googling I read that a perfect sonnet
rules. if according to terms , conditions.
you think so; if you have gone and done it
properly. I understand this situation.
yet some like free form verse .on listening .
found words have their own stories. written in
any way seems ok , rather interesting.
finding rhyme difficult will carry on, grin
and bear it. pause. an unusual exercise
that may end in disaster. do not wish
to win. am not good at being precise
nor sticking to rules and break some……………
so here we are, there it is. a sonnet
in its rights, wrongs and imperfections, init?
“While all the sonnets in this competition are in a sense an exploration of what a sonnet is, this was the only one that actually treated the topic in its subject-matter.”
there will not be a note on the door to say i have gone.
i have called you.
it is extra when
you go alone.now i have tidied around and taken the
glory. stocked up, and locked the out buildings ready.
it is an autumn day, gold, glistening from the rain
that fell last night. sun warms and the scarf becomes
as is the note.
no smoke rising.
he said my name over, over
now he may be gone.
there is no smoke, just
mist rising, snow
in the distance.
quite cold, the car alarming.
there is no smoke rising
today, my name
is not repeated.
he may have gone.left
the wild wood
from some one that wants all folk tidy
comes a promising revelation.
. stuff everwhere.
. brown and rustic.
from someone who wishes to clip
and straighten comes the point
of over growing.
photograph the trees. notice the wild wood
early while walking, imagine it may
be mine. to care for , to let be. it could.
it is for sale. new sign on the gate, today
the charcoal burner . he is a woods man
smoke rises grey. price is mentioned . plenty.
I think on his words, the idea, owning land,
crashing back into the wild wood. empty
headed. it is good to be quiet, alone
away from their thickening throng , the dread .
soft voices. smoke rises slow, ashes. old bone.
dust and dust , by dust we bury the dead.
he will split the wood. they may come and buy,
yet in my head the wild wood will be mine.
i think i have a picture of
the car wash in betws,
model railway and vistas.
yet i cannot find it.
the little people
were waving their arms around.
so i am going with the frog car
and carbolic soap. the middle
one being imperial leather.
it is quiet in the garden
the dog barks, part
of the ambience.
it walks backwards on a lead,
forwards when free.
have not seen that before.
my dog does not bark now.
did you fall in the black peat
did you slip and loose your footing?
did no one come to find you,as they
did not feel you missing. they
say it is a lonely thing.
did you not notice?