When the singular music of the morn
Tinkles with the grey rub of ironness,
When unheeded moments fly past forlorn
Empty and unlived in their vast briefness,
When in hushed stealth, straggle exiled snowflakes –
No vacant eye to trace that dizzy path,
When saucy din’s clang, in a mute ear, quakes
Clenching my silent innards in loud wrath,
When feather’s breath breeze on opisthenar
Rolls numb and desiccated o’er vein streams,
My life blood speaks your name in a manner
That wakens me to your bequest of dreams.
In shackles, searched I my heart’s warm epoch
Till you known, erring love for a keyless lock.
2 thoughts on “Sonnet – 5”
Beautiful. >>You spin out sonnets/poems with an effortless and happy felicity! At least the end product feels effortless/unstrained to me, whatever covert struggles, secret 99% perspiration you may have expended, in order to create such a compact delight! >>My concerns here–>># “When the singular music of the morn>Tinkles with the grey rub of ironness”>>** Somehow to me, morning’s music is either too soft, serious or silent/deep/profound to warrant the phrase ‘tinkle’; also, ‘tinkle’, ‘rub’ and ‘ironness’, somehow don’t illustrate the corrosive contrast of the said ironness as against the morn’s music.The last is frankly a big no-no; ironness?!- is it a valid English word, Eroteme? I doubt it, and please don’t hide behind the ubiquitous nose-in-the-air reason of ‘poetic licence’, since that should lead to creative beauty and not ‘ironness’. IMHO :-D.>>You can possibly replace it with >>“When the soft music of the purling morn,>On the grey plague wedged, is a squawk piercing, >>(You have to find something to rhyme with -ing and replace briefness with that.)>>‘Purl’ means ‘To flow or ripple with a murmuring sound.’ – a lovely word because of its this one meaning, methinks. I HAD to use it :-).>># The second stanza is perfect. Though ‘saucy’s place could have better held ‘brazen/brassy’.>># ‘When feather’s breath breeze on opisthenar’>>** Well, ‘feather’s breath breeze’ sounds cluttered; also a feather’s breath is hardly a whisper, let alone a breeze, next you may call it a whirlwind. Replace it with ‘swirls/fans/wafts’.>># ‘Rolls numb and desiccated o’er vein streams’>>** ‘Desiccated’? – takes me back to ‘Mary Miss’, and her formidable chemistry classes full of desiccators and pipettes. Not here in a good poem, surely?>>Maybe, this is better? >‘Rolls numb harsh and searing o’er vein streams’>>Of course, it is ultimately your call to take or discard my ‘worthy’ suggestions…It is after all your blog :-D, in case we forget that!>># The couplet is lovely.>># On the whole, the sonnet is heartfelt, sincere – the heartfelt outpourings of a sincere lover. Whether you are in yourself such a one or not, you are nevertheless an efficient channel to inspirations straggling into you from such sources of love and longing. >>Good work.
Where did you get the captivating ancient image of an antique lock, that too broken and in pieces?>>Goes well with the post. Nice.