#sonnet

Sonnets are guys writing in English, imitating an Italian song form. It was a form definitely sung as often as it was recited. ↗

— Steve Earle

#english #form #guys #imitating #italian

Sonnet XVII I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. ↗

— Pablo Neruda

#love

I got lost in the night, without the light of your eyelids, and when the night surrounded me I was born again: I was the owner of my own darkness. ↗

— Pablo Neruda

#light

As an unperfect actor upon the stage Who with much fear is put besides his part Or some fierce thing, replete with too much rage Whose strengths abundance weakens his own heart So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love's rite And in mine own love's strength seem to decay O'ercharged with burthen of my own love's might o, let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast Who plead for love, and look for recompense More than that tongue that more hath express'd. O, learn to read what silent love hath writ To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. ↗

— William Shakespeare

#sonnet #unperfect-actor #love

If I wrote in a sonnet form, I would be distorting. Or if I had some great new idea for line breaks and I used it in a poem, but it's really not right for that poem, but I wanted it, that would be distorting. ↗

— Sharon Olds

#distorting #form #great #had #i

Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it, For that your self ye daily such doe see: But the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit, And vertuous mind, is much more praysd of me. For all the rest, how ever fayre it be, Shall turne to nought and loose that glorious hew: But onely that is permanent and free From frayle corruption, that doth flesh ensew. That is true beautie: that doth argue you To be divine and borne of heavenly seed: Deriv'd from that fayre Spirit, from whom al true And perfect beauty did at first proceed. He onely fayre, and what he fayre hath made, All other fayre lyke flowres untymely fade. ↗

— Edmund Spenser

#british-literature #edmund-spenser #poetry #sonnet #beauty

If death is like a sonnet then life would be a haiku. The sonnet, a lyrical poem, the beauty and magic with the last breath~ love, words fading and floating off into the abyss that is space whilst our everyday lives or days more important than normal become just a mere whisper in only a few short syllables through which we convey with our hearts the truth of the universe in a single moment briefly. ↗

— R.M. Engelhardt

#life #poetry #r-m-engelhardt #sonnets #truth

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower? O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays? O fearful meditation! where, alack, Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? O, none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright ↗

— William Shakespeare

#beauty

The form I most enjoy writing is the sonnet or sonnet-like forms, where you have a - you know, three stanzas or two stanzas that lead into a concluding couplet. ↗

— Sherman Alexie

#enjoy #form #forms #i #into