I write, my fingers bleed, I write some more.
A strange chartreusian charm it blends and spills.
The marks are mad as if I fuck a whore
and soon I break another lifeless quill.
But what it is I write, there lay the rub,
for I am clueless as to all this fuss.
My fingers, hand with which I write I stub
and tear the quills and drain the ink and cuss.
Blessed, what I write is in my teeming mind
if not upon the black, blood stainéd page:
of love and need beyond this life to find
and how I reek of illness and of age.
But soon, for me, I’ll know It and be awed
as I look eye to eye with Menkind’s God.
Comments
Good wesley
I like this. Hope I can get there
i have a small problem with
'as if I' in verse 3 stanza 1
'to all this' in verse in verse 2 stanza 2
'is in my' in verse 1 stanza 3
the stresses seem a little weak
also, if we are being fussy with perfect rhyme ... spills / quill
great sonnet Wes
Good strong volta
love judy
xxx
The lines I find no fault with save to say
they are weaker stresses.
The rhyme is my fault. I have been trying to loosen up in the work on my epic poem and allowing things like that. It crept in.
I've scheduled the flogging for next week.
lol
looking again for the 'like' button...
will the flogging be a public or private affair?
love judy
xxx
Have I said I like this sir?
especially the theme.
I see no problem that "blessed" is a monosyllable, but isn't it STRESSED :)
Yes, there is trouble there.
The whole line reads anapest. Although anapest is the traditional companion of iamb, it is out of place in this workshop.
Judyanne, all floggings are public if they're to mean anything and it looks like I'll be thrown to the sharks covered in blood.
Hey, that's not bad imagery.
:)
Yeah! Not bad at all !! :) But not you. You are a shark yourself sir!