Sonnet 7
If I should come across a woman fair
of loving stroke and such a plush kiss voice
that I must with tremulous hands ensnare
and as one with her perfect form rejoice,
then I know myself a hapless soul to be,
seeking swift mercy from ill-fated coup,
with earnest petition and fervent plea
for fierce yearning feel I only for you.
Should true heart’s desire, be by life held sway
so must cruel and callous nature sigh
and with puzzled dew teared frown then say,
this perfected love should be in heaven high,
not my earthly realm of rich land, air and sea
for my art seems muted compared with thee

Sonnet 8
Should I become a vile felon by name,
will such hurt not be held a crime much worse.
I have no mind for perceived bloodline shame
and hear only harsh noise when others curse.
What heavenly judge would pass a sentence
knowing it would cleave two pure hearts in twain,
his life becoming one of repentance
for being he by whose hand love was slain.
No man who has loved as I now love
can say in truth that this poor soul has wronged
when charged with fiery passion from above
to take beauty that to others belonged.
Guilty to the theft of love do I plead
but not guilty to charge of heinous deed

Sonnet 9
Break of day, naked bar modesty clad,
eyes shut and in cruciform pose I stood
on a lush carpet grass and feeling glad
to be alive and knowing all is good.
They fear that a peculiar madness calls,
but have not felt dew touch like diamond dust,
heard the sound of rain long before it falls
or seen waking roses to sunlight thrust.
Few have felt the earth pulse beneath their feet
or known with certainty much lies beyond,
that with yourself is everything complete
and each of us*linked*by common bond.
If only these moments were in stone cast
would this my sweet ecstasy forever last.

TRIOLET (using 9 syllables not traditional 8)

For you must live for me
*
For you must live for me, come what may,
take this my last breath and set it free,
to marry the warm still of day,
for you must live for me, come what may.
No grief mired words need you now say
only knowing smiles between us see.
for you must live for me, come what may,
take this my last breath and set it free.

RONDELET
For an hour more

For an hour more
Would I my soul to you release,
For an hour more,
Would I again open your door
And my hand on yours wish you peace,
So the hurt between us may cease,
For an hour more.

VILLANELLE

Will you walk with me

Will you walk with me into the cold mist,
the unsure grey that now engulfs all,
or leave me with a love just once kissed
*
Give in to what’s written do not resist,
if we fail then better as one we fall.
Will you walk with me into the cold mist.
*
Though we see not ahead I say persist,
will you stride out with me walking tall
or leave me with a love just once kissed.
*
For fate has struck with his velvet fist
and so it is your name that I now call,
will you walk with me into the cold mist.
*
On this road will we face many a twist,
will you lie on the earth if I must crawl
or leave me with a love just once kissed.
*
It is only by your hand I know I exist,
if alone I travel, life for me will stall,
will you walk with me into the cold mist
or leave me with a love just once kissed.

Nigel,

Refreshing to read; then reread again, with pondering thoughts; sometimes sad but always with meaning keeping the reader's interest.

Thank you again for sharing.


Gerry

Nigel, I read and rested, then read again and again. I'm in hospital you see, my mind has been hijacked and thoughts I think are mine but maybe heavily influenced because I'm under such strong medication. Anyhow, that's by way of introduction explanation. Gerry kindly said to me Pam go looking. I'm so glad I did.

Sonnet 7,8 & 9, Triolet, Rondelet and finally Vallanelle. I'm in awe of you and how your words can traverse time, decades even. Today I travelled back in time, or so it seems. niigs bought a Tardis to NT.

Please take no offence when I say I your words, a light came before me and suddenly my mind filled with George Orwell - 1984. I pray I have not offended. Loved his story, I studied it and treasured it, not a clue as to why.

Your words in no way are in his, but they move me strongly to his world / time. 1949 I think was when he wrote? I may well be wrong, I am so heavily medicated, I type a word and fall asleep, awake and think what was I doing, but 1984 is running rampant through my mind after reading your words. Your words move me as did his. I hit a key and before I know letters are spread across the page. I'll stop now, I, having to go back and correct every other word and posting what I'm trying to say.

Nigel, is this a talent of yours, you write regularly surely ?

I can't remember it all, and in my befuddlement will surely have more wrong than right, but this has remained with me since I was but a child;

Under the spreading chestnut treee
I sold you; all the while you sold me

Beneath the spreaded chestnut tree
Here lie they; and here lie we

What lies beneath our ruined tree
I wonder now, I wonder how

Our literature teacher was careful to be sure we knew what was always correct first. And then we were allowed to play upon words - to take a liberty with well versed words and to play with them in a manner that suited us. I loved it, I loved the fact I could play and not be thwacked for impersonating. Impersonation he told us was the finest form of compliment. These are my words from 40 years ago, they have stuck with me and today your words coaxed them from he depth of my memory.

Pamela June!
Take this the right way, I like you on Drugs! No, the way your minds meanders. Now I need to read Nigel's work again with 1984 firmly in mind. I need to read 1984 again. Pamela Sue, for me your words flew and were strong, painted pictures. Nigel, I am such a text more than poetry person. We all go in different directions, isn't that great.

Pam,
I have to agree with Kicker; you really took off. I'm sure Nigel will be pleased to know he brought so much pleasure.

Gerry