154 Days - 154 Sonnets

Love poetry: At least I have more variety than Shakespeare.


Why does love have to be something unfair?
Why does it have to cause such undue stress?
It always makes these situations where
One cannot make it simple and confess.

The saying, "Rock and a hard place" is right,
But here either side is a lovely girl,
And there's no resolution insight;
My whole life has been sent into as whirl.

I can't choose either side without regret,
I need to wait and and see what would be best;
Nor can I wait too long to place my bet,
Or I might have to put my love to rest.

The choice is of my mind or of my heart:
Do I do what I feel, or what is smart?

I wrote this in something like five minutes, and it's some of my best work yet, I think.



I sit down on the floor, ready to win.
This puzzle's big, but I know I'll beat it;
I stare at the box with a vicious grin,
The music is on and the candles are lit.

I deal out the pieces in a flurry,
Separating them into different camps,
And I make the border in a hurry;
I'm hunched over still, I might get some cramps.

My fingers set the jigsaws like a brush,
Slowly repainting this old work of art.
The lines are vivid, the colour is lush,
I put this together with my own heart.

At last it is finished, I stare in awe.
Who knew the wonders of the quaint jigsaw?



Maybe the reason I have so many unfinished jigsaw puzzles laying around is because putting them together isn't nearly as epic as this poem makes it seem.

edited 14th Jan '11 12:12:46 AM by Five_X

Great work so far Five X. Only 133 sonets to go!

Man, I really admire your craziness.

Thanks! I'll definitely keep this up, even if I usually only start writing them at around midnight or so.

On a more serious note for today, this poem does really summarize a cause of a lot of problems in my life. I'm not the kinda person who lives at a fast pace, and I hate change. Poems can express personal issues, too!


I feel like my life is moving too fast,
Just sailing by, no time for me to stay
And contemplate moments that never last,
I just want to enjoy my everyday.

For the longest time patience was unknown,
I never knew how to take it all slow.
My problems are just far too overblown,
I can't stay here, I don't know where to go.

I don't want to live at such a high speed,
My regrets keep on piling on and on;
I don't have the time to get what I need,
So everything I want is too far gone.

Can't I just slow my life down to a still?
I don't like this pace, and I never will.

I like space n' stuff.


Let me take you to see the wondrous stars,
Alight in the sky, everlasting all.
Let me help you escape, perhaps to Mars,
But watch your step, I don't want you to fall.

There's only so much there that we can see
From out little anchored planet right here;
Come with me, you'll meet the galaxy,
All of its mysteries will disappear.

We'll go far: what would you like to see first?
The moons, the planets, all in outer space.
In nowhere else could you be so immersed,
The universe is such a different place.

We could see the universe, you and I,
Let's go off on a trip: let's go and fly.



I really like the classic science fiction, and how it captured the wonders of space. Science fiction isn't like that anymore, and it kinda makes me sad.

Seriously, the pen is mightier than the sword. You can't really doodle on someone's face using a sword.


Well, you could jab a pencil through their eye,
And make a quip about them eating lead.
Beware of those with pens: they'll make you die,
Or at least wish that you were dead.

They say the pen is greater than the sword,
And that's a saying I can agree with!
Pencils and pens are easier to hoard,
And murder with a pen is thought a myth.

If writing violence is not you place,
Then there are other methods you can seek:
Humiliate them drawing on their face,
Or bug them with letters for a whole week.

My point in the end is that with a pen,
You can do more than with weapons of men.


\\

I'm pulling the big emergency switch here, we're going back into Love Sonnet Mode! Yes, I can't think of any ideas. No, I have no shame.


The love we have is quite like a flower,
It's small at first, a bud, but then it grows,
Getting ever bigger by the hour,
And when will it stop? No one truly knows.

The love we have blossoms, it's at its peak.
The scent of dew upon petals, so sweet.
It's such a feeling others often seek,
It's such a feeling, so tidy, and neat.

But flowers, too, are delicate like love,
And every lovely rose has thorns that sting.
So when you pick a flower, wear a glove,
And be gentle on the poor little thing.

But in a way, this poem is a lie.
Our love is not a flower: flowers die.



Remember my "Candyland" sonnet that became a socialist metaphor? Well, something similar happened here. Look for double meanings with this one, I think it's pretty funny.

Soooo... tired.... ugh.


My eyelids droop; they feel heavy to lift.
It's hard to focus, my body wants sleep.
Into the realms of rest I start to drift,
I feel exhaustion's grip begin to creep.

My legs are aching, feeling cold and weak.
Their joints are stiff, needing a well-earned rest.
I look at my warm bed, tidy and sleek,
And my legs, they groan, they know what is best.

My mind, too, is muddled, it needs a break.
Such a grand machine cannot run for good.
I ready myself for sleep for its sake,
I'd spend days here to slumber, if I could.

I stumble, it seems I can barely stand.
I lie down, and am brushed by night's hand.

If anyone's wondering, yes, I am still doing this, and no, I'm probably not going to type much more of it up. I'm currently on Sonnet #66, so I haven't missed a day yet. Sorry about not being able to post each of them up, it's just too much work to write it out and then type it out to post here, especially with the formatting that I need to do to make it look proper.

I'll post again at Sonnet 100 and Sonnet 154, just to keep things even slightly updated.

Just curious, is your handwriting fairly neat? Do you have a digital camera?

Just going from what you've written so far, I know you're set on writing traditional sonnets, so I won't query your use of full rhymes, but using a bit of enjambment is a really good way to stop full rhymes feeling quite so BAM BAM BAM, if you see what I mean.

I think these poems would definitely benefit from that.

Just my opinion, good luck with the 154 sonnets!

Yeah, it kind of hit me around #50 that "Oh wait, I'm doing this all wrong!" and they've become better since then, mostly.

^^ Yes, I do have a digital camera, and my writing (printing) is... kind of neat, I guess. I'll try to take pictures of each sonnet if I can find the memory card software again.

If you want you could take pictures of the written sonnets, and upload them to places like imageshack or flickr, then post the links on this thread. I figure it would be much faster.

Just make sure that if you do that you can still read it off of the picture.

Sounds great, looking forwards to seeing some more recent ones if you get time to put them up. These early ones seem pretty well-written, so giving yourself a bit more freedom should work really well. This whole project is such a good thing to do, I envy your commitment. Also you've got Na Po Wri Mo (which takes place in April) pretty much sorted.

Go Go!

Yeah, Na Po Wri Mo is gonna be absurdly easy.

I think writing these poems is driving me slightly insane. I've found that I often check to see if things I read or hear are in iambic pentameter. I think I might end up speaking entirely in iambic once I'm past the 100 sonnet mark.

Out of curiosity, why the number 154?

Well, this thing is long over, but if you know Shakespeare, then you might know that he write a series of 154 sonnets, many of which are pretty famous ("Shall I compare thee to a winter's day?" being one of the most quoted).

Oh, I knew he wrote sonnets, I just didn't know he wrote 154 of them.

Except his were all about love, I believe, and mine are a little more versatile. I think both of us went a little crazy after writing so many sonnets in a row, though.