One More Sonnet

Tag: shakespeare

  • Our Daily Grind

    Our Daily Grind

    And so we go about our daily chores,
    adding and subtracting along the way.
    Consuming and then replenishing stores.
    Earning our keep, converting work into pay.
    And thus, we spin the mill, our daily grind;
    with mundane achievements barely listed;
    rarely noticed, granted but never signed.
    A backdrop for all our needs insisted;
    and this, if named, would be our daily bread.
    It’s what we do given functional sake;
    it’s the substance that lies beneath the spread;
    it’s the sliced-up loaf, not the iced-up cake;
    . By what means is this day improved?
    . By all means, in many ways manoeuvred.

    Tim Grace, 1 December 2011

    To the reader: Without monotony the human spirit can deal with routine pressures. If the grind is productive we will happily put our shoulders to the wheel. In physical terms, the mechanics of ‘return on effort’ can be expressed as a mathematical transfer of energy in a closed system. In philosophical terms, motivation is the lever; its efficiency improves with recognition and reward.

    To the poet: I’m currently reading a book about how the Beatles wrote their lyrics. As described, some were inspired and others simply milled themselves into processed vinyl; through a ‘Hard Day’s Work’. Without the daily grind, without the hack-work, there was nothing to nurture the beautiful moments of lyrical inspiration penned by John, Paul; and occasionally George. A Beatles’ Album, with its highs and lows will outstrip a ‘best of compilation’ … if inspiration is the measure.

     

    our daily grind
    our daily grind
  • Clings Too Tightly

    Clings Too Tightly

    He who clings to conviction too tightly
    will through suffocation more likely squeeze
    the goodness from his cause and un-rightly
    render breathless the whistling breeze.
    The iron-clad grip is a fragile bond
    and a stifling form of forced adhesion
    that lacks the surety to best respond
    to changing needs of rhyme and reason.
    He who takes a stance too rigid, he has
    built us all a prison; a crippling cell.
    And so confined we may well find, alas,
    that this one place provides no space to dwell.
    . He who needs to grip tight is insecure.
    . He who does not trip light will not endure.

    © Tim Grace, 2 October 2011

    To the reader: The need to dominate apparently reflects how you perceive your environmental context. Those who mature in a social atmosphere of mistrust will often compensate by adopting controlling behaviours; survival strategies. Their default position is to gain control over threatening circumstances; loss of power is not an option. Once established, the personality trait will reinforce itself and over time reward its own suffocating strictures, leaving no room to move; no air to breathe; no space to think.

    To the poet: As rules go, sonnets have their share; some are useful and allow the poet to create content within the frame. I’ve enjoyed getting to know the simple mathematics of fourteen lines. Some purists may describe one combination but in fact there are infinite ways of slicing and dicing the form. Shakespeare’s sonnets often play with internal relationships that loop backwards and forwards from an original stem of thought; he had no single formula. In the end, it’s a matter of balancing the equation; measure for measure and dose for dose.

     

    clings too tightly
    clings too tightly

     

  • A Lover’s Loss

    A Lover’s Loss

    When the rose of last year’s love was not replaced,
    she whispered “I loved you” and shed a tear.
    She closed her eyes and through her memory traced
    his pattern; she imagined he was near.
    Filled heavy with acceptance, her tear swelled,
    wet her lashes and rolled upon her cheek.
    This tear was not wept, this tear quelled
    the weeping worry; no mourning did it seek.
    There was no need for other tears to flow.
    Tenderly, and for just a moment brief,
    she held this tear and then she let him go…
    gone to soul; to find comfort and relief.
    . A lover’s loss is not for time to keep,
    . It’s far better kept where the soul is deep.

    © Tim Grace, 11 September 2011

     

    To the reader: I remember watching a Twin Towers documentary, describing remnant lives, a decade after the attack. It was clear that many emotional towers had taken devastating hits and were still struggling to rebuild any semblance of structural strength. Gradual resolution of the inexplicable loss of a loved-one, an intimate partner, is a torrid journey of repair; never complete … when the weeping is done, enduring, endearing Love is forever expressed in a single tear.

    To the poet: … and there ends my deliberate set of love poems; some about Love, others for Love, and a few in Love. Shakespeare wrote of Love as both spirit and soul. As spirit, Love is an attractive energy that fuels our motivation to intimately bond. As soul, Love is a figmented expression our passionate desires. Blessed with Love (spirit and soul) we are granted the human condition; ever challenged to balance on the one-hand energy and on the other passion; the humours: dispositions, preferences, propensities, and temperaments.

