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Cliche (Sonnet) by Blue Magpie Cliches are lovely things, I think they say
much that a rarer phrase cannot express,
and in the common mind, the role they play,
is one much filled with beauty and largess.
When used discerningly within a verse
their nuances of meaning are quite sweet,
though writ unthinkingly they are a curse
that seldom helps a poet find his feet.
The poet who would make their light his own
must keep such phrases constantly at hand
and close his ears to critics as they moan,
then with girded loins pick up his pen and
rebel. Finding within a phrase thatâs old
some image, that while used, is good as gold.
Up the ladder:
Hecate, and the high hunt
Down the ladder:
Clay Man
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 7.5
Posted: May 27, 2003 8:42 PM PDT; Last modified: May 27, 2003 8:42 PM PDTWeighted score: 6.25 Overall Rank: 924 Comments:
[10]
INTRANSIT @ 152.163.252.72
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28-May-03/5:14 AM
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Reply
Bingo.
I have a soft spot for this, well done.
Oh, I see, ten duh, shit that means all of mine are off, fuck, back to the drawing board. that will atleast give me something to edit tonight.
Great Sonnet.
Hi Horus,
Yes 10, its called Iambic pentametre, five iambic steps so that you walk through the rhythm of the lines da dum all the way. The rhyme scheme makes this an English or Shakespearean sonnet Rainstorm over Angelos cafe which I will post in a minute has a different rhyme scheme and is an Italian or Petrachian sonnet
Well actually I won't post it because I have done my three for this week. But here it is.A Rainstorm Over Angeloâs Cafe
(18/5/2003) To live, is to be part of all that lives. To feel within your soul the greater beat of beauty in a world spread at your feet, and be ennobled by the joy it gives. The distant hills, greyed by the Summer rain, the thunder telling tales of hidden might, the swallows as they flick their magic flight, the cat watching the sparrows peck at grain, contribute in their own entrancing ways to bless the moment and its joyous kiss, that leaves a lingâring memory of bliss, and stirs my mind to symphonies of praise. A momentâs peace, felt, yet best defined less by whatâs there, than by whatâs left behind.
largess should be largesse
Very good -9- 214 view(s)
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