One More Sonnet

Tag: People

  • Counterfeit

    Counterfeit

    In the absence of required kit,
    we fear ourselves unready.
    We lament the missing part of it,
    and hold ourselves unsteady.
    We see ourselves as incomplete,
    as such we so behave,
    We cast ourselves as counterfeit,
    as fraud and worthless knave.
    We dwell upon our weaknesses,
    our deficits and flaws.
    We worry over pittances,
    and under write our scores,
    . When need is an all consuming quality
    . the gift is lost; nothing’s trimmed with jollity.

    Copyright 2016 (text & image) Tim Grace, (WS-Sonnet 66: line 3) (written: 11 April 2011)

    To the reader: The undressed nakedness of a manikin has nothing to sell. Life without gloss has a dull patina… cake without icing, shoes without polish. Raw ingredients hardly rally enthusiasm for the product. The bear-staples are just too mundane to sustain our interest. We need the the decoration, the ornamentation, to up-dress our excitement and warrant our celebration.

    To the poet: Rhythm, rhyme and emphasis are the working ingredients in this sonnet. Seven references to ‘we’ (and four to ‘ourselves’) underscore the collective message. Establishing the repeats early in the sonnet creates a dependency; we readers are pushed towards the next expected point of emphasis… and we find it waiting.

     

    countefeit countefeit

     

  • On Pause

    On Pause

    This is the pause that he employs,
    When his stance is resolute,
    This is his silent use of noise,
    That speaks volumes when on mute.
    This is not an empty moment,
    Just waiting to be filled,
    It’s intelligent, it’s eloquent,
    It’s be spoken by the skilled,
    This is thought upon a precipice,
    It’s surgical; a cut that leaves no scar,
    Consider this his emphasis,
    His suspended coup de grace.
    . To a break in flow, we’ll pay attention,
    . It helps to grow our comprehension.

    © Tim Grace, 2 April 2011

    To the reader: The rhythm of speech is particular to each of us. We modulate our voice to draw attention to words that enhance the meaning of our message. In “I have a dream…” the vocal technique of Martin Luther-King is slow and deliberate; audible and easily absorbed. But there comes a time … a time in his speech when more … so much more is needed. The king-hit is sermon. Trained as a Baptist minister Luther-King turns lectern into pulpit with masterful ease and maximum impact.

    To the poet: Rhythm and repetition given an occasional pause for emphasis; that’s it, the message has its pigeon. Short in form, the sonnet is ripe for delivering a sharp punch. Impact is important. The pause, as a literary device, pulls the punch, gears up momentum and off-puts the listener. Make the rhythm predictable but defy expectation with a pause … a misplaced pause, an awkward pause, a pregnant pause … a pause nonetheless.

     

    on pause on pause

     

  • On Queues

    On Queues

    Select a line and there remain,
    Don’t jump to gain position,
    Be careful not to show disdain,
    Or complain of its condition.
    For those in front, and those behind,
    Allow them space to move.
    As much as you might feel inclined,
    There’s little here to prove.
    Be alert but do not pry,
    You’re part of this progression,
    To any grumble don’t reply,
    A smile’s the best expression.
    . When people mass, and muddles brew,
    . It must be time, to form a queue.

    © Tim Grace, 24 March 2011

    To the reader: Queues. Rule bound but culturally specific. Some loose and self-organising others tightly scripted. By design the best of queues follow the dictum of form follows function. The unspoken measure of a good queue is its marriage of context and purpose. To happily surrender to a queue there must be benefits. The value of time spent in a queue is a relative notion… may have something to do with mass and energy?

    To the poet: As an advisory, this poem describes a problem and offers a solution. The familiar context of a queue doesn’t need too much in the way of description to deliver a believable subject. And so, with light-hearted conviction the poet has convinced himself, at least, of the virtues of queues. In a poetic sense there’s merit in a line that can flex and has space to shuffle.

     

    on queues on queues

     

  • Tangled Remnants

    Tangled Remnants

    Where once a solid form existed,
    There’s nothing left but shard,
    Tangled remnants, split and twisted,
    Tossed without regard.
    Earth ripped and roughly gashed,
    Features stripped and shattered,
    Levees broken, structures smashed,
    Strewn about and scattered,
    And in amongst this mangled mess,
    There stands a man forlorn,
    Too numb to feel distress,
    Too tired to weep or mourn,
    . At crisis points, when faith is shaken,
    . It’s then, when man feels most forsaken

    © Tim Grace, 18 March 2011

    To the reader: Natural disasters tally-up a cruel toll. Impacts are deep and far-reaching. Headlines describe upheaval, deluge and inundation. Apart from individual trauma, social rupture compounds the devastation into widespread despondency. Forlorn despair grips tight; testing humanity’s collective will and resilience. Fortitude offers repair… but that takes time to accept; first comes loss and grief.

    To the poet: Piecing together a poem from fractured snippets of human misery is a delicate process. The depth of emotional content delivers a glossary of hackneyed headlines. As poet, with vicarious voice, one can reference common parlance and translate trite commentary but not without the risk of superficial opportunism. Take care, disaster awaits the thoughtless.

     

    tangled remnants tangled remnants

     

  • Elevated Poise

    Elevated Poise

    Unlike the rusting artifact,
    Returning unto earth,
    The golden bust will long attract,
    An interest in its worth.
    With the likeness of divinity,
    We revere its golden crust,
    In museums of antiquity,
    It shall not gather dust.
    With its luminated lustre,
    And its elevated poise,
    It has the strength to master,
    What atrophy destroys.
    . The light is cast with a golden ray,
    . It shines in those who seek the way.

    © Tim Grace, 26 February 2011

    To the reader: I am the light, I am the way… with enlightenment comes direction. And so radiates the golden frame with truth in abundance; postured to inspire. Awe-struck, we the lesser mortals pause to absorb the significance of a moment in the presence of a golden sage. I am the way… and the lost become found; I am the light … and blind shall see.

    To the poet: Continuity of speech, a natural flow of ordered thought, and a lucid end; these are hallmarks of a well-rounded poem. A poem that narrates an awe-struck moment needs to have its own glint of wisdom and truth. Having been informed by revelation the poem needs bigness befitting to its source. The outward glow of insight.

     

    elevated poise elevated poise

     

  • Be … His…

    Be … His…

    Be soothed, mellow is his voice,
    Take comfort, pleasant is his tone,
    Be secured, anchored to his choice,
    Take steps towards his zone,
    Be open to suggestions,
    Give permission to his means,
    Be prone to his impressions,
    Give way to setting scenes,
    Be willing, under his cajole,
    Rest aside reason and debate,
    Be content, consent to his control,
    Rest easy, in this deeply altered state.
    . He has you in a sleep-filled trance,
    . Exposed … to his control of circumstance.

    © Tim Grace, 21 February 2011

    To the reader: Being a hypnotist’s dummy, I imagine, requires nerve. The value of surrender, I suspect, warrants the investment. Being susceptible to another’s authority has me fearful of exposure and embarrassment. As an onlooker, I enjoy the theatre of comic hypnotism. The dramatic elements of powerless submission are bewildering; and often amusing. There seems to be no battle, resistance is futile; but only for those who choose it so… quite strange!

    To the poet: Wooden boxes can be made using all manner of decorative joints. Function is a necessary factor, but aesthetics delivers the essential ornamental purpose. The same is so for this poem which in a functional sense communicates an idea; nothing too important. Over function, of more interest is its shape and pattern. The pairing of lines is emphasised at front and end, the quatrains are internally repetitive and the rhyming is simple; all to good effect.

     

    Be ... His ... Be … His …