[Rinion]

I thought I'd posted a poetry topic some time ago, but either it has been lost to the archives or my memory is leaving me far sooner than I would like. Anyway, you'll find that my poetry is generally more concerned with meaning and rhyme scheme than with trying to inspire some emotion in the reader.

So, I'll start off with a simple poem that has no real purpose other than to see how far I could push a metaphor.

Smashed Across the Carpet
The delicate white islands
With docks of broken stone
Amongst a sea of burgundy,
Where myrtle boats are thrown

About in boiling waters,
With blackened mooring line;
The weary swish of sandy fish
With scales and whiskers fine.

A coast of fraying beaches
Surmounted by the tide,
Whose billows spread a murky red
Across the shore divide.

We have another teapot;
There’s no need for a row.
But I regret, in retrospect,
We’re out of biscuits now.

---

And here's my attempt at a limerick.

Arthur’s Court
There was a king from Camelot
Whose silver he kept in a pot.
But the silver was lead,
And the rich king, with dread,
Discovered that rich he was not.

There was a maid from Avalon
Who would a white petticoat don.
She wore it every day
‘Til the fair maid, they say,
Was wooed by a short-sighted swan.

There was a sage from Carmarthen
Who decided to marry a hen.
But the hen would but cluck
So the sage pushed his luck
And left his fowl wife for a wren.

There was a knight from Tintagel
Who saw a man fall down a well.
He laughed from the edge-rock,
‘Til the rude knight, in shock,
Did slip and fall in with a yell.

There was a scribe from Corbenic’s
Who wrote down some five limericks.
The rhymes were dearly bought,
And the old scribe, in thought,
Decided to stop before six.

---

Lastly, a sonnet.

Each to Be Filled
A page is blank until a word is writ,
A well is dry until a pail is poured,
A lamp is dark until a light is lit,
A field is bare until a brook is bored,
A forge is cold until a flame is fed,
A church is still until a hymn is hummed,
A book is closed until a rune is read;
A tune is mute until a string is strummed.

A body without love is like these things,
But do not think that gifts will gain it still:
Love can’t be earned through rank or rite or rings;
It must be given freely to fulfil.

They say to gather rosebuds while you may;
But find a rose for someone else, I say.

[Kari]

We have another teapot;
There’s no need for a row.
But I regret, in retrospect,
We’re out of biscuits now.

That ending to a poem I certainly didn't expect. XD

They're really good, Rin, especially the limmerick. Vastly amusing. About the sonnet, I think for it to be called a sonnet, it has to have three verses of four, four and three lines respectively.

Apart from that, it was beautiful. It incarnates the exact definition of art in my opinion; beautiful and didactic.

[Rinion]

I think a sonnet is simply defined as a poem of fourteen lines with ten syllables in each line. The structure and rhyme scheme just specify as to what type of sonnet it is.

And thank you. What fascinates me most about poetry is figures of speech and rhyme scheme, my favourite being the one used in J. R. R. Tolkien's poem Errantry. I used a portion of the scheme in one of my own poems. It goes like this:

A
AB
C
CB

The poem contains a number of Japanese words, which in hindsight was probably not the best of ideas. I have included translations at the end. At least I mostly got it out of my system after the first stanza.

The Uguisu of Sakura
There was a little chashitsu
Of lacquered wood and paper screens,
Where they performed the chanoyu
Below sky blue, on grasses green;
And every day the okami
Would make the tea in porcelain,
And into it would stir a hint
Of peppermint and cinnamon.

There in the garden, willow trees
Swayed in the breeze of purantan;
And cherry blossoms filled the air
With petals fair in fading sun.
There lay upon the cherry’s root
A silver flute called Kangakki,
And every night the teahouse maid
There sat and played a melody.

Kinsuru was the tea-maid’s name:
The Golden Crane of silver tongue.
Her tune was of a willow-song,
Of branches long with leaves among;
And in the boughs above her head
There was a bed of feathers pale
And maple twigs and blossoms soft,
And in this loft a nightingale.

The Uguisu of Sakura,
With lavender as feathers’ shade
Would lend his voice to harmony;
The cherry tree of bird and maid.
The ladies watched in kimono
Of indigo and tangerine,
And waved their fans like butterflies
Beneath blue skies and willow trees.

Amongst the bloom and hanging frond
There was a pond of golden koi,
And on a fallen maple log
There lived a frog, like emerald toy.
The frog was known as Kawazu,
And when the flute of silver played,
He danced beside his golden mere
While he could hear the teahouse maid.

From afar would people journey,
In morning early to be seen
Performing in the chanoyu,
In lacquered wood and paper screen.
They gazed upon the nightingale,
And maiden pale with silver flute;
They saw the pond of golden koi,
And took great joy in Kawazu.

There was a little chashitsu
In waning wood of willow trees;
It faded in the mists of time,
But left behind these memories.

