I am back and promise to be back. This bout requires that you write a sonnet following the rhyme pattern a-b-b-a-a-b-b-a-c-d-c-d-c-d using these rhymes:
| A | soon | boon | moon | tune |
| B | powers | ours | hours | flowers |
| C | be | lea | sea | |
| D | outworn | forlorn | horn |
Good luck!
Posted by Joel at August 1, 2004 02:13 PM | TrackBackI pound small fists against glass walls and hope to soon
overcome mirth and whim of malevolent mighty powers.
I long to claim the freedom promised would be ours
and watch for the gleaming rays of forthcoming boon.
For now nine long rotations of the pockmarked moon
I've suffered through the creeping molasses hours.
I've caught the slightest scent of proposéd flowers
and watched others waltz to epithalamic tune.
How infinitely tiresome this state of stasis be
its taste of newness - freshness - long outworn.
I covet the walk of walks on emerald lea.
Without a path to tread or prize to seek I sit forlorn
and hold emptiness of heart the size of the sea
and wait for the shout of redemptive lover's horn.
Stealing from Wordsworth this time I see. And I'm obessive, so mine's in iambic pentameter as a sonnet "should be." It's a href="http://vicsjournal.blogspot.com/2004_08_01_vicsjournal_archive.html#109224913989420362">here as well as here:
Our lives will slip away from us so soon.
It makes me want to bargain the powers
to give me all the time that should be ours.
But I have naught to give for such a boon.
I watch the time fly by with sun and moon.
It seems to move in years, not just in hours,
without a moment left to smell the flowers,
or dance beneath the stars to my own tune.
But bargains with the powers will not be
of any use, they've heard my lust outworn.
So I'll lie with you naked in the lea,
refuse to waste our time with wants forlorn.
And travel on together to the sea
until we hear the call of death's soft horn.
Oops, for got to close my reference. For easy link, the poem is here
Posted by: Vic... at August 11, 2004 11:35 AM