The american sonnet

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door! The title of the poem and the first two lines refer to the Colossus of Rhodesone of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient Worldsometimes described as standing astride the harbor. The "sea-washed, sunset gates" are the mouths of the Hudson and East Rivers, to the west of Brooklyn.

The american sonnet

I would The american sonnet in a book with a pencil Before I was taught to write in verse And too young to know or care about love, Everyone seemed older which was worse And refused to allow me in their council.

My use of crayons was well understood And frustrations and desires would discharge. My many coloured crayons, my expression, Noiseless always as my feelings were birthed On cartridge paper solid enough to draw on To hold my feelings, for what they were worth And many distractions to earn their admiration.

Kathy Anderson

Would you like to join me here in my recall? One more sip as lovely music plays on my radio And so much poetry has it dragged out of me. We must also speak of how desire helps transport The passion existing ever between me and she.

So I spoke with, Kanga and Wambi again, Clearing memories covered in dust and grime. The beings there were awake somehow Uncared for, ignored, yet alive and warm.

Treating them as if their whole life is of concern And keep them weak protecting them from strife. I hear you criticise me saying I am rude It is a fact, that tempering requires white heat And air conditioned protection provides naught Then leaves them wanting much and incomplete Leaving us wondering why the world is screwed.

Therefore Nature in her desire to grow is stopped There is black there, from the scorching flames Set by nature to help procreate, and some by man Some caused by idiot teenagers playing games, Mostly reclaiming her rights that man has cropped. Common sense must be used, not mortal combat.

Wind off an ocean whispers and calls Matching heartbeats with sensing ends, Guitar strum sounds echoes and mends Embracing thighs whilst making friends Movement, touch and sounds enthrals. Embrace, touch light much loving brought Wishing to linger in loves hallowed halls No rules to love except our own protocols As winds off an ocean whispers and calls Kiss flavoured winds are my thought.

Cover your eyes and really touch things How empty a room is without love there, And the fullness and warmth of one that has.

The american sonnet

The feeling of touching someone who cares The difference in life twixt winter and spring. Hearing the wailing of Death as she starts to prance Seeing the reaper, sweeping you with his glare. Then you will see white wings of Death outspread Cognisant what was stolen long ago is there Now knowing that your life can never be the same.

And to have life given back you really care For life only starts when you accept your dead. I do not like it, no longer is my mind free Instead, waking time is with thoughts thee Thoughts once controlled and simple kind.

Then whilst apart your innards churn For bodies touching in nightly rounds For any music that brings your love back To a sensuous tempo of loving sounds With your lovers steps so quickly learnt.

Terry Clitheroe

Each night to loves dancing we return Earthly bodies lie on silken grounds We all win when dancing to loves tune. In a ballroom fit for loving rounds With souls locked in a heavenly sojourn. Your taste is the one I will crave all my life, But apart at present by many miles and lands Though still together in our soul and minds Then there is Skype and others, they are grand We can speak and see, avoiding most of strife.

As I drove, Autumn showed itself to me today Already the tourists have left and prices fallen And Winter is threatening with colder winds Red and brown leaves all over look crestfallen With time Spring will come with her new ballet.

The memories I hope time will erase But times were good, you gave me hope I suddenly thought how well we coped Those sugared words, made me a dope I realise now you were just a craze. The spoils of war are now there at your feet It never was love I realise that now Or even lust, reluctantly I would allow None of those I realised, your just shallow I finally must admit you have me beat.

With the full silvered moon smiling on high. The moon in Venus lighting the morn is ours Creating a magic winds with a silken sigh Had not feelings like was possessed of flight Been entranced by looking at stars on high Having feelings aroused, becoming aware That to be without you I would rather die Those feelings aroused are always right.Traditionally, the sonnet is a fourteen-line poem written in iambic pentameter, which employ one of several rhyme schemes and adhere to a tightly structured thematic organization.

Two sonnet forms provide the models from which all other sonnets are formed: the Petrarchan and the Shakespearean. 30days30poets: Billy Collins’ “American Sonnet” April 5th, This week, our poetry selections have explored “singing” the American experience.

Today’s poem also takes up this subject, though from a different vantage point.

The american sonnet

The editors discuss two poems by Terrance Hayes called "American Sonnet for My Past and Future Assassin" from the September issue of Poetry. Essay – The American Sonnet The ‘American Sonnet’ is not like any other sonnet, and is proud to be different.

Billy Collins opens his sonnet by saying, “We do not speak like Petrarch, or wear a hat like Spenser, and it is not fourteen lines.”. Essay – The American Sonnet The ‘American Sonnet’ is not like any other sonnet, and is proud to be different. Billy Collins opens his sonnet by saying, “We do not speak like Petrarch, or wear a hat like Spenser, and it is not fourteen lines.”.

Selection of American Sonnets from handouts and the textbook, student notebooks, and a graphic organizer charting their choices for most effective rhyme, plot of the poem, inferences about the speaker and most effective use of diction.

The Sonnet: Poetic Form | Academy of American Poets