"sonneteer" poems
Lavinia were you walking in the park?
Arm in arm with that pompous chanticleer
Singing in your sweet ear, a Sonneteer
Tongue-teasing rhymes told by that knave Petrach
Your ice blue eyes bright lit by sudden spark
Even blushes on your soft cheek appear
As if you found his every word sincere
Repeated in his carriage after dark
Master of dark magic hidden in verse
Your velvet rose virtue is your treasure
Lock it away from enticing word
On that vile poet will I set a curse
Venus come down and thwart all his pleasure
Especially, I beg his days be numbered.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC
i.
The poet doth not loveth
In pocket-sized increment's;
The poet loveth
In lyrical abundance.
ii.
The sonneteer doth not dieth
For his or her amour' in natural death;
The bard's succumbing is purest loving
For their soulmate they perish every last breath.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
En-garde fellow poet
who stands with gold pen sword.
Raise thy weapon and duel with me
in bout with words.
My tool be sharp with potent prose.
sonneteer stand is ready to fight
Yes En-garde I say
for be know to slain one with a mighty song.
And I am Known to gather crowds
who watch many a victory
Un-garde I echo with parry to cut thy thoughts.
With sabre pen sharp with ink red.
Perhaps than you shall bleed
as we will meet upon ground of page.
En--garde you who cast a shadow
of judgment with they eyes
For battle shall commence
on Fields a plenty
And I will win a sun for sure.
Jan 4, 2020
Jan 4, 2020 at 11:26 PM UTC
Thou hath not the hand of a Sonneteer
As this composition shall verily tell
Thou proffers a rhyme so unfit to sell
Of determination thy mind doth steer
Correct in meter all lines must be
The object is to complete this hard task
Then in a well lit passage thy can bask
Thy brain laboring to bring glory to thee
The end of the process is in full sight
Each word placed down with much exertion
Thou trudges forward to climb the high hill
Where there is an ebullient glowing light
All self doubt hath gone out on excursion
Thy best efforts done with an inept quill
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
I know of beauty in the need of praise
For her own view of self does view defect
And cannot dream that eyes adore her glaze,
That needn't the sun nor light to gift effect.
The social sites appear to worsen her;
Perfection shown does taunt the blemished seen
Her radiance a - glow then turns to blur,
Until that youth becomes what has then been.
Tho' shyness plagues me, ink from mine can't shy
If she this sonnet read, rewrites her eyes,
Then she to her own beauty can't deny,
And I, her sonneteer maintain disguise.
Tho' if nearby she reads from this aloud
Then may just may, she'll glance me out a cloud.
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 11:31 AM UTC
Boldly through the cauld' batters on the sonneteer
wae thick work boots an a sobering heed;
blisters form on his heels and start tae bleed,
as the new builds part and the river appears.
Doon by the clyde, the old sickly mistress,
he sparks a snout in the ease of the mornin’.
The usual grey sky turns dark wae a warnin’,
but he draws in deeply and breathes out stress.
If only I could follow him further through the city.
If only I could ask how tae write upon these streets.
Should I run with the crowd and speak over beats?
Or speak in concrete and make them buildings seem witty?
I hink I’ll let this river run until the day I know
how tae speak and spit wae the tongue of Glasgow.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
Words of a poet
get all dolled up in fancy typeface
for show on paper stage.
Curtain is drawn with a raised pen-like baton
as words are readied inside a writers mind
that becomes like backstage.
All letters are word performers
who at a moments notice
step forward from chasms of a writers mind.
With breath, director who is an inspired sonneteer.
sounds the cue for the poem recital to begin.
Letters combine in creative form
making visions come alive
as readers present watch.
Forms show themselves italicized
to give strong tone to spoken word.
while others in bold costumes come in view making a point.
Phases dance faster on page
with descriptive jargon in front of a vellum backdrop
due to the writer/directors expanding passion.
Soon all actors have left their mark on illuminated stage
as poetic saga is done the curtain closes.
Closes for the readers eye lids to applaud
as the poet bows in peace.
StarBG © 2017
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 12:46 AM UTC
do·mes·tic vi·o·lence
noun
violent or aggressive behavior within the home, typically involving the violent abuse of a spouse or partner.
po·et
ˈpōət/Submit
noun
a person who writes poems.
synonyms: writer of poetry, versifier, rhymester, rhymer, sonneteer, lyricist, lyrist; More
a person possessing special powers of imagination or expression.
paint·er1
ˈpān(t)ər/Submit
noun
1.an artist who paints pictures."a German landscape painter"
2.a person who paints buildings, walls, ceilings, and woodwork, especially as a job.
Are you seeing my body as a portrait,
With painted fields of flowers and streams?
Not a picture of a one night stand and a text forgetting my name?
“I won't regret this” his husky voice kisses my ear.
He paints with purples and blues across my thighs,
And around my neck.
I was always told to never fall for a painter because
Once they finish their masterpiece
They are on to the next, tossing away the last one.
I became a sculpture, with bodies as my canvas
And my nails as my tools.
He was painting my body, as i was carving into his.
Leaving marks and naming my territory.
Soon i discovered i was made to be a poet,
Striking people with my words,
No longer using my fingers to leave messages but my voice.
I learned to hurt people in the best ways.
But in worse ways he left me.
~a.u
November 26, 2:13 PM
When I had first wrote this, I was in the back of a friends car. Thinking about the future. We never really know what all could happen. At first, my poem was about a intimate relationship between partners, but towards the end, it shows an abusive relationship. After reading many books, seeing posts we get into relationships with people we do not know until it is too late. In awareness of those who had suffered from
Domestic violence, abuse, **** here is my poem, Painter.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC