One More Sonnet

Category: Uncategorized

  • Careful Stride

    Careful Stride

    I rode upon an elephant
    By name of Raja Khan
    His pedigree was excellent
    The pride of Pakistan
    In stature he was solid
    A figure fine and firm
    As strong as he was stolid
    An impressive pachyderm
    Aloof and somewhat nervous
    He earned his reputation
    Through dedicated service
    To palace transportation
    . With careful stride and gentle sway
    . He set the pace of a yesterday.

    © Tim Grace, 10 May 2010

    To the reader: I imagine days of empire being stiff as starch; stodgy. Stifled by establishment that imposed upon the underclassses rigid rules and regulations designed to further entrench the advantages of birth and social position. But, attached to my construction of the past is a stolid image best portrayed by the permanence of a slow moving pachyderm. In the elephant’s gentle sway I see remnants of a yesterday when circumspect rhythms gave poise to forward motions.

    To the poet: A simple little poem, neat and compact; some might say trite. A parlor painting lost of real significance but nonetheless holding its place on the wall as it has done for many generations. The very short lines are packed with alliteration and because of brevity tend to over emphasize the forced rhymings. In an attempt to help the narrative flow unbroken through the sonnet I’ve given it no punctuation … save the final period.

     

    careful stride careful stride
  • The Card

    The Card

    The card said “get well soon”
    It granted “wisdom and future wealth”
    The card wished “the best of fortune”
    Along with “happiness and health”.
    The card wished “the best of travels”
    “Bon voyage and safe return”
    The card is deep with wishing wells
    For those who are drawn to yearn.
    The card laments both grief and loss
    With kindly words of solace,
    The card provides a temporary gloss
    A wish if not a promise.
    . The card is wise with thoughtful adage,
    . Delivers hope in place of ravage.

    © Tim Grace, 3 April 2010

    To the reader: The card is an expression of considered thought delivered as an accompaniment. When the moment has gone and all remains is a chance to reflect it’s then the card finds its purpose. More than a note, a card requires careful selection and then more so personalization. In drafting the card’s message, the art is to maintain a genuine voice in the construction of a unique and/or memorable truth.

    To the poet: The card as a singular object with multiple functions is the focus of this sonnet. Each couplet begins with ‘The card…’ and then picks up on a range of cliched phrases that have populated cards on mantel shelves throughout time. In writing about ‘the’ card rather than ‘a’ card allows this sonnet to generalize the simple principle as expressed in the final couplet.

     

    the card the card
  • Ever the Measure

    Ever the Measure

    None of us would stand a chance
    If time did have its way,
    With the certainty of circumstance
    At odds we’d have to stay.
    If time was let to run its course,
    To stop and start at will,
    We’d live our lives in deep remorse
    And all would be there still.
    If time ignored the pendulum
    And tomorrow never came,
    We’d have no rules on when to come
    And the prompt would have no claim.
    . The power of the hour we may hope to regulate,
    . But ever is the measure we are left to contemplate.

    © Tim Grace, 10 April 2010

     

    To the reader: At best we only ever grow to understand the value of time. If not to be wasted, time’s ultimate currency of conversion must be experience. Spending time to understand time is therefore a worthwhile pursuit … a pursuit we call planning. Through planning we maximize opportunities to work with, rather than against, the tyranny of time.

    To the poet: The long/short syllabic rhythm of the first eight paired lines are satisfying. Later in my sonnet writing I buckled under and became more consistent in adhering to the Shakespearian iambic-pentameter. At this stage, I was using my own natural (naive) rhythm that appears to be expressed in a ratio of about 8 to 6 syllables per pair of lines. The last two lines (the final couplet) are very long and contain internal rhymes that might be clever, but do nothing to help the poem end on a rhythmic high.

     

    ever the measure ever the measure
  • In The End

    In The End

    In the end we meet finality
    Where there is no more to come,
    It represents totality
    The comprehensive sum.
    In summ’ry there’s an ending
    To a captured set of thoughts,
    There’s a possible extending
    Depending on reports.
    To conclude requires judgement
    Giving closure to a theme,
    Brings meaning to a segment,
    That may unrelated seem.
    . In a climax there’s achievement, a moment of reward,
    . A peak of high endeavour, a point of much applaud.

    © Tim Grace, 27 February 2010

     

    To the reader: In the vast scheme of things our minuscule stop-start segmentation of time must seem a little trite and unnecessary. Periodic pauses, earth hours, pit-stops, forty-winks and memorable moments form a staccato of stuttering events. The End and it’s relationship with finality is not fixed; all endings are not terminal. We use endings to pause the run of play, to catch our breath, before resuming with new vigor and direction.

    To the poet: Shakespeare was endlessly concerned with overcoming the injustice of time and reconciling this with a life short lived. His first three groups of sonnets consider options for achieving perpetuity; not eternal life, but eternal meaning is his desired destiny. Putting ‘The End’ in context is a poet’s lot; why am I doing this? In ‘The End’ is there any defense against the futility of a battle with Time?

  • Saturated Image

    Saturated Image

    Liquid reflection

    A saturated image floats lightly
    As a surface level scene.
    An occasional glimmer shines brightly
    To accentuate the sheen.
    From fluid thoughts and wet connections
    Comes a deeper contemplation.
    A pool of thoughts, recollections
    born of liquid incubation.
    Still waters give reason to reflect
    but shallow is its lasting.
    One slip, one drip, and gone is its effect
    No image is it casting.
    .    The clarity of thought can be swallowed by a ripple
    .    Drowned in the disturbance created by a tipple.

    © Tim Grace, February 2010

    To the reader: Watching the dynamics of ripples in action is fascinating. The way ripples bounce off each other and merge into new concentric patterns is poetry in motion. But the impact of a ripple on a liquid surface breaks the mirror-like qualities. As ripples expand across a surface they blur clarity and replace a perfect image with a disturbed and distorted impression of the form at source.

    To the poet: In this sonnet we look through the image to contemplate a deeper thought; there is something below the surface worthy of attention. In delving deeper, the poem introduces the impact of a ripple. One drip and the unity of an image is disturbed. Over time I learnt to separate the writing of the final couplet from the body of the work; often with a night’s sleep. Creating some space in time allows me to step back and observe then summarize the work from a useful distance.

     

  • Vagrant Wordsmith

    Vagrant Wordsmith

    A dispossessed poet has no address?
    Vagrant wordsmith finds himself lost for words?
    Sunday morning solitude, more or less
    A waste land; quarters apportioned in thirds.
    Fractional allotments, absurdities;
    Occupied tables, multiples of six,
    Or four, or two; disputed territories;
    Unilateral remedies, far from fix
    An awkward treaty. Spaces between lines
    Become expansive; attract attention,
    Heightened meanings and hollow countersigns
    Position the possessed in contention.
    .   A poet in the margins, far from lost,
    .   Far from desolate, with his words embossed.

    © Tim Grace, 24 August 2014

     

    To the reader: If you’re outwardly observant and inwardly conscious the creative mind looks after the assembly of a poem. Once the mind is in-flow with the general gist of a theme it will mix and match its contribution of frames and reference points. That’s all very well, and easier said than done; practice and discipline are critical components of the process – and that presumes a conducive space to write.

    To the Poet: Rhyme inducing comfort zones are hard to find, and even harder to keep; context is everything. For years, I’ve sampled cafe cuisines in pursuit of an ideal writing ambience. For the most part, a hotel’s ‘breakfast room’ seems optimal. As a large enterprise, hotels usually offer an affordable option of ‘tea and toast’. With a passing trade, the regular change of clientele constructs an interesting sense of community; notable but not obvious.