’s a reference to self-pity; an obfuscation, that distracts attention from cause and effect. The mere suggestion of ill-will is an affront worthy of indignation. Words just words… I don’t think so.

     

    Brittle Surface Brittle Surface
    Picture Source:
    http://youtu.be/YYfxfudoE_k

     

  • Bedlam’s Gift

    Bedlam’s Gift

    Do you remember the playground, that place
    of inherited rules, rough and tumbled
    into kingdoms with short reign: King, Ace;
    no certainty of claim – empires crumbled?
    Humbled victors became losers. The once
    proud owner of a patch relegated;
    made to start again. A bottom-up dunce
    stripped of position, mocked and berated;
    slated; given no slack; given what comes;
    given the licence to begin again;
    to re-climb; to reclaim status. That’s bedlam’s
    gift, that’s the playground I remember then…
    . No need to keep the playground free of dust.
    . The prissy playground is a breach of trust.

    © Tim Grace, 18 August 2012

    To the reader: The school yard is a swirling patchwork of colours and shapes. The blacktop accommodates the hoops and high bouncing balls; white slashes of squared concrete cater to the criss-cross of tennis balls; and the green-grassed fields squarely frame the arc of foot propelled projectiles. All of this in the context of highly competitive play; skin in the game delivers respect and reputation. In my memory, it was sometimes fun, sometimes fair… very rarely perfect.

    To the poet: A jumble of words. A connected tangle of playful poetics. This sonnet works in three fields that overplay the shape of simple four-line stanzas. Each stanza ends with a rhyme that begins the next; text creating an extra ripple of repetition. Then there’s the enjambement that carelessly bounces over boundaries; a breach of rules; edgy, annoying but fair play.

     

    Bedlam's Gift Bedlam’s Gift
    Picture Source:
    http://youtu.be/ul3cmqXz5vU