A sonnet is a poem made of 14 rhyming lines written in iambic pentameter. The rhyme schemes could be either:
1. Italian sonnet, also known as the Petrarchan sonnet. Named after a famous Italian sonneteer, Francesco Petrarch.
The first 8 lines, which is the first two quatrains are rhymed as followed:
ABBA, ABBA,
The next 6 lines can be rhymed CDE/CDE, Or CDCDCD.
There is a turning point from the 2 quatrains to the final stanza of 6 lines, it is considered a "TURN" or a VOLTA that effects the tone or mood of the poem.


Then there is my favorite, The English sonnet. It was developed by Henry Howard and is also known as the Shakespearean sonnet. It is made up of three quatrains and a final couplet.
The rhyme scheme is either:
ABAB, CDCD, EFEF, GG. OR
ABBA CDDC EFFE GG.

The Spenserian sonnet links the three quatrains in rhyme pattern of:ABAB , BCBC, CDCD, EE.

The final couplet in both are where that turn in mood or concept is placed.

HERES AN EXAMPLE:


She was too kind, wooed too persistently'

by Samuel Butler

She was too kind, wooed too persistently,
Wrote moving letters to me day by day;
The more she wrote, the more unmoved was I,
The more she gave, the less could I repay.
Therefore I grieve, not that I was not loved,
But that, being loved, I could not love again.
I liked, but like and love are far removed;
Hard though I tried to love I tried in vain.
For she was plain and lame and fat and short,
Forty and over-kind. Hence it befell
That though I loved her in a certain sort,
Yet did I love too wisely but not well.
Ah! had she been more beauteous or less kind
She might have found me of another mind.



Enjoy Writing SONNETS! :)

A Dance of Fall ...


September dawns and summer's heat relents
beneath the vivid hues of Autumn's best.
I sit beside the window, quite content
to witness season's change; a magic quest.
The leaves are freshly fallen--whisked and drawn
as debris pirouettes a dance in air.
So swiftly twirling, whirling 'bout the lawn,
like pixies blowing kisses, light and fair.
Then something swirls around; to my surprise
enchanting me with every soaring spin.
Its graceful dives and glides so mesmerize
and stirs euphoric pleasures deep within.
I watch a plastic shopping bag in flight,
amazed that such a sight can bring delight.

EJD

I humbly thank you Jewel of the Nile for posting this wonderful thread and explanation of Sonnets!  :)  WAHOO!

I'm still new to them myself, and I just wanted to say, you've made them sound simple and challenging merged into one powerful package!

Thank you and HUGS!!
Cleo  

Simply beautiful!  :love:

Your imagery brings this to life even more! My favorite season in New England.  :)  :)  :)

I can almost feel the wind and the smells.
My fav:
"So swiftly twirling, whirling 'bout the lawn,
like pixies blowing kisses, light and fair."

Hugs!
Cleo

My first sonnet. I also incorporated oxymorons. It needs work I admit....comments welcome.  :juggle:


Nostalgia’s Abyss

Silent screams resonate her sweet sorrow;
forgotten memories, lost in true lies.
Civil war leads to anguished hope; she cries
bitter sweet tears - withered on the morrow.
Constant change leads simply to confusion,
alone together, just she and her mind;
Seeking a criminal justice inside,
pronounced silence, the harmful conclusion.
Her sleepless sleep enslaves a small fortune,
in a place where real potential exists;
nostalgia purloins toward an abyss
of random logic, where sanity’s strewn.

Intense apathy draws her back to the place,
where she seeks only the will to erase.

Brief Novice

Impressive PowerPoint emblazoned on
a screen with color-coded graphs explaining
things that everyone could see quite plainly
-- if they knew the acronyms.  (I yawn.)

I cast a furtive glance about, to see
if I’m the only one confused or bored.
Aha!  A pair of eyes; they’re straying toward
my own.  We smile relief, “It’s not just me!”

Oh no!  I fear his supervisor caught
that upturned lip, the slightest wink.
But wait; he’s nodding off?  Then “Snort.”  I think
someone behind me’s dozing.  Notes I jot.

Quite soon I’ll look as though I understand
and nod appreciatively till I’m canned.

© Daniel J Ricketts 23 March 2002

Hi Daniel,  

Thanks for rescuing our sonnet thread and posting to it.  I love most all of your sonnets, including this one!  Maybe some other folks will pick up on this thread and begin posting too!  Hope so!      

Hugs and blessings,
Dolly  

Yes, maybe we can get old Tom in here, Dolly!  Whatcha think?

