Winner of the Jeffrey’s Sonnet Challenge

Have you tried a Jeffrey’s sonnet?

The weekend challenge on the Facebook group Rising Moon Poetry was to write one.

Here is the winning entry


REVENGE (Jeffreys Sonnet)

His perfidy, did not make sense
He had not any good defense
Would she forgive? Now, on his knees
A woman knows when all’s been said
Not all prevails, some feelings dead
And yet, his groveling – does please!

Though, she agrees yet, on a whim
She’ll not forget, forgive – not him
The bed he’s made, not fit to lie
Stirred deep within her bitter soul
A rage that she’ll not ne’er control
It seems someone might have to die!

He might could cry, to live – his goal
He’ll pay the toll, and even lie

Oh, he’ll not e’er forget this night
Betrayal won’t sit well despite
Attempts to reconcile the wrong
The laugh inside as she strikes out
Will leave no room for him to doubt
This err wont fade, ‘twill carry on

And he alone, beneath the skies
So vulnerable and none-the-wise
Iniquity did not serve well
Perhaps he should pick up and run
The malice through the air’s been spun
His pardon begged did surely fail

She’s cast her spell – he just should go
But, he’ll not know – nor – ever tell!

© 2018 RubyPond All rights reserved
https://www.rubypondallthatiswriterly.com/

Anticipation

Anticipation
Starting a new chapter
Anticipation
New period of rapture
Anticipation
Tick all the boxes

Anticipation
Expecting lots of validation
Throw out procrastination
Anticipation
Putting aside old wrongs
Clean sheet being strong

Anticipation
Damp down expectations
Anticipation
Waiting for adventure, to hatch
Anticipation

© Samantha Beardon

Infused

Infused

Standing close
I drink the view
I trace your mouth
The essence of you
I gaze in your eyes
Drown in their pools
My emotions stretched
Sexuality infused
Your hot breath
Grazes my cheek
I take a step closer
Feel so weak
Your heartbeat
Meshes with mine
Safe in your arms
In our special time.

Samantha Beardon ©

Desert Island

Clouds are building and tinted opalescent
The sky is pinky golden orange bathed
The sun drops from the sky into the sea
As it hangs it radiates a light stripe
Across the coloured water a path
I stand on the darkening sand awe struck
Should I tread that path or sit by the boat
I listen to the gentle lap of waves
Pebbles rattling as they are disturbed
Perpetual motion the sea progresses
I sit resting my back against the boat
It still feels warm a comfort an anchor
A solo palm tree my companion
Sharing the vista the tranquility
I jump at an intrusive noise a beep
Reluctantly I open my eyes
I stretch and look at an office desk
Piled high with files pens and paperwork
Relaxation over I tackle work

The wheeze effect

They heard a cracked wheezing and scraping
as she practiced her chords on the violin
Slow speed amplified the noises and screeches

The wipers wheezed as they tried to shift
The snow from the windscreen as it fell
In increasing amounts clogging the mechanism

She had an idea a fun plan
It would cause some havoc
But her friends would get the gag….wheeze

Drawing breath was hard
Between every phrase the lungs wheezed
Like broken bellows

Every laboured breath caused
The musical sounds of the
Expiratory Wheeze
Samantha Beardon ©

A Three-Pointer

Tetiana Aleksina's avatarunbolt me

Do you know how to tell a good poem from a bad one? It’s easy. I can teach you.

Just crumple up a sheet of paper and throw it into the bin in the far corner. The bad poem never reaches it. It will always drop somewhere halfway, rebounding off the rim then rolling beneath your sofa. Argh! And there you go, swearing, to pick it up and toss it in from a little closer.

But the good poem always makes it. Hell… now you’re groaning and you have to go over to the bin to retrieve it. But, did you know… you can choose to forget it instead. Just leave it in the bin. Don’t worry. The really good poem will never leave your head. I should know. I’ve checked.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2016

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Winner of the weekend challenge on Rising Moon Poetry.

For the weekend free verse poetry challenge

My Sailboat

Sometimes I like to get away from it all
Having alone time, I just have a ball
On weekends, good memories I make
To have fun, just being on the lake.

It’s so peaceful, my sail catching all the breeze
As I watch the wind, flowing through the trees
I listen to the waves, crashing all around
So beautiful is nature, so sweet the sound.

Sometimes I like to take her nice and slow
Coasting the current, watching the water flow
Then there’s other times, no warnings I heed
As I tell everyone, she’s more fun at top speed.

The time of my life, I’m living the dream
My little piece of Heaven it seems
Here in the waters, I’m having a blast
Such great times, that ends too fast.

Out here in my sailboat, is my happy place
It’s where you’ll see me with a smiling face
I will always end up, with a happy story
For I’m sailing away, free from my worries.

© Jeff Anthony 2018

Life confounds

What is it with life
it has ups and downs
pleasure , pain, joy
and heartbreak
do the rounds

Would that our lives
could, just be pleasure
No pain or woe
for us to measure.

Why is it, things
go so wrong
bad things happen
regardless just be strong

How do I deal
with the days
that are black
when the roof
caves in
the cheque
bounces back

I have to dig deep
in my reserve
in my internal resevoir
my beliefs must serve

What is it with life
it has ups and downs
pleasure, pain, joy
and heartbreak
life can confound

Samantha Beardon ©

World poetry Day entries from the Rising moon poetry group. Facebook.

