“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label sonnet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sonnet. Show all posts
Saturday, April 23, 2016
Buried castles
Hind cloak and dagger you poise to guard thee
And conceal thy truest strength in mask'd
provocation! Lo' er thy weaponry
in defense against poison'd darts unseen
And penetrate those crystal streams, shatter'd
baubles by sounds may smash back to thine own
conscious fortress upheld on stilts aloft
none too far for arrows thrown in spite
to carry venomous signs of violence
symbolic gestures we propose to one
exchanging vengeance in our vows to keep
symbolic peices, armaments left and l
of leaves fallen-pollen armies make charge-
And stark violets by lillies mark'd on graves.
This is an attempt at playing with Shakespeare's Sonnet LXVII.
Image By Wikisense (Own work) Scaligero castle[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
And then...
Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign, at first...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...