Here's a rather off-beat one -- my twenty-sixth:

Canvas Specs

An artist can be drawn into his sketches
almost unaware he’s painting self –
not someone else – till on the twelfth
spot on the clock, somehow he catches

on  this final hour the bells and whistles
wake the neighborhood inside his body
to the fact there’s something to his gaudy
blotches scattered ‘round, and thorns and thistles

hidden in the background of his portraits,
intricate in detail, living, breathing
on the canvas.  See the border seething
sometimes unexplained with many more traits.

Hard to figure how they’re in the drawing.
Could it be there’s something inside gnawing?

© Daniel J Ricketts 24 April 2002

In May

A scent of promise wafts from Spring bouquets
and hope imbues the yellow daffodils.  
In May, the hills display soft maiden frills,  
beguile the bees to court their fragrant sprays.

The mower drones amidst a gray exhaust,
yet blades of grass explode with green perfume
while chirps and twitters anxiously resume
to cheer the feathered swoops for insects tossed.

But I avoid the blooms and tweets, evade
the lengthened hours of light.  I lock my door
and pull the curtains tight, ignore both chore
and sport, to mourn the ways my youth has strayed.

A cherub’s voice impales my pall of dread,
I love you Mommy.  Happy Birthday!  he said.

deLightful, de Lovely Mickelle!

Race through this one:  

deLightingly, Daniel  :sun:

Catching Mania

Contagion is a strange and wond’rous thing.
The world’s a stage for hypomania.
But stages come and go; the zanier
the mood, the more depression it may bring
when it plays out.  Without a doubt it will,
and all the bit-part characters who yet
engage with Leading Player, you can bet,
bear risk of crashing, burning, trying still
to take away the consequences of
the crazy episode.  They’ll fear to talk
or feel; they’ll pass along the egg-shell walk.
Somehow they think they can survive above
the up/down dancing with a manic soul
who gets depressed again.  Ring up the toll!

© Daniel J Ricketts 24 April 2002

Danse à la Cuisine

Her finely seasoned, choice ingredients
prepared with care and toil, immersed in bath,
now fill the house with rare, exotic scents…
she glides to privacy behind the lath.

Impatient beauty dances there, alone,
her bronzing flesh exposed… yet without shame,
un-toweled, still dripping skin so soft… a moan
that won’t stay simmering on a patient flame.

There must be someone with her there who shares
that bubbling, wafting, soaring flight of dreams;
such mystery… to solve it no one dares…
emerging clothed, her love bursts at the seams.

No neon lights reflected on her face,
but bright eyes giggling, squeaky-clean, she’s grace.

© Daniel J Ricketts 21 Nov 2003

Darn you people,

I am feeding sonnet bait into Socrates' Synapse pond fishing for comments while the feeding frenzy is here.

Yes, it would be nice if Tom would help us novice sonnetters.  I've been fortunate that he has not let any of mine lie on Socrates' water without an honest crit.

Don

QUOTE (Cleo_Serapis @ Aug. 22 2003, 18:21)

My first sonnet. I also incorporated oxymorons. It needs work I admit....comments welcome.  


Nostalgia’s Abyss

Silent screams resonate her sweet sorrow;
forgotten memories, lost in true lies.
Civil war leads to anguished hope; she cries
bitter sweet tears - withered on the morrow.
Constant change leads simply to confusion,
alone together, just she and her mind;
Seeking a criminal justice inside,
pronounced silence, the harmful conclusion.
Her sleepless sleep enslaves a small fortune,
in a place where real potential exists;
nostalgia purloins toward an abyss
of random logic, where sanity’s strewn.

Intense apathy draws her back to the place,
where she seeks only the will to erase.

Hi Lori,

I know enough about sonnets to be dangerous, so look out.

Per usual your imagery is strong.
All except line thirteen has correct number of syllables.
Something about that number 13, huh?  I would drop "the," risking someone yelling, "Minimalist!"

First four lines are supposed to set ryhme scheme (of the options) for following three stanzas--or sets of four lines.  I am speaking in English sonnet terms as this is what you have.

In first stanza your scheme is ABBA, but your second is CDEC rather than CDDC.  

I will write off third stanza as okay with near rhymes, exists/abyss.  
Whoa, I reverse myself.  Fortune/strewn do not ryhme. Plus fortune needs an end accent rather than a beginning accent. One of those iambic rules.

Maybe ending line 9 with little tune in place of "small fortune?"

In this case your volta of final two lines is a summing of the previous lines, which is technically correct.

