sonnet 5

Those hours, that these idle moments did frame
The dead-eyed gaze shows that the head doth swell,
Will tonight and last be the very same?
And those deep draughts which fairly do excel;
For all these drunken nights leads summer on
To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
Sap checked with drink, and ambition quite gone,
Beauty unseen and bareness every where:
Then summer’s distillation only left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty’s effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was:
But when sad memories with winter meet,
Leasing forgetfulness and numbness is sweet.

Sonnet 4

Unthrifty generation, all thou spend
Upon thy self destroys thy legacy.
Nature’s bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank thy debts cannot be free:
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The future leaving them but debt to give?
Profitless user, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thy self alone,
Thou of thy self with thy greed dost deceive:
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy creditors cannot be tombed with thee.
Thee used, and another must pay the fee.

Original with commentary

Sonnet 3

Look in thy glass and know the face thou viewest
Now in time that face might form another;
Whose unknown visage thou not renewest,
Thou who blesses the world and thine mother.
For she bore one so fair within her womb
Disdains not the work of her husbandry.
Or thou might bring her to enter her tomb,
For self-love can destroy posterity.
Thou art thy mother’s glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou does, but it’s she that people see,
Despite thy thoughts, no one enters his time.
But when thou be, remember who to be,
By your lovely heart, hers shall lives through thee.

Original with commentary

Sonnet 2

When fourteen summers with a muddy brow,
And digging deep trenches in thy corn-field,
Thy youth felt wasted, why must thou work now?
Will be a tatter’d weed of small worth held?
Then being asked, where all thy effort lies,
Where all the treasure of thy ploughing days;
To say, within thine own exhausted eyes,
Were an unending day, and without praise.
How much more praise deserv’d thy labor’s use,
If thou couldst continue this life of mine
Shall thy life be wasted without excuse,’
Proving our future by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And grand-children will play when it is cold.

Original with commentary here

Sonnet 1

From vainest monsters we desire decrease,
That our beauty’s roses might never die,
But as the reaper should by time increase,
His gruesome task makes lives a memory:
But thou contracted to the devil’s lies,
Feed’st his great flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self man’s foe, for thy greed be too cruel:
Thou that consumes the world’s fresh ornament,
And overshadowing the gaudy spring,
Within thine black heart bury thy content,
And cheat us no more with thy niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.

Original, with commentary here

New series

Every one of my sonnets have followed the form of William Shakespeare. I realize that there have been other forms, and the Italian form predated the great bard, however he has been an influence on my thoughts and my development as a poet.

In honor of Shakespeare, I am attempting to parody his sonnets… as there are over 150 of them, this will take some time. Parody is a rather interesting art form, it must be both different, yet close enough to the original that it is recognized. In poetry, this means basically changing as few words as possible while changing the whole meaning. It is challenging, but it can be done. I have completed the first 4 of the set, and scheduled them.

I realize that 6 months of dreadful parodies maybe too much for my readers, so a part of me is thinking that perhaps I should just post one or two of these a week, perhaps on a specific day — the more I think about it, the more I like the idea, perhaps other writing could also be weekly [such as weekly haiku's, or exploring a certain topic every week.] Readers, please share your opinion — what do you wish to read?

Learning from music

Sorrow and dancing can coexist
Joy and tears mingling
Life is full of passion
The whole range experienced together

The heart hears a sad energy
Excited hope though profound sorrow
Knowing that nothing is lost
Yet wishing more could be gained

Seems that music is always full of work
Pure art never quite predictable
Even largo is full of effort
Though today, the music seems a jig

Simplicity is an illusion
What sounds simple requires perfection
Complexity is somewhat more forgiving
Perhaps complexity is another illusion

Music can become the spice of life
Music can also become the icon of living