---

chashitsu: teahouse
chanoyu: tea ceremony
okami: hostess
purantan: springtime

[Kari]

This one really is reminiscent of Tolkein, especially in the second and third verses. The first one's flow is a little awkward with the Japanese, to be honest but, being a fan, I really like the scheme, story and meter you've fpulled off here.

As always, the last verse is extremely well-written and haunting. As a whole, the poem is very nice, though more like a tolkeinesque song of the elves than a poem. XD Some parts that seemed a bit randon, like the part with the frog, but it fits in well in the end.

[Rinion]

Thank you. I think I'll use Coleridge's excuse and say I must have been intoxicated when I wrote about the frog. And speaking of songs of elves... this poem is Tolkienesque only in diction, I think; I'm afraid the rhyme scheme is very simple and some of the rhymes are more strained than I would like, although I like the alternate alliteration in the last line of each stanza.

Journey of Elves
Down the river’s mossy banks,
Into the forests deep:
Come and hark to elven harp
And fall of elven feet.

Down into the forests deep,
Within the woodland glades:
Listen long to elven song
With mirth of elven maids.

Down within the woodland glades,
Upon the rushing streams:
Soon to hear the elven cheer
In boats of elven beams.

Down upon the rushing streams,
To stop at sandy shore:
Stay a while on elven isle,
Where elves are ever more.

[Kari]

Also very nice, but not as good as that sonnet, in my opinion. The rhyming isn't too forced, really, it's very Tolkeinesque, again, and reminds me of Rivendell. I generally like your meter; it flows well and is mostly homeiogenic in all its length. it's something I like about this kind of poem; they're easy and pleasant to read.

Listen long to elven song
With mirth of elven maids.

I have a naughty mind.

[Rinion]

Oh dear.

Well, here's another sonnet - at least, I thought it was a sonnet until I realized a moment ago that I only wrote twelve lines. Oh, well. It's not at all romantic, though. Xocolatl means "bitter water", and is the word from which "chocolate" is derived.

Xocolatl
A humble bean from distant shores has come,
Within the hulls of Spaniard frigates kept
Between the stores of chilli, gold and rum;
A “bitter water” from the bean is wept
To match the gifts of heathen kings of old,
Whose crowns of feathered majesty now lie
Within the lakes where once they bathed in gold;
For greed, unlike its keeper, does not die.

Conquistador of many sanguine lips,
Whose chocolate touch the civilised heart cheers,
To cultured land was brought from warring ships:
The bitter water of barbaric tears.

[Rinion]

I wrote this a few days ago while trying to avoid studying. I'm not sure how it happened - the first line just occurred to me as I was going to bed and I wrote it down before falling asleep.

A Thimbleful of Marmalade
A thimbleful of marmalade!
I don’t much like to boast,
But this preserve is all I serve,
Just laid beside my toast.
You wouldn’t be the first to ask
Why I must leave this jam to bask
Within so strange and small a cask
When most would use a flask of glass
Instead of baskets made of brass.

Well, I say all jams need to breathe,
And this they cannot do
When they are locked within a crock
To seethe and then to stew.
So, I made myself a thimble
From the brass of an old cymbal
With a smith whose hands were nimble
By the River Kimble’s wimples
With the vital symbol: dimples.

I learnt to haberdash, you see,
And make such little charms
When I was but a tiller’s mutt,
Still free to roam the farms.
There was a milkmaid there who knew
The secrets of all things that grew,
And taught me secretly to brew
That celebrated stew of fruit
Within her tattered shoe: a boot.

A thimbleful of marmalade
Would from the boot be tipped.
With bread I’d eat my dainty sweet:
The maid with gin hers sipped.
(I noticed that you gave a start
When I said that her noble art
Of jammery would in the heart
Of ragged boots take part; she’d laugh:
“Again it makes it tart by half.”)

A boot with marmalade within—
She said “marmelada”:
“The Port would cram his hulls with jam:
Lisbon’s great armada!
The Port drank jam instead of beer;
It gave him strength and put the fear
In everyone who got too near
To where his brigadier appeared;
Since toast with fruit veneer he smeared.”

To brew the perfect marmalade
Is harder than you know:
Fruit must be found from all around,
And some takes years to grow;
The finest sugar must be bought;
Straight from Seville the orange brought;
Fresh butter from Swiss cows be fought;
Greek quinces must be sought and cored;
The first spring rain be caught and stored.

A thimbleful of marmalade!
I don’t much like to boast,
But this preserve is all I serve,
Just laid beside my toast.
You wouldn’t be the first who’s said
You’d like to try my famous spread
You’ve listened long, so go ahead.
Oh dear, there’s no bread, I regret!
We’ll have some tea instead; don’t fret.

[potter573]

Really nice, Rinion. Your rhyme is worth mentioning. At times it seems effortless. The elven one reminded me of golden trees and light; probably Rivendell.

The last one has a nice bit of humor and good rhyming.

[GeniAryaShadslayer]

Hi!
I have to write a sonnet for school. any ideas on what to write it on?