googling I read that  a perfect              sonnet

rules.  if according to terms ,           conditions.

you think so;   if you have gone     and done it

properly. I understand this                 situation.

yet some  like free form  verse .on      listening .

found words  have their own  stories. written in

any way seems  ok ,                 rather interesting.

finding rhyme difficult  will carry on,           grin

and bear it.  pause.               an unusual exercise

that may end in disaster.                 do not wish

to win.   am not good at being             precise

nor sticking to rules and break some……………

so here we are, there it is.                 a sonnet

in  its rights, wrongs and imperfections, init?



“While all the sonnets in this competition are in a sense an exploration of what a sonnet is, this was the only one that actually treated the topic in its subject-matter.”

there will not be a note on the door to say i have gone.



i have called you.

it is  extra  when



you go alone.now  i have tidied around and taken the

glory. stocked up, and locked the out buildings ready.



it is an autumn day, gold,  glistening from the rain

that fell last night. sun warms and the scarf becomes



unnecessary.



as is the note.



sbm.

no smoke rising.



he said my name over, over

now he may be gone.



there is no smoke, just

mist rising, snow

in the distance.



quite cold, the car alarming.



there is no smoke rising

today, my name

is not repeated.



he may have gone.left

the wild wood

for sale.



sbm.

the year gone by,  books

left tied

with rag.



she said hello, smiled.

i smiled back with no

regret.



coated in butter of

contentment



that



the books are left tied

tightly.



sbm.

if i were at home today,

i would light the fire

ready

for the day.



i am coming to meet

you from the train,

the railway line

along the coast.



we will drink tea,

and i will show you

the brooches.



sbm.

from some one that wants all folk tidy

comes a promising revelation.

. stuff everwhere.



. brown and rustic.



from someone who wishes to clip

and straighten comes the point

of over growing.



isn’t it?



sbm.

photograph           the trees.  notice   the wild     wood

early               while  walking,   imagine it               may

be mine.    to care for , to let be.                       it could.

it is for                 sale.   new   sign  on the gate,  today

the charcoal burner .                       he is a woods man

smoke rises grey.  price is mentioned .           plenty.

I think on his words, the idea, owning              land,

crashing back into the wild wood.                   empty

headed.  it is good to be quiet,                            alone

away from their thickening  throng ,          the dread .

soft voices.   smoke rises slow,   ashes.      old bone.

dust and dust , by dust  we bury the                      dead.

he will split the wood.           they may come and buy,

yet in my head the wild wood                    will be mine.

sbm.