Fixed Poetry Form: The Sonnet

A Sonnet is a fourteen line fixed poetry form that employs the use of iambic pentameter (say that three times fast :-) and has a patterned rhyme scheme. There are many varations of this form, but in this post I'll be dealing with two of the more popular ones which are the Italian Sonnet and the English or as it’s known by most, the Shakespearian Sonnet.

The Italian Sonnet has fourteen lines that break up into two quatrains, which usually describe a problem, followed by a sestet (two tercets), which gives the resolution to it. This type of Sonnet can have many rhyme patterns but the one I will be using today is:

abba abba cddc ee

The Shakespearian Sonnet (made famous by you know who) consists of three quatrains and a couplet. Like the Italian Sonnet, it tends to describe a problem and offer a resolution. The rhyme pattern I’ll be using for this one is:

abab cdcd efef gg

I like Sonnets because they tend to be breaths of brevity…but the challenge is sticking to the script of iambic pentameter…that 10 syllable count is a pain in the bahookey…that’s why there’s poetic license. (^_^)

Italian Sonnet

Wistful Thinking

I dream of her draped in a cool breeze,

sprawled out on the mosaic of my mind,

scantily clad, a vision so sublime

her beauty could bring desire to its knees.

Curvature inspiring eyes to freeze

on this Syrian ancestral find,

derrière so decadently divine,

from which passion prohibits a reprieve.

But lusting after a goddess isn’t smart,

when the soul is etched with fervor’s treads,

life as I know it lessened to shreds,

my heart, a piece of her unfinished art.

Undone by this subconscious endeavor

I’ll avert my gaze from her forever.

© 2010 dasuntoucha

Shakespearian Sonnet

Monotonous Motions

Can one stay calm while driving to work?

congested roadways make the nerves tense,

especially when you’re cut off by a jerk,

whose actions cause facilities to wince.

Violence immediately fills the head,

thoughts on the days chores done,

the main focus is to see that motorist dead.

Road rage has sprung, so I reach for my gun,

is today the day I make the evening news?

Shots fired, we’re live on the scene,

because some idiot has magnified rush hour blues,

destroying a disposition that was once serene.

To expel this insanity from my brain,

I think I’ll start to commute by train.

© 2010 dasuntoucha