Here is a list of Most Liked Sonnet Poems written by members. Read poetry, post your own poems or comments. Poems on these pages are copyrighted © by the authors who entered them. Click here to post a poem.
Don’t drop me in it
Don’t drop me in it if you see my wife,
don’t tell her where you saw me yesterday.
I know you wouldn’t want to cause me strife,
and if you told her, there’d be hell to pay,
I wasn’t doing anything improper,
but even so, she wouldn’t understand.
Once she starts there is no way to stop her.
When she loses it things soon get out of hand.
I am aware of how it looked and what you’re thinking,
but what you thought it was, well it was not
No doubt you just assumed that I’d been drinking
when you thought you saw me doing you know what.
I’m glad we’ve had this chance to sort this out,
and that my side of the story has been put.
So now you know there’s nothing to make a fuss about,
I’m relying on you to keep your big mouth shut.
So thanks a lot for this, you won’t regret it.
Oh, and that twenty quid you owe me, let’s just forget it.
don’t tell her where you saw me yesterday.
I know you wouldn’t want to cause me strife,
and if you told her, there’d be hell to pay,
I wasn’t doing anything improper,
but even so, she wouldn’t understand.
Once she starts there is no way to stop her.
When she loses it things soon get out of hand.
I am aware of how it looked and what you’re thinking,
but what you thought it was, well it was not
No doubt you just assumed that I’d been drinking
when you thought you saw me doing you know what.
I’m glad we’ve had this chance to sort this out,
and that my side of the story has been put.
So now you know there’s nothing to make a fuss about,
I’m relying on you to keep your big mouth shut.
So thanks a lot for this, you won’t regret it.
Oh, and that twenty quid you owe me, let’s just forget it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Apr 2019
About this poem:
Men, what are they like?
That thing you want to try
This illustration of that thing you want to try,
are you absolutely sure it can be done?
It looks awfully tricky to my untrained eye,
I can’t imagine why you think it might be fun.
It’s not because I’m getting old and fat,
and confidence in my body that I lack,
but a gymnast would have trouble doing that,
and you know that I have problems with my back.
Just look at the position of this leg,
relative to the placement of the other.
And, my dearest one, your pardon I must beg,
but if you do that with my face I think I’ll smother.
So please remove this idea from your head,
let’s have a cup of tea and watch TV instead.
are you absolutely sure it can be done?
It looks awfully tricky to my untrained eye,
I can’t imagine why you think it might be fun.
It’s not because I’m getting old and fat,
and confidence in my body that I lack,
but a gymnast would have trouble doing that,
and you know that I have problems with my back.
Just look at the position of this leg,
relative to the placement of the other.
And, my dearest one, your pardon I must beg,
but if you do that with my face I think I’ll smother.
So please remove this idea from your head,
let’s have a cup of tea and watch TV instead.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Apr 2019
About this poem:
My Dream
Last night I fell into a restless sleep,
soon after I’d been clearing out my fridge,
sorting what to throw away and what to keep.
I started dreaming I was walking o’er a bridge.
The path I trod soon led me to a street,
whose pavements were all packed and thronged with folk.
I was only wearing slippers on my feet.
The people stared and laughed as if that was a joke.
I saw a row of shops all in a line.
I ran toward them, tripping o’er my slippers.
And there, on a shop window, was a sign
which said, we will buy your date-expired kippers.
And as the grip of sleep began to soften,
I resolved to clear my fridge out much more often.
soon after I’d been clearing out my fridge,
sorting what to throw away and what to keep.
I started dreaming I was walking o’er a bridge.
The path I trod soon led me to a street,
whose pavements were all packed and thronged with folk.
I was only wearing slippers on my feet.
The people stared and laughed as if that was a joke.
I saw a row of shops all in a line.
I ran toward them, tripping o’er my slippers.
And there, on a shop window, was a sign
which said, we will buy your date-expired kippers.
And as the grip of sleep began to soften,
I resolved to clear my fridge out much more often.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Apr 2019
About this poem:
We should listen to our dreams.
HIDDEN TREASURE
WE CAN SEARCH FOR TREASURE,
STORM THE GREAT WALLS OF THE KEEP,
OR HUNT ALONG THE HILLSIDE
WHERE GOLD IS BURIED DEEP.
WE CAN QUEST ENDLESSLY FOR
SOME GREAT HIDDEN TROVE
AND HUNT FOR SPARKLING GEMS
WHEREVER WE MAY ROVE.
OVER LAND OR SEA
OR WAY UP IN THE AIR,
WE CAN SEARCH FOR RICHES
EVERYWHERE.
YET WERE ALWAYS SURE
TO LEARN IN THE END,
THAT NO TREASURE COMPARES
TO THAT OF A FRIEND;
FOR A HEART THAT IS WARM,
AND CARING AND KIND
IS THE GREATEST TREASURE
THAT WE'LL EVER FIND.
STORM THE GREAT WALLS OF THE KEEP,
OR HUNT ALONG THE HILLSIDE
WHERE GOLD IS BURIED DEEP.
WE CAN QUEST ENDLESSLY FOR
SOME GREAT HIDDEN TROVE
AND HUNT FOR SPARKLING GEMS
WHEREVER WE MAY ROVE.
OVER LAND OR SEA
OR WAY UP IN THE AIR,
WE CAN SEARCH FOR RICHES
EVERYWHERE.
YET WERE ALWAYS SURE
TO LEARN IN THE END,
THAT NO TREASURE COMPARES
TO THAT OF A FRIEND;
FOR A HEART THAT IS WARM,
AND CARING AND KIND
IS THE GREATEST TREASURE
THAT WE'LL EVER FIND.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Feb 2017
Post Comment
Sonnet #16
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens yet unset
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens yet unset
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Mar 2017
About this poem:
Time is one of my most Treasured Assets; so this is an interesting Sonnet that sums it up for me....Sonnet #17
Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies:
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies:
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Apr 2017
About this poem:
In the earlier sonnets, the poet's main concern was to persuade the youth to marry and reproduce his beauty in the creation of a child. That purpose changes here in Sonnet 17, in which the poet fears that his praise will be remembered merely as a "poet's rage" that falsely gave the youth more beauty than the youth actually possessed, thus expressing an insecurity about his poetic creations that began in the preceding sonnet.This disparaging tone concerning the sonnets is most evident in line 3, in which the poet characterizes his poetry as a "tomb." Such death imagery is appropriate given the frequent incorporation of time, death, and decay images throughout the first seventeen sonnets. Ironically, the poet, who has been so concerned about the young man's leaving behind a legacy at death to remind others of his priceless beauty, is now worried about his own future reputation. Will his poems be ridiculed by readers who disbelieve the poet's laudatory praise of the young man's beauty? Not, says the poet, if the youth has a child by which people