One More Sonnet

Tag: sonnet

  • 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

     

  • Attractions

    Attractions

    Love is prone to the pull of attractions;
    beguiled by sight and a theatre of thoughts;
    enamoured by touch and aroused reactions;
    exposed to the pleasure of seductive sports.
    Too easily flattered by beauty’s praise
    love shines meekly through an innocent veil.
    And through naive nuance sweet love displays
    how subtle twist becomes a sordid tale.
    Too eager to feel the stroke of success
    love craves the press of an amorous hand;
    the nonchalant nudge, the carefree caress
    that stokes an embered fire; fuelled and fanned.
    . Love unprotected is in poor defence…
    . too easily subjected to false pretence.

    © Tim Grace, 29 August 2011

    To the reader: Love like gravity is an attractive force. And there begins a very short lesson on what physics calls the fundamental forces; four in total, with a fifth being pondered. Gravity is one of two universal forces that can be perceived in our daily interactions with the environment. The fundamental interaction of objects takes place on a dynamic field. As one object interacts with the field others respond to its changing influences; drawn to its impression.

    To the poet: The gullibility of love as a weak agent is an irresistible theme; an attraction too hard for most poets to resist. We watch and then describe love’s vulnerability in terms that reflect one emotional influence over another. The lure of love draws heavily on a willing soul; and there seems little a poet can do to detach himself from the strong tug of pen to page.

     

    attraction attraction

     

  • As of now

    As of now

    Love, as of now, attached to living flesh;
    at end, all but fixed to an epitaph.
    Love, as of now, tender, ever fresh;
    at end, has refuge in a photograph.
    What then, says this, of love’s enduring state:
    love, so exposed, will weather and degrade?
    What then, says this, of love’s most fragile state:
    love, so exposed, will but wither and fade?
    Surely love, at end, has a greater role:
    love can not be fixed to paper or stone?
    Surely love, at end, is spirit and soul:
    love can not be to the elements thrown?
    . Love, as of now, leaves a gape in thinking.
    . Love’s fulfilment needs no earthly linking.

    © Tim Grace, 25 August 2011

    To the reader: Love in all its forms is an emotional transaction; an exchange of spiritual relationships. Being such, we all-too-clever humans have built ‘love’s transaction’ into a thriving economy. At every opportunity we translate love into a material possession that can be mined for treasures, bartered for business, and stolen for stealth. At death, we are then confronted with love’s material redundancy; paper fades and stone erodes… love endures.

    To the poet: Half way through Shakespeare’s sonnets, it’s clear the writer’s having issues with fatigue. Love’s pen is flaccid. Whether, at this stage, he knew he was half-way through the collection is unknown; nonetheless, he was doubting the sharpness of his quill. It’s in this section of the Sonnets that the narrator is most exposed to his various demons: he confronts his virility and concedes his wilting wit; unable to write of fresh love in his once so youthful voice.

    as of now as of now

     

     

  • Along Comes Art

    Along Comes Art

    With simple rules, as would science render,
    we form a universe from cosmic dust.
    Then heaven and earth take this agenda
    and for art-sake make news of love and lust.
    With building blocks in assembled order
    we unravel life as would genes combine.
    Then for art-sake, and a fancy border,
    we give great praise to all of our design.
    With rows of noughts to the power of ten
    nothingness is scaled to the Nth degree.
    Then along comes art, with its brush and pen,
    claims emptiness as space for allegory.
    . It’s facts reveal an amazing story,
    . but it’s fiction steals the blazing glory.

    © Tim Grace, 15 August 2011

    To the reader: The human brain has evolved to recognise natural rhythms; to enjoy the ratio of shapes and numbers; to orchestrate colours and augment sounds. As measured, facts and figures quantify our universe; ever expanding our bank of knowledge. Buried in this infinite detail is wonderment; the source of fantastic explanation; home of earthly spirits and heavenly gods. We are the story tellers, the picture painters; for art-sake, we are the messengers.

    To the poet: If not mistaken, this is the first Sonnet (107) that holds itself to fourteen lines; ten syllables to each. I claim no strict adherence to iambic pentameter. I appreciate the heel-toe (dumpty-dumpty) rhythm of lines in classic formation but reserve the right to wander into other syncopations. I borrow from Shakespeare’s licence; Sonnet 145 is a case in point. Each line of this sonnet is made of eight syllables. And if more ‘case’ is needed, explore Sonnet 126: a twelve lined poem in six sets of rhyming pairs.

    along comes art along comes art
  • Staked His Claim

    Staked His Claim

    Boldly… staked his claim to a poet’s brag.
    He gave his word… promised Love’s salvation.
    And so, with upward lift and downward drag
    came the wait; the weight of expectation.
    Brazenly… gave rhyme to a poet’s shout.
    Penned in red-ink… “Love the ever-lasting”
    Gave perpetuity no timeless doubt.
    Raised the standard (banner, flag and masting).
    But, alas… with hope there came no finish.
    no conclusion… no evidence of claim.
    Nothing of his promise could distinguish
    anything of note… Time he did not tame.
    . So awkward is the stumble in retreat,
    . much better to be humble in defeat.

    © Tim Grace, 29 July 2011

    To the reader: In the engine room of life expectation is a key driver, a dramatic tool that motivates and energises. It’s also the mechanism that can let loose catastrophe. Expectation mixed with high-octane confidence pushes the needle in the gauge ever closer to the danger zone. As one needle tips to red, others likewise respond; the system is stretched; margins of error diminish; and finally, all tolerance is gone… the gasket blows!

    To the poet: The inevitable unrealised… junk yards. Rusting remnants … failed pursuits. Testaments and epitaphs … comparisons. A full collection of poems laid bare … his best and worst; side-by-side. The full journey with all its trammelling is what makes a full-reading of Shakespeare’s sonnets a rewarding exercise. The intrepid determination and commitment to his cause … for love sake; forsaken love.

     

    staked his claim staked his claim

     

  • Looked to Love

    Looked to Love

    He looked to love as destination;
    as would a traveller to journey’s end.
    He looked to love for sweet salvation;
    so all hearts broken be given mend.
    He sought from love guidance and direction;
    to navigate his way to certainty.
    He sought from love his soul’s protection;
    as guarantee, as life-long warranty.
    In search of love he found himself forlorn;
    always the wanderer in love’s pursuit.
    In search of love he feared the prick of thorn;
    and so reluctant, scarcely tasted fruit.
    . Too far he travelled and too long he searched;
    . void of love’s direction, he leaned and lurched.

    © Tim Grace, 27 July 2011

    To the reader: To map love would be an interesting endeavour. Begin with its orientation and from there give it latitude and longitudinal expansion. For the adventurous lover, the terrain would need the undulation of daring dreams that hang precariously above chasms of deep despair. For the intimate lover, there’d need to be shaded woods, babbling brooks and caverns carved into dells and dales. With love designed into the landscape, adventure and intimacy would define the perfect lover’s exploration.

    To the poet: Shakespeare’s sonnets express themselves through love’s interpretation; they follow the classic humours of disposition, preference, propensity and temperament. The love sonnets are seasonal: hot, moist and sanguine in Spring; cold, dry and phlegmatic in Winter. A sonnet’s lovescape is not incidentally structured, it’s deliberately sculptured to render love’s authenticity; foolish, debased, devoted, tormented, merciful … fair, kind and true.

     

    looked to love looked to love