Sonnettics

I’ll kiss you in the morning, when you wake
I want to be a part of what you dream
The love you give is all I want to take
Your love, so soft and warm, becomes my theme
In morning, when your eyes begin to shine
I want to be reality to you
My heart is yours; I want yours to be mine
From heart to heart, the love we share is true
My love is yours; it lingers in my heart
I feel your love; it touches me so deep
I long for days when we are not apart
Where memories are made, I’ll always keep
Like kissing you in morning, when you rise
And seeing precious beauty in your eyes.

They’re words; they’re not designed to hurt or heal
I know some people frankly disagree
But that’s their right.  I guess some people feel
That words are more than words.  I just don’t see
Why what’s not North is often labeled “South”
I know “The truth is what happened,” I heard
“It ain’t what come out of somebody’s mouth.”*
I see no reason to give things a word
I know some people think more words are best
They use them in ways that boggles my mind
They decide to get them off of their chest
They put them in books that no one can find!
Feel free to read these words I choose to write
But if you’re burned, my words did not ignite!

*Cormac McCarthy, All The Pretty Horses

There’s nothing to expect; the twist is vast
It doesn’t mark its emptiness; it turns
To shine upon the shadow that’s been cast
By light which can’t be seen; perception burns
Within its motions, everything is still
Without its complex formulas it shows
Invisible reactions, as it will
Wherever it’s rejected, there it goes.
To comprehend the twist is life’s design
It is just like an artist who’s insane
Creating freedom so it can confine
The beauty it can feel with joyous pain
To know there’s nothing, one must coexist
With everything which turns within the twist.

She sees the words that float around my head
I think they fascinate her precious heart
She calls me when the girls are tucked in bed
The miles are there, but we are not apart
The only reason that the words can float
is not because I chose to put them there
They want to be composed into a boat
They want to take her safely, everywhere
My soul is like an ocean, vast and deep
I know it can be dangerous as well
My dreams are islands, when I’m fast asleep
My poems are the dreams I want to tell
She sees my words; she feels them when I write
I may not be her dreamboat, but I might!

To love, or not to love?  What a question!
‘Tis nobler in the heart to put aside
Outrageous questions, which should not be asked!
And by not asking, end them, answerless.
In loving dreams such silly questions come
No more; and by a dream to say we end
The headaches of a thousand stupid doubts.
‘Tis a consummation devoutly felt.
To live, to love. To love, perchance to dream.
For in these dreams of love, what life may come?
Fardels, quietus, or a bare bodkin?
Send these to an undiscovered country!
Fair girl!  Sweet thing, in thy supplications
Be all my pure love of you remembered.

Sonnetic Challenge:

I used the following famous soliloquy from Shakespeare’s Hamlet to create the preceding blank verse sonnet, a parody. My challenge to you: use this, or any other soliloquy as the base for building a sonnet.

The Tragical History of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, act three, scene one:

To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause – there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of disprized love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.

I know your day was busy, fun, and long
I wish that I was there to be with you
I’d say “Goodnight” then sing a little song
A lullaby to say, “this day is through.”
Tomorrow you will have another day
Tomorrow will be busy, fun, and long
But rest must come before we go and play
Just like a tune must come before a song!
This lullaby will help relax your mind
Your dreams are waiting for your eyes to close
Within your dreams I know that you will find
The place of rest where everybody goes
Goodnight my precious princesses, go rest
Be peaceful; that’s the sleep that is the best.

She comes to place her head upon my chest
I’ll hold her close, our closeness to complete
Her softness and her warmth will be the best
Expressions of her skin; our hearts will beat
Together. Our togetherness will be
Enhanced by how we touch and how we kiss
Beside her, I will feel completely free
To give myself to her, to bring her bliss
Connecting with my lover brings me joy
I feel connected, deep within her soul
I’ll move with any motion she’ll employ
While making love, our love will have control
Espousing one another we will feel
Togetherness we never will conceal.

I felt the love within your voice tonight
You saved me once again; I’m glad you’re mine
I know that loving you is more than right
It bears the beauty of a Grand Design
I always thought perfection was a myth
Reality was broken, dented, cracked
But once you touched my heart, I knew, forthwith
Your love was the perfection that I lacked
I heard you say, “I love you.” I’m amazed
At everything I felt within your voice
I feel like I’m a blind man, who has gazed
Upon his options, and can see his choice!
My love, did you intend to give me this?
Within the words I heard, I felt a kiss.

I feel at peace, although she’s far away
I wonder where this peaceful feeling’s from
I’m quiet, though there’s plenty I would say
If she were here; she told me she would come
This peace is like a song I like to hear
That calms me and reminds me of my youth
This peace is also like a subtle tear
Of warmth upon my skin, that feels like truth
With tears and songs I’ve found my thoughts are right
The peace I feel is this:  her gift to me
She doesn’t need to be within my sight
For me to feel her love, for peace to be.
The gifts I bought are simple, next to this
I’ll thank my lover with a simple kiss.

Before rebirth. I know a death must come
I’ve seen the change when life collides with death
There are no simple dreams, yet there are some
That feel just like a prototypic breath
The wetness of my infancy is clean
Interpreting the water is my task
I think new life is what this dream may mean
I breathe and cry and then I need to ask:
Is this my life, my death, or something more?
She kisses every tear upon my face
She knows what each empassioned kiss is for
She guides me down to her most sacred place
I move and feel my answer start to come
I know “la petite mort” it’s called by some.