I am going to beg off of iambic as most times I dig myself into a hole by doing so with other author's verse.

I am also going to beg off of rhythm, which is high profile, because I seem to have a tin ear.

Nice job Cleo.

QUOTE (Just Daniel @ Nov. 12 2003, 04:52)

Yes, maybe we can get old Tom in here, Dolly!  Whatcha think?

Here's a rather off-beat one -- my twenty-sixth:

Canvas Specs

An artist can be drawn into his sketches
almost unaware he’s painting self –
not someone else – till on the twelfth
spot on the clock, somehow he catches

on  this final hour the bells and whistles
wake the neighborhood inside his body
to the fact there’s something to his gaudy
blotches scattered ‘round, and thorns and thistles

hidden in the background of his portraits,
intricate in detail, living, breathing
on the canvas.  See the border seething
sometimes unexplained with many more traits.

Hard to figure how they’re in the drawing.
Could it be there’s something inside gnawing?

[sizeAre]© Daniel J Ricketts 24 April 2002[/size]

Hi Just Daniel,

I know you are more of a sonnet master, so I question for personal illumination...if you please?

Stanza 3:
Are end rhymes of lines 1 & 4 and lines 2 & 3 cheater rhymes??

Don

QUOTE (Don @ Nov. 25 2003, 16:12)

Hi Daniel,

I know you are more of a sonnet master, so I question for personal illumination...if you please?

Stanza 3:
Are end rhymes of lines 1 & 4 and lines 2 & 3 cheater rhymes??

Don

Hey, Don!  Sorry to be so long in getting back here!  I'd forgotten about the post... and I did say it was off-beat, didn't I?  

How about trying this one on for size?

Englitch Poetry bLight

Where did my English teachers get those names?
No wonder I had thought that I was dumb;
Iambic  and Pentameter?  Word games!
da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM

Why couldn’t they say “5 du DUMs”? and rhyme?
I understand abab; that’s clear.
and cdcd efef, fine.
and even gg… sure, but who’s shake spear?

a raving native writer whose long pen
he’d wave at all his critics, warning them
that they’d be his next victim?  No?  Who then?
Elizabethan?  Pome with diadem?

Well, Teach, I think my DUMdaDUMin’s right;
now could ya help me...  What?  I'm imp o' Light?

© M Lee Dickens’son 16 Feb 2004

Some great reading here....I feel like a kid in a candy store. I've been writing sonnets for nearly a year...I think I'm hooked.

This is my first Petrarchan Sonnet:

The View

A  rose and golden  twilight paints the skies
as ocean breezes drift into their room
through open windows, shattering the gloom
that lingers where they whispered long goodbyes.
She gazes out to sea with teary eyes
and savors  scents of daffodils in bloom.
Will mem’ries of their parting always loom?.
He's gone and won't return. She softly sighs.

Then comes a sudden chill to grip the air
when all at once the sun sinks out of sight.
She sees it going down within her view,
just as it always does when no one’s  there
to watch it slip away into the night.
Tomorrow paints with pallet bright and new.

By Susan Eckenrode

and a beautiful sonnet this is, Susan!

Here's one I wrote in the emergency room last night with a red pencil on a chart paper the nurse gave me:

Horseshoe Blues

A liquid diet hasn’t much appeal
while lying in an ER room at night.
I’d really like at least a 2-course meal.
Come back here, Doc; I’m ready for a fight.

Okay, I know how dumb I was today
to work out in the yard without a drink…
then horseshoes in the sun.  [I like to play!]
Yes, vision kinda blurred. What do you think…

I shoulda stopped the game!?  We were ahead!
Sat down and drank a bit; my vision cleared…
a little bit at least, and as I said,
I didn’t wanna stop.  That’s how I’m geared.

I looked beyond the cloud to throw the shoes
and got the last two points… and now, the blues.

© Daniel J Ricketts 21 July 2004
in Emergency Room with low blood pressure from dehydration,
protesting an overnight stay and no solid food

Fences

Old fireplace crackles with a hickory breath
inviting neighbors in to share the hearth…
but no one comes, as though it smells of death
inside; next door, behind a wall, cold mirth.

A gentle melody stirs memories
of quiet evenings talking with a friend
or boisterous games with gathered families
on holidays or weekends.  Did that end?

Alas, a fence about each house, three-car
garages filled with tools and gathered toys;
big-screen TV, new DVD, a stocked wet bar
now entertain the grown-up girls and boys.

