Structure can be fun!

[serai]

I do like sonnets. Just like drabbles, they're challenging and fun precisely because of the limitations. A set number of lines, a set number of beats, a few allowed rhyming patterns. You have to think carefully, roll the words around in your head, pick and choose which ones will both convey your meaning and fit the rules. Writing sonnets encourages precision of expression, the importance of which is too easy to forget when you're used to writing without any real rules. It also forces you to expand your vocabulary, because sometimes you just don't have the right word and you have to go looking for it.

I write sonnets every now and then, mostly for fun. They're never planned; they just kind of pop up suddenly on their own. None of mine have come out perfect. Regardless, here's a couple of sonnets I've written.

This first one I wrote a few years ago, on contemplating what it must be like to be the focus of desire for countless strangers.



Avatar


I open you. You spread yourself for me,
rampant earth beneath my flowing air.
Angel-eyed I live in currents of light,
my form ungrasped and lost within the glow

I open you. My gaze comes piercing soft
a ruby rain upon your upturned face.
My touch unfelt, illusory caress.
Strange benediction for your lonely sins.

I open you. Your heart unknown to me
is thrown in floral tribute at my feet.
A gift unsought whose petals mire my path,
Its fragile need a burden and a price

Held captive in your eyes, my truth unseen,
I open you, and you imprison me.




And these next two are a lot less serious. :)



Ode to a Hot Dog Vendor


Shall I compare thee to a hot dog vendor?
Thou are more stylish with a fresh-baked bun.
Rough steam doth burn the eager hands of fans
And summer's games have all too short a run.

Sometime too hot the spice of wieners tastes
So often buried thick in mustard's paint
And every fan from kraut sometimes declines
By choice or stomach's rumbling full complaint

But thy eternal wares shall not dry out
Nor lose concession, that which thou supplyest
Nor shall Death brag thou sellest in his realm
When in eternal innings long thou plyest:

So long as fans can rally, stand and cheer,
So long lives this, the cry we e'er shall hear:

HURRY!! GETCHER RED-HOT HOT DOGS HERE!!






The Arsonist's Lament


Oh fire, you do warm my heart so much
That I must every day bring you to birth
Into my pockets I've stuffed many a match
So that your beauty may find life on earth

But when I try to make you blaze up bright
The party poopers raise a hue and cry
And whine and bitch about their stupid homes
And once again I must be on the fly

For 'tis a pain in th'ass, I can relate
To have police snort hotly on my tail
I only want to bring a little light
Yet no one will step forth to pay my bail

For this is truth, for those who may enquire:
They only joke who ask, "Hey, where's the fire?"




As you can see, each of these has faults. The first one has no rhyming pattern at all, the second on has a pattern that wobbles, plus an extra line, and the third almost makes it, but misses one rhyme. They're still fun, though, and I hope to get to the point where I can fit what I mean into all the rules.

Comments

[angharad001.livejournal.com]

Enjoyed your sonnets--I too am a great admirer of the form and for much the same reasons as you cited.

Haven't tried to write one for years but you might have inspired me ;)

odd and even thoughts

[strangerian.livejournal.com]

the second on has a pattern that wobbles, plus an extra line

I'd defend the "extra line" there as a comment (or title?) on the sonnet, part of the whole even if not part of the sonnet itself.

Beyond that, the only sonnets I'm familiar with are Shakespeare's, and skewed rhymes from words that have changed pronunciation for the modern ear (I haven't gone into Elizabethan language enough to check if they might have been dodgy for Shakespeare's ear) are easy to accept in sonnets and rhyme-formed poetry generally. If the poem successfully encapsulates a thought, it works. The rhymes and rhythms hold the language together: the "capsule" more than the thought.

Well, now, *there's* a strained metaphor.

But, these are fun to read.