MS (8.4.1929 / Marton, Lancashire)

Fourteen Lines

Old poets, torturing their thoughts to rhyme,
their lovely English verse to end-words tied,
oft found just cause to moan of 'envious Time',
and seek immortal fame in 'Time defied';

for rhymesters, it is ever June, when moon
shines on their corn; for moralists, base love
may find in Plato reason to attune
and lift their Muse to world on world above -

and then, there's Shakespeare: from whose boundless art
flows liquid gold; whose words bring heaven to earth,
to sing love's beauty; melt the frozen heart,
make men to cry with joy; gods, weep with mirth:

a sonnet's span can bring one to oneself;
in fourteen lines, bequeath us heaven's wealth.

by Michael Shepherd

Comments (5)

Good as it gets.
Quite right, John. It was planned to demonstrate poetry's 'baser self'. I put it up because we were talking about the sonnet in the Forum, and the constrictions of rhyme.
i dont agree with some of the points because it really shows your baser self but the ending was really well executed. it leaves the earlier part of the poem disturbing.
Altough I usually reserve comment on sonnets as I feel they are a form not to be messed with - this one did work for me Michael - it flowed effortlessly.. Good job, Sxx
Very good sonnet, Michael. You know I like these, my friend, and you've turned the phrases with a deft pen.