Good fences make good neighbors, so they say;
perhaps they’ll visit us again some day.

© Daniel J Ricketts 13 Nov 2004

At Close Of Day



Shall we at close of the day, put aside
our chores, relax and drink a cup of tea,
to wash away a day's fatigue or ride
a bicycle or jog and smell the sea ?

Do bring along your dog. He  needs a break.
You'll have a faithful guard and trusty friend.
He  is a listener and will not leak
your secrets, tales of woe. An ear he  lends.

Believe me! I don't mind to be alone
a total peace, to look at the red sun
and sing a little song or kick a stone.
I need not smile. I walk and need not run.

But then we need a comrade while we jog
be he our brother, husband or a dog.
 AggieL

This is a pleasant little piece.  Have you posted it for critique?  I haven't been able to be much there of late, and this I think is my first meeting you! Is this more a modern sonnet, purposely only decasyllabic and not iambic pentameter?

Whatever the case, I love the ending, though I might say "be it..." rather than "he."

in de Light, Daniel

Thanks Daniel for commenting. Yes, it's our first meeting and I am happy
you have time to comment on my poem. I accept "  Be it our brother..."

I have posted it for critiques at complex critiques and come up with a more refine piece.  I am new in this form  but feel rather at home with the format as there are guide lines to follow.  Yes, it's iambic pentameter, except first line and last line..

The way I see it..  

SHALL we AT close OF  the DAY, PUT aSIDE

be IT  our BROther, HUSband OR  a  DOG.





Lai

Ambivalence

When I don’t want to change, I think I do…
but feel like it won’t last, so sense and act
as though I’m past the age when something new
could ever stick with me.  I am, in fact,

ambivalent… or maybe I am not?
Oh God, sometimes I feel a hopeless wreck,
but then I loose the cords in which I’m caught
to soar in freedom… glide… then, what the heck…

I knew it!  I was right; it’s just too late.
It’s time I face reality:  I’m stuck.
It hurts when hope is dashed with every spate
of flying high.  No eagle… I’m a duck.

Pre-contemplation, contemplation, prep
for flight?  This clipped-wing bird’s just out of step.

© MLee Dickens’son 17 May 2005

Around About… a Parable

A parable’s a simple story told
in simple pictures simple folk can hear
to see a simple moral there unfold…
yet Jesus said, Hear, those who have an ear.

Disciples asked, Why do you speak thus, Lord?
Why hide your wisdom?  Can’t you be more plain?
Response left still more questions unexplored…
but once his foll’wers asked, he’d e’er explain.

Those parables make seekers ponder still
o’er simple words with wisdom kneaded deep
inside, beneath, around them; it’s His will
that only seekers find what they may keep…

to ever share with those who search to know,
but who’ve been drawn by Light His foll’wers show.

© Daniel J Ricketts 28 August 2005

Very strong Sonnets Daniel. I am glad to see you're masterful meter is still as museful as ever... I have been barren as of late, so I look to your work to inspire me!

Best Wishes to you, Liz

Hi Liz.  :cheer:

I found this lovely poem by reading it in your Showcase forum. Cool!  :cool:

It's the PUUUUURRRFECT  :kitty: timing to read this seasonal piece too.

I love this:

The leaves are freshly fallen--whisked and drawn
as debris pirouettes a dance in air.
So swiftly twirling, whirling 'bout the lawn,
like pixies blowing kisses, light and fair.

Will enjoy this one over and over again!  :hsdance:

Cheers!
~Cleo  :pharoah:

Not Quoit a Winner

In quoits my fam’ly knows that I am king,
but I’ve been nurt’ring each of them along;
since we’re alone today, we’ll toss the rings
to nudge Eileen a little…. What went wrong?

Our first game, I was handily ahead.
She tied at sixteen; suddenly her throw
had flattened to the wind. Now I was dead;
she finished with two doubles in a row!

I had nineteen, but she had twenty-one.
Was it the shock that took each toss awry?
Our second game was filled with lots of fun—
for her. At 22-5… I cry…

“You’re great!” We smile and hug; that says it all;
in doubles we’ll be victors, standing tall!

© MLee Dickens’son 19 Sept 2006

Original errors in S1L2,3,4
but I’ve been nurt’ring them along;
since we’re alone today, we’ll ring
a few together…. What went wrong?

P.S. She beat me the next game too, 21-16; the first three times Eileen’s ever won!

