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  Jun 2015 Deborah Brooks Langford
anu
I Can't be with you
But You Can't be without me

I Can't talk to you
But You Can't stop talking without me

I Can't  See  you
But You Can't  see me even if your are with me

I Can't  Get you
But You Can't Get Out of me

In My Illusion..
I Will be with peoples whom i liked most ...Still they all close to my hearts...The Wonderful world i had..which never lend me to long...
You ask me,
Do I miss you?
How can I miss you?
You are always with me,
Your face behind my eyes,
Your soul sleeping in my heart,
The essence of you dances for me,
Sinuous curves shimmy within shadows.

You ask me,
Do I love you?
You should be asking,
How much you love me?
Then measure that feeling,
Holding it tightly deep inside,
Knowing that I feel just the same,
With every single fibre of my being.

You ask me,
Do I miss you?
Perhaps, I might sigh,
The very truth, though,
Is that I miss you terribly,
Is that part of me aches for you,
Though we are intrinsically entwined,
Sometimes, such closeness is not enough.

You ask me,
Do I love you?
Do you need to ask?
I live and breathe you,
As you live and breathe me,
Your roads lead to me, woman,
I am by your side, holding your hand,
One day, we will surely arrive together.

You ask me,
Do I miss you?
Everyday baby,
Never doubt it is so,
My pain is like your own,
Insomnia, numbing, yearning,
Hiding tears in the soft darkness,
But knowing, we will be free, one day.

©Paul M Chafer 2015
Created while walking around woodland. 24th May 2015. First poem I memorized off by heart for quite awhile, so posted it here. This deals with love found in friendship, accepting feelings that cannot be changed, living a relationship physically separated, while emotions remain linked and trust and honour remains intact. We cannot help how we feel, but we can be true to ourselves and others.
When you read my words
Do you hear the beat of my heart?
Do you see the colour of my soul?
Do you feel the strength of my emotion?
Do you sense the hurt beyond the smile?
Do you relate to my inherent hope?
Do you know how much I love?

I bleed upon these pages
So you might see
That while you've never met me
You know me
Just full of love for all my HP friends tonight :)
Sonnet is love
sonnet is rhyme'
metaphorical pattern dove
so much sublime....

Popular with poets new
the Elizabethans too
their mistresses so few
used it to woo.....

John Donne, his life
catching the spirit of the Jacobean age
his need to express his love for his wife,
Anne, backstage......

Expression of religious passion
and simply reflections of death
The Victorians fashion
and so many more breath.....

Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
the Rossettis, so blue
and George Meredith were around
were so new.....

American poets noted
Longfellow, expounded
E. A. Robinson, devoted
Elinor Wylie, and Edna St. Vincent Millay, astounded....

Sonnets make us sing
makes us laugh
cry with saving grace brings
universal themes of love mon behalf.....

Keep writing those sonnets
all you wonderful and many more
poets, keep wearing your bonnets
that we all adore...*

Debbie
How to Write a Sonnet
All sonnets have fourteen lines. What makes a sonnet a Shakespearean sonnet is that its fourteen lines rhyme like this:
Line 1 rhymes with line 3
Line 2 rhymes with line 4
Line 3 rhymes with line 1
Line 4 rhymes with line 2
Line 5 rhymes with line 7
Line 6 rhymes with line 8
Line 7 rhymes with line 5
Line 8 rhymes with line 6
Line 9 rhymes with line 11
Line 10 rhymes with line 12
Line 11 rhymes with line 9
Line 12 rhymes with line 10
Line 13 rhymes with line 14
Line 14 rhymes with line 13
Last, most sonnets have a volta, or a turning point. In a Shakespearean sonnet the volta usually begins at line 9.
An easy example of a turning point would be, lines 1-8 ask a question or series of questions and lines 9-14 answer the question or questions.
Our example sonnet would look like this:
he TURNED the FOURteenth GLASS and SAID, “beGIN.”
and I had FOURteen MINutes LEFT to LIVE;
and I had FOURteen UNrePENted SINS,
and FOURteen PEOple WHOM i WOULD forGIVE,
and FOURteen UNread BOOKS uPON my SHELF,
and FOURteen LOVES i KNEW i’d LOVED in VAIN,
and FOURteen DREAMS i’d KEPT withIN mySELF
(the FOURteen I’D most WANted TO exPLAIN.)
but FOURteen MINutes QUICKly PASSED aWAY.
i FILLED my PEN with FOURteen DROPS of INK-
the FOURteenth glass had offered one delay;
and fourteen final grains retained the brink.
this SONnet FLOWED like FOURteen FInal BREATHS-
the FOURteenth LINE, t
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