The Sonnet Challenge

[Swatopluk]

3 sonnets written on the train ride home yesterday (because I forgot to put the newspaper in my bag)

Be good with Ghouls

These guys they have some habits I detest
And I don't share their taste for human meat
Beyond that, it's all rotten what they eat
While I think that the fresh food is the best

You thought that in the graveyard there'd be rest
And worms would be the only there to meet
Dear sir, you are mistaken there indeed
Few cemeteries they do not infest

It's easy just to loathe the common ghoul
But take some efforts, he can be your friend
Be careful though, don't rush it like a fool

Go uninvited, sticky'll be your end
Seek introduction, then all should be cool
Ask painter Pickman, he might lend a hand


The Cult is In

In bayou country brightly burns the fire
And through the darkness loudly drums resound
Sends fear to hearts for many miles around
To end themselves here roasting on the pyre

We dance around it, never do we tire
Of sweat and blood all stcky is the ground
Our ecstasy surpasses any bound
And our chant it groweth ever higher

Cthulhu lives and he sends out his dreams
And soon again the stars they will be right
Oh, master, listen to our victims' screams

Iä fhtagn, that will be a sight
See how already madly my eye gleams
We are the cultists, you are our delight


Contemplation on an idol of Cthulhu

Of greenish rock this idol has been made
Not of this earth was taken this dark stone
It shows Cthulhu sitting on his throne
From distant stars it must originate

So small a piece but how infused with fate
To look at it, it chills me to the bone
A fear fills me as never I have known
Vile work of art, it emanates pure hate

With claws so sharp and tentacles galore
His stubby wings of leathery membrane
The scaly skin all wet with slime and gore

A monster large no force could ever tame
That mongrel cults with sacrifice adore
Soon he'll return, insanity will reign

[Sibling DavidH]

Upon recalling Pogles, about which I used to tell my young children.

Of all Earth's horrors, Pogles are the worst;
Mutated hamsters with fell claws of brass
And jaws of adamant, which slowly burst
Your skull until your brains pop out your ..... _{anyone got a rhyme for that, please?}

The Pogle's a beast Lovecraft did not create.
That's just as well – his mind could never stand
The horror: he who recoiled at Cthulhu's fate,
Seeing a Pogle  would collapse, unmanned.

The ancient Greeks would tell about such things,
They called them Πόγηλοι, and wrote in tales
Of horrors such as Pogiloi with wings.

In the old Mabinogion of Wales
We read of bogyllau –the very mention brings
A shiver, and the courage fails.

--------------------------------------

Not so good; it's rough metrically and it wanders off to no clear conclusion.

[Swatopluk]

You could try to take the challenge and put the 4 words into the four parts.
Reminder: fair, basket, uphold, keen

The basket weaver is a craftsman proud
Though riches is unlikely he to gain...

[Swatopluk]

The Terrible Old Man

In Water Street in Kingsport he does dwell
Who's only called the Terrible Old Man
The people they avoid him, if they can
Of him some quite strange stories they do tell

Just Thomas Olney's known to like him well
He does not fear to visit his strange den
They will have conversations now and then
But otherwise few people ring his bell

The robbers Ricci, Silva and Czanek
Were eager to relieve him of his gold
Went in the house but never did come back

The captain looks as fragile as he's old
But somehow to small pieces did them hack
And keeps their souls in bottles, I am told

[Swatopluk]

In the Walls of Eryx

Oh curse the crystal that has lured me here
Invisible the walls of this damned maze
How could the natives such a structure raise
Whose 'high-tech' does not go beyond the spear?

But I'm entrapped and feel my end is near
Like vultures they do gather in the haze
My air supply will last but a few days
They'll wait me out, I see it in their sneer

If I got out, they know I'd flame them all
But stupid me fell for their clever bait
Now I can't find the exit in the wall

But am I right these lizard-folk to hate?
Whoever will decipher this my scrawl
I tell him 'Leave! Before it is too late!'

[Sibling DavidH]

Good stuff! ^ I'll have another go, but not with baskets.  Nasty, orrible spiky things is baskets and I can't be doing with 'em.

[Swatopluk]

I have opened a thread in the arts section to post my sonnets that are not part of the challenge.

Using the strict Italian form (abba abba cdc dcd) has a tendency to make the second quatrain the weak part of the poem and forces me to leave out parts that I'd like to include. For example I could not, with the available rhymes, include the bottles with the lead pendulums in the Terrible Old Man sonnet* or mention earlier that he had a sea captain by profession. Instead Olney had to enter and occupy the space.

*that way the last line is not self-explanatory.

[Swatopluk]

Taking up my own challenge again

A wary workman walking by

The basket weaver is a craftsman proud
Though riches is unlikely he to gain
You see him walk remotest country lane
His produce there to sell day in day out

Though poor he is, his spirit is unbowed
He does his work in sunshine and in rain
And will not show the slighest hint of pain
His eys stay keen though hands are warped by gout

His face is lined, all gray are beard and hair
He cannot rest, no leisure for the old
But ne'er he moans, bewails that life's unfair

He has a reputation to uphold
That what he does is done with utmost care
For that is more to him than shiny gold

New words: long, sail, ribbon, alone

[Swatopluk]

This one started out as trying to meet my own challenge again but took a very different turn.
By pure formal criteria I think it is the most advanced I have written yet because for the first time I managed to extend a thought beyond the end of a verse without a caesura. That way the whole thing is far more flowing. I think this is also the first serious love poem I ever wrote (I do parodies not the real stuff!).
I have to say this is totally not me. I never dated a green-eyed Asian girl with that fashion sense and if I did I would not go into this kind of poetry.

Without title

Her hair is darker than a moonless night
And intertwined with ribbons of pale blue
Her eyes like forest pools when sun shines through
The branches of the trees on May Day bright

A flickering green surrounded by pale white
Of almond shape that daily will anew
Rekindle in me love that's pure and true
And fill my wary soul with pure delight

Oh how can such a beauty that seems less
Of low and earthly birth but of divine
Put up with me and to me love confess?

But yes you said you'll share your life with mine
That higher powers will our union bless
You own my heart, I'll be forever thine