Hello Daniel,

I am impressed with the sentiments of the poem. If you wouldn't mind, I would love to learn more of the Params of this specific Variation of a Sonnet... Is there a link that you could provide us or some reference for those who might make use of the thread to learn how to write a Sonnet... As doesn't maintain a steady line length.. fluctuating line to line. Since it varies from what the thread offers, perhaps you might want to add some information on this specific Sonnet variation.

Enjoyed sharing in Eileens new winning streak!

Best Regards, Liz

Send my regards to your family...

Thank you for seeing my errors in S1, Liz! I know that you love a sonnet, and you know that I love variants to the sonnet as well as the pure thing, but this was just a fun piece in the standard English sonnet format without much of a turn... until the closing couplet, which I hope came as a bit of a surprise. My goal really has been to nurture others to get better so that there can be a genuine competition. It appears that I've accomplished that goal with Eileen, so now I'd better get better myself! I remember a few years ago when she beat me in a Scrabble game for the very first time in about 30 years... and proceeded to do it again in the next game! (... and to beat me you usually have to get over 380! ).

I appreciate your eye for the sonnet, Liz. Thank you for keeping this tile confusion-free!

deLighting in the exercise, Daniel

P.S. Have you ever given my 'Sonnet Bref' a try?

A Ring of Hope

A pristine, sparkling blue line greets my eye
today, and unexpectedly; the storm
passed quickly. Cotton puffs an azure sky
that meets a silv'ry sheen this quiet morn.

Pressed sand from last night's neap
is ready-made for quoits; I've set red stakes
to play again today, yet billows creep
from west to east, but so far, there are breaks.

A warm sun greets my reddened skin again,
though zephyrs seem to want to speed away.
Will afternoon be troubled more by rain?
If so, then que sera. What can I say?

Eileen may have a shopping spree instead
of placing that quoits-crown back on my head.

© MLee Dickens'son 20 Sept 2006

Hi Daniel,

I didn't think it was an error, but I am glad to have been some help. Scrabble is something me and my mom use to play daily. She too, like you would beat me with unimaginable scores in the high 300's and even low 400s She was a wizard at scrabble. It wasn't until she got very ill that I could even come close to winning. Oh I miss her so very much. Thank you for the memory! :)

Keep them running after ya Daniel! And perhaps I might check out that Sonnet Bref. I've never done a Variation of a Sonnet before... I am still trying to get the Classic down! LOL

Best Regards, Liz

I'll be back a little later to give some impressions and comments on the latest Sonnet posted! :)

Train of Thought

A train of thought goes chugging on its way
to some iambic stanza down the line
where it will offer hope to words supine
and carry dreams aloft without delay.
It pauses for a moment to portray
how adjectives or adverbs intertwine
with imagery and metaphoric sign
to make of drudgery a bright bouquet.

An ailing sonnet, overcome by stress
and worn, archaic terms like thee and thou
lies near the tracks and hails the passing train.
On wobbly feet it signals its distress
and agony, then wipes its furrowed brow
as off they go – they’re destined for Mundane.

I enjoyed your sonnet Merlin.

Perhaps you might just nidge me to actually try and write one!

Methinks it might end up destined for Mundane though...
Cheers

Cleo

English Sonnet:

Costly Grace

Will I miss Grace when life is woven well?
forget that every shuttle I may thread
so deftly... moved with Light that freely fell
from His unfailing Eye and Hand that’s led?

And is it not renewed in every Sun
that peers upon each mourning of my life?
Have I not mercy found… though oft I’ve run
from tragedies or struggles, filled with strife?

Yea, we must strive… but to embrace
His Love, and grasp the overriding Truth
that Storm or Fire are somehow filled with Grace,
though I can’t help but feel that they’re uncouth.

The cost of what He freely gives to men
is bloody far beyond what I could pen.

© MLee Dickens’ son O1 Oct 2006

reflecting on Hebrews 12:14,15

A Peasant's Sonnet

'tis Shakespeare kept me 'way from poetry,
an' try'n ta understand Ol' English lines
'd turn me off again if'n I'd ta be
a Classics man; I's comf'trble wi' swine.

So I'll be keepin' feet where they c'n dance
wi' common folk who ain't but boot 'n' thong
ta jig on; I ain't likely much ta prance
the courtyard in a Joie de Vivre sarong.

See, perfect jest ain't me, so I don' care
about some anapestic dactyl gaff;
if you dodecasyllable'd, I'd stare
all blankly wondrin' if ya'd killed a calf.

What Play or Scene's irrelevant to me,
'cause I ain't gonna see it 'less it's free.

© MLee Dickens'son 19 March 2007