Right, so here we are at Poetry for Peace, Day 13. I decided to do a sonnet today. It is on the theme of what we observe as beauty is not supplied by the material universe (which, let's face it is an endless sequence of apathetic things exploding, crashing into each other, dying, burning and generally having a hard and not very beautiful time of it.
The beauty of this universe is supplied by YOU, the beholder. Anyway, thoroughly deep and meaningful as it may be, I couldn't think of a title for it. But then William Shakespeare, who was a ruddy genius at writing the flipping things (ten beats to a line, alternate rhymes for twelve lines, finishing with a rhyming couplet) never gave his sonnets a title. So if it's good enough for that annoyingly brilliant bastard Will, it sure as hell is good enough for yours truly. Hope you like it!
The beauty of this universe is supplied by YOU, the beholder. Anyway, thoroughly deep and meaningful as it may be, I couldn't think of a title for it. But then William Shakespeare, who was a ruddy genius at writing the flipping things (ten beats to a line, alternate rhymes for twelve lines, finishing with a rhyming couplet) never gave his sonnets a title. So if it's good enough for that annoyingly brilliant bastard Will, it sure as hell is good enough for yours truly. Hope you like it!
A Sonnet
by Steve Cook
The sunset besets the mind’s eye with joy
That like a kiss begets newborn desires
And he who doth behold it feels enjoined
To praise with fulsome heart God’s art admired.
But what’s this mystic thing, from whence doth spring
This beauty ‘pon some natural canvas daubed
Or whence comes music when fine voices sing
Or strings of violins make wondrous chords?
The crash of atoms dying in the sun
Plays upon volcanic dust long since shed
And frantic fingers pluck some dead cat’s gut
That makes the air vibrate inside your head.
Pure motion in void doth all things contrive,
No beauty there except what you supply.
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