A fairly comprehensive dissertation on the different forms of sonnet at dVerse poets pub sent me hotfoot to my archives. If there is a form of sonnet, I have tried it, even including one or two not mentioned in Gay’s piece. I don’t have time to write a new one, so here is a re-post of two with which I am reasonably content: a Petrarchan sonnet and a Terza Rima, written at least two years ago. You can find a relatively recent quasi-Shakespearean sonnet here. As you might guess, I have a particular affection for this form, finding the discipline imposed by the restrictions of rhyme and meter strangely liberating.
Night thoughts – a Petrarchan Sonnet
As I was lying in my cosy bed
I thanked the Lord for giving me such warmth,
and shelter from the havoc of the storm
in comfort in my hilltop home. I said
my prayers of gratitude as aforesaid.
Thankfulness for bounty is the norm
for every caring person, to transform
a grumpy-guts to happy bunny. Instead
of self-congratulation, thoughts of others
who do not have the haven of a home—
of prisoners of conscience, dispossessed,
or orphans cruelly deprived of mothers,
of people tyrannised, oppressed, alone—
aroused my anger, would not let me rest.
August Terza Rima
A garden in the hush of eventide,
all work has stopped, the buds have closed in sleep.
A summer place, we saunter side by side.
Above, a crescent moon is set to peep
shyly on our bliss, both satisfied
and sad the day is ending glorified.
Reluctantly we turn our steps aside
towards the setting sun that dips below
the trees that line the riverside
with red-streaked colour statement. It must go,
to stay away for hours, just to preside
on other summer places we don’t know.
We turn again, prepared to go inside—
as night must fall, the moon will still abide.