#worldpoetryday

Reactions

The seed was planted long ago
In the pit of despair
That forms my stomach
Sending out acid tendrils
That snake around my trachea
And squeeze the breath
From my inflated lungs
That invade the neurons
Within my brain
Short-circuiting each connection
Each attempt to overcome
Or circumvent
The rising fear

What can I do for now
Except to hold on
For the heaving, bucking ride
It will take me on
And hope that some day
One day
I will learn what it means
To be alive
And not just to live
Within the cage formed
From panic gone astray

(c) 2018 Miriam Ruff

Luna
Someone told me
We all belong to the universe
We have to choose
To be a Stars or Planets
You say, you want to be a Star
You want to be surounded by Planets
You say, I too should be a Star
And I to should be as an equal
Or, I should be a planet ….
But, I don’t want to be neither one
I want to be just Luna
Why? Do you ask…
I say. Do not to be a Star?
Eventually, the Stars burn out
In their own flames
Extinguishing into a Dwarf
And I am not a planet
To rotate around a Star,
You say, but Luna
Is small, and insignificant
For universe
You say, my soul will set in darkness,
You say, I will need a Star
To rise in perfect light at night
You say I will be seeking light
For my survival
To be at least a visible for once
I will be only hold of a Star
Reflection
To shine only during night.
You say I will depend
On shine of the Star
Maybe so…
But, I can dim a Star
By puting it into my shadow.
Creating something so extraordinary
For everyone….
Eclipse….
And after all… I will be loved by many
And forever…
A&R 2018 # worldpoetryday

#worldpoetryday
This is an extended metaphor about poetry

Word Fish

I read eyes screwed,mouthing silent words
Carp or goldfish out of the pond eyes glazed
Words shaken and spilled across the table
Not food yet for a stranded fish
My feeble movements push a pile of words into a line
Ideas like unbudded lily pads float beside me
I need a barrier on which to lever myself
Or a line with a hook to anchor my mind to yours
The need to dive deep drives me
Will you look at this rippling image
Feel the depth of my need to communicate
As I make a journey into ideas
Eyes, screwed, mouthing words I etch on paper .

Samantha Beardon©

THE BEAUTY OF POETRY

So stunning you are
Coming at a time as this
Bringing sheaves of hope
Hope that knits love and faith

You came to me when I was down
Lifted me with such soothing words
Words that heals my heart
My heart is now aglow of you

Now you’ve beautified my ugliness
Brought me close to greatness
Greatness with purpose
Purpose turn into prosperous posterity

I see you all time in my sleep
I’ll not let you slip
You gave me platform of nobility
Now revel I in such credibility
Credibility turn into creativity
Creativity is now dignity

How beautiful you are
To my path of allurement
Gracious you are
To my betterment

Today is here
Here to celebrate you
What a being you are!
You’ve given me you
You for a keep
And I’ll keep you
For tomorrow’s reap

#Happy World’s Poetry Day

David Njoku

Poetry as visual Art

Poetry as Visual Art

Whilst poetry has an aural tradition we also read it and look at it. Therefore you should consider the look of your poem as well as the way ut sounds. Poetry should be visual art as well as gaving musicality and flow. Therefore the poet needs to also consider the visual aspect of the poem.

Poetry is also a visual art and if the words of the poem are centred it can suggest a spine of ink down the centre of the page, with the white space encroaching on it.
Take this poem by Dennis O’Driscoll for example – the lines look as if they are stacked up in a precarious Jenga tower, which contributes to the poem’s theme:
Life
Life gives
us something
to live for:
we will do
whatever it takes
to make it last.
Kill in just wars
for its survival.
Wolf fast-food
during half-time breaks.
Wash down
chemical cocktails,
as prescribed.
Soak up
hospital radiation.
Prey on kidneys
at roadside pile-ups.
Take heart
from anything
that might
conceivably grant it
a new lease.
We would give
a right hand
to prolong it.
Cannot imagine
living without it.
Dennis O’Driscoll

Unfortunately internet sites often mean we lose deliberate formatting which loses us a dimension in our poems impact.

Here is a poem by Miroslav Holub as you will see it on most websites

Go and open the door.
Maybe outside there’s
a tree, or a wood,
a garden,
or a magic city.
Go and open the door.
Maybe a dog’s rummaging.
Maybe you’ll see a face,
or an eye,
or the picture
of a picture.
Go and open the door.
If there’s a fog
it will clear.
Go and open the door.
Even if there’s only
the darkness ticking,
even if there’s only
the hollow wind,
even if
nothing
is there,
go and open the door.
At least
there’ll be
a draught.

The Door
by Miroslav Holub

Shaped
Go and open the door.
Maybe outside there’s
a tree, or a wood,
a garden,
or a magic city.

Go and open the door.
Maybe a dog’s rummaging.
Maybe you’ll see a face,
or an eye,
or the picture
of a picture.

Go and open the door.
If there’s a fog
it will clear.

Go and open the door.
Even if there’s only
the darkness ticking,
even if there’s only
the hollow wind,
even if
nothing
is there,
go and open the door.

At least
there’ll be
a draught.

The Door
by Miroslav Holub

This is how it was designed to be read. It adds another dimension.

And if the poem is aligned to the right this might instil a sense of instability, with the reader casting their eyes about looking for the start of each line which is floating in space rather than aligned left, where we usually expect to find it when reading.
For example this unsettling poem by Sam Riviere is made more unsettling because of its layout:

Gothic Poem
wider than a library
& strewn with flyleaves
torn from 2nd-hand novels
a grave lays in a plot of sun
like an abandoned picnic
& somewhere nearby a green bonfire
in the background a maroon lawnmower rides onto the pavement

Compare it to this more traditional way of alignment:

Gothic Poem
wider than a library
& strewn with flyleaves
torn from 2nd-hand novels
a grave lays in a plot of sun
like an abandoned picnic
& somewhere nearby a green bonfire
in the background a maroon lawnmower rides onto the pavement

The imagery is still unsettling but the whole thing feels less jarring.

This is another dimension to consider in writing poetry in particular free verse, line length, line placement and use of white space. In addition to your imagery, words and metaphors.

© S. Beardon