2021.10 Weaver

In youth you roamed the earth as honoured guest,
The blood of gods and giants in your veins;
Whatever traps you sprung were loosed in jest,
The first and last to be adorned with chains.

Where laws and strictures fail, there’s always you –
A name to summon cunning, loose the tongue.
When plans come spinning, quite out of the blue,
Yes: you’re the one whose praise is rightly sung.

But jokers cannot always court guffaws;
Ambition’s bitter, given second place.
Your children held to ransom, framed as flaws,
Will rip the cords that grip your smile in place.

You knotted threads that bound the gods to Fate;
When twilight falls, your flames will liberate.

Following the @allographica prompt for 10th April (write a sonnet about your favourite god/ saint/ superhero), I ended up doing a swift bit of research/ reminding myself about Loki, Norse god of cunning, chaos, plots, tricks, and schemes. I hope I've done said deity justice with this somewhat twisted net of multiple meanings.

Gorgeously ambiguous image, "Laufeyr-sonr" (Laufey's son) by @sceit_a, found unattributed elsewhere and tracked down to Deviantart (let me know if I should remove it!)

Detailed image description in alt-text

2019.12 Ragnarok

These past few years have been a call to rage
As heroes topple, villains drag us down. 
We’ve never known a more confusing age,
So it seems fit to watch as clowns are crowned.

We’ve learned that no-one’s absolutely pure
And balance is the key to keeping sane.
We know full well there’s worse we could endure
But we must forge ahead despite the pain.

The ones who came before us barely paid,
Their greed put older gods to outright shame,
And those who watch us know the ways we’ve failed;
The price for those to come won’t be the same.

So we must give them heed and join their fight,
And not go silent into that cold night.

2018.8 Dream On

The moment we first dare to speak our dreams
We gasp to find how many things we share,
And swear that, from now on, to all we’ll seem
Ambition’s twins - the ones who mount on air.

We stride, young gods, eschewing nature’s goad
And tell ourselves: above all else be free
But suddenly we see the climbing road
Too steep a route to lean for you and me?

And we went gently into that goodnight
Foreswore our hot ambition’s many hours.
We tread the earth alone, surrendered flight
Now know, up close, how deeply dreams can sour.

Our grand pavilions vanished all to dust,
We’ll never eat our fill of envy’s crust.

2017.13 - Amber

You take my flesh in hand and start to score
You press with gentle force to mark a seam
You know the path, you’ve traced its route before
This armour guards a softness, lush as dreams.

This task takes patience, time, and outright skill
First layer gone and now the harder part
A thin, tight membrane keeps you from your fill,
So lift the bitter, taste my sweeter heart.

The air sings, tart-sweet, beckoning your tongue;
And busy fingers blush, juice running free,
Impediments are done, the feast’s begun,
My core surrendered, you devouring me.

The fresh scent lingers, memories kept real;
Ripe flesh is worth the challenge of the peel.


It’s NaPoWriMo, which means sonnet-time. And I asked my partner for a prompt, and got “orange peel” - so we can blame whoever gave my partner’s group that for an improv prompt.

2015.20 - Red: Take Action

Shall I compare you to the winds that howl?
To downpours that make every step a chore?
I’d illustrate the thunderstorms that prowl,
And twisters flinging dust around and more.

When held against the misery you bring
The metaphor of weather’s pretty tame
There’s no umbrella of which we could sing
To stop you putting avalanche to shame

They say that no disaster’s truly done
Until the aftermath is all put right
Our clean-up, mate, has only just begun
To undo all your damage done last night.

I will not speak your name, or see your face
You cannot ever get back my good grace.


_________________

Every year in April I do a new sonnet, building up (wearing down?) my resistance a poem at a time...

#20 In Place of Truth

I keep telling people that "I don't do sonnets" (or rhyme, or comedy, or iambic n-ameter). I thought I'd give it another go, this being the month of poetic challenges and all:

You ask me what I'd like to do today
I know I should just tell you all my heart
I find it very difficult to say
That I would like to spend this time apart.

I love you, dear, with every breath I draw
You light up my existence, this I swear
But sometimes I need peace and quiet and more -
It's only solitude that I can bear.

"Give me one day!" I very nearly cry
I gather up my strength to say out loud:
"I cannot miss you when you're always by"
But it turned out that I made not one sound

I wandered lonely, drowned in company
My cowardice had triumphed over me.

#15 Lilies

First. Ever. Sonnet...

I love to watch him, carefully and still
Who played out ardour, called me gentle names
I sit up here, upon what was our hill
And cry the world abroad my lover's fame.

His eyes, his heart, I fain would hold aloft
His clever fingers, soul of his embrace,
His well-made arms, all graced with hairs so soft,
His swift and shapely legs, and O! his face.

But see, his loving guardians, you are hard
Whose rough words me from rightful place do cheat
For I am sworn to take this noble shard
And part my false love now from all his meat.

And you who saw his acts but did not chide
You'd best hope that from me you too can hide.