     

    image

  • This Love

    This Love

    Born of soul, love’s likeness is that of child,
    often wilful and prone to stubborn shows
    that well-mask the features of meek and mild;
    hidden until love more mature grows.
    Young love, self-obsessed with grand potential
    will boast itself as something shiny new;
    too conceited to be referential.
    This love is far from fair and kind and true,
    with distant distain love rejects its source,
    delights in the harvest of foreign shores
    that uncharted, provide no homeward course
    to the sheltered ports that our soul adores.
    . Soul is a measure of depth not distance;
    . but, young love is slow to learn the difference.

    © Tim Grace, 7 September 2011

    To the reader: When we personify young love we often grant it a spirited soul. Using an old agrarian metaphor young love has goat-like qualities: haughty, self-obsessed and petulant. We’ve acquainted ourselves to this interpretation through centuries of artistic representation. Born in Spring, young love assumes the character of air, the presence of Jupiter, the viscosity of blood, the physicality of heart; along side a sanguine mood… all very attractive!

    To the poet: … and furthermore: young love, not to be confused with adolescence, has a long glossary of attributes; well known to poets of the past. In a literary sense, fresh love is recognisable as having a moist and pink complexion; along with a thirst for wine and merriment. This youthful spirit is gentle, meek and mostly benign; fairly-spoken and slow to anger. It’s this fresh spirit that Shakespeare so desperately sought for his own rejuvenation: “As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie: That is my home of love”

     

    this love this love

     

  • Partner of Peace

    Partner of Peace

    Love, so challenged, no inner conflict wins.
    As a partner of peace love wages war
    on itself. Off-set, love’s giddy-heart spins;
    and so forsaken, loses sight of sure.
    In conflict with its own best interest
    love brokers treaties never to be sealed;
    love enters into contracts that at best
    record the battles fought upon a field
    of unbound, unfound, unwound agreements
    that soon form a quarry of love’s dispute.
    The rumoured whispers, the lost endearments
    stripped of meaning and purposeful pursuit.
    . When tit meets tat, love declares a battle.
    . What gains love from this quarrelsome prattle?

    © Tim Grace, 3 September 2011

    To the reader: As a partner of peace, in the orchestration of harmonic waves, love is prone to self-doubt. To resolve its off-key insecurities, love seeks reassurance; constantly calibrating its pitch and frequency. Love is prone to high peaks of ecstasy and low pits of depression; vacillating between major and minor keys. Harmony requires an oscillating not vacillating partnership; good vibrations that intermingle as one resounding chord.

    To the poet: Love is the greatest of all abstract nouns. An intangible force that has had poets spellbound since first the word was uttered; stuttered in association with its tangible sensations. As a rhyming partner, Love has outlived its obvious relationships. The dove, that bird of peace, has long since flown its roost; likewise the velvet glove has outworn its soft semantic touch.

     

    partner of peace partner of peace

     

  • Love’s Condition

    Love’s Condition

    Innocent-love is cursed with lack of sight;
    and so, through blind-faith puts good-sense aside.
    Long suffering-love imagines what might
    have been; thus, emptiness is justified.
    Blinded-love will abandon dignity,
    it will forsake its need for nourishment;
    and so deluded-love craves eternity.
    Despite no promise, nor encouragement,
    this kind-love, this gullible-emotion,
    submits wholly to offers of affection;
    and so, is diminished through devotion
    to a cause that offers no protection:
    . Love’s condition: in disarray, in parts;
    . no position to counsel broken hearts.

    © Tim Grace, 31 August 2011

    To the reader: How often do we see common-sense overwhelmed by a good-cause? Humans, by nature, are emotionally driven. Our first reaction is to feel then respond with an after-thought. Strong emotions can render our thoughts powerless; defenceless and in disarray. Love, of all emotions, has the power to blind-side a rational mind. Love at first-sight … was the last thing she saw.

    To the poet: This sonnet, with all its clunky phrasing, is gasping for breath. In an act of resuscitation it’s been given a second-life numerous times; and still it rattles. Punctuated with stops and starts; hyphenated with dots and dashes; ventilated with intensive care. High-dependency on specialist-care is not a good sign for lasting success; this love-sick sonnet limps between treatments.

     

    love's condition love’s condition