It’s God’s own truth, my boy, forsooth
it’s vain to say, unless saying it brings joy.
The feel of consonants, rude and uncouth,
can yet be soothed by vowels, so toy
with sounds, and shape the words with care.
Each word that tumbles off your tongue
can show and lay another image bare,
to light the memories that you’ve brung.
Like diamond glitterings of thread
that line dark hallways in your mind,
the words might riot in your head,
or discolor how you view mankind.
Don’t let those passages, with shadow fraught,
dispel hope or derail your thought.
Author notes
Another birthday, eh? Hopefully it will be better than the last, and each following will be better yet.
A contest entry
- #104 at Winklings for Winklings and Friends elsewhere of Pamela A Lamppa by Lyndon.
6000 points, ended August 28, 2008, 17 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think?
Comments
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a view of poetry as a medium and as a method for instigating thought...this is artistically, skillfully done and with a gentle urging...nonetheless an urging for action. Thank you for this fine entry into the contest and best of luck in the judging...PK *
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Someone Quotes Dante Rossetti Below.
For what it's worth, I like yours better than his. Your sonnet is much more readable, the old world lingo too difficult for me to untangle. I get the jist of it, but unless you either devote hours of study to the language of the day, it loses something in the translation. I never read much Shakespeare for the same reason. You have to stop at nearly every paragraph to understand the cultural references. Or you breeze through it only gleaning 20% of the story. Heh, I wonder how easily Shakespeare could navigate through what we write. He'd have an awful lot of catching up to do with all the new words, phrases, tradenames, processes, etc.
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But he was a genius ...
I doubt it would take him long at all.
Thanks for stopping by.
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beautiful page and words!
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Bringing to light the boldness of verse...
this one resounds with a true poet's fire
and the will to spread it. Blue
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this rolls right off of the tounge, and pleasantly burrows into thought proceses...Gentle admonishings combined with encouragements...brilliantly written
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Thank you for sharing, JD. It's strange that you chose this subject at this time because I wrote something recently which had more than colorful language in it. To lay an image bare puts it mildly in some cases, but it was a memoir of an incident with my son.
Writers learn the nuances of mood and character through artful use of words. Pamela's writing is a wonderful example, and I hope I get more opportunities to enjoy her work. (Happy Birthday, Pam! )
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LOL ...
mildly indeed.
Yes, Pamela does very well, and she certainly has a poet's soul.
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A wonderful tribute to a lovely lady, who I can see loved it.
All the best...Sue
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Mille fois merci ...
and thanks for stopping by.
I hope your life is evening out for you by now and that you've begun to feel much better. It's such a drag to feel bad all the time.
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Nice to see can still see the bright side, "01"...
Keep the faith!
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Sometimes it can be a trifle difficult.
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Great poem and the tittle is just so captivating. synaesthesia... I can it being the basis of poetry. Great work.
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Firstly I love the word synaesthesia.
Secondly I love the idea of synaesthesia. It's just...it blows my mind to think about it...though really it's just crossed wires...
Thirdly, I remember you had a contest with a link to an article about synaesthesia being the basis of poetry...and pictures of spiky and rounded shapes and giving them names etc...
I love the rhythm.
Though it seems my mind is far too willing to get lost within itself and not get out to write for weeks and months...
Do you possess an antidote...other than willpower?
Maybe bottled willpower...
But again, that's just lazy
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An antidote?
Hmmmm ...
All I can say is that you might keep in mind that we only have a certain number of hours on Earth, and as each one passes, it's gone forever, whether you have accomplished anything in that hour or not.
Check this out:
THE SONNET
by Dante. Gabriel Rossetti
A Sonnet is a moment's monument,--
Memorial from the Soul's eternity
To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be,
Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,
Of its own intricate fulness reverent:
Carve it in ivory or in ebony,
As Day or Night prevail; and let Time see
Its flowering crest impearled and orient.
A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals
The soul,--its converse, to what Power 'tis due:--
Whether for tribute to the august appeals
Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue
It serve; or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath,
In Charon's palm it pay the toll to Death.
and this link will take you to the image he included when he presented the poem to his mother:
www.rossettiarchive.org/
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To be honest...
I prefer your sonnets
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Possibly that's because ...
of the language. He wrote that hundreds of years ago. The language has changed a bit since then. But think, what could I have ever said that could compare to this?
"A Sonnet is a moment's monument,--
Memorial from the Soul's eternity
To one dead deathless hour."
To be honest, nothing even comes close.
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I can relate to what you write more and I think you write better than anyone I've read. I don't care if they're "poets".
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Thank You
Thank you Jim for the beautiful verse. This birthday is already better than the last.
I cannot thank you enough for all of your wonderful thoughts and help over the past few years. I have learned so much from your witty and wise words, assisting, forming, reforming and editing. I am a better writer because of you.
Such a gift you have given me. Thank you.
~Pamela 
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Really, the first line ...
should have said "my girl", but I was going for the internal rhyme in the line.
Anyway, have a bang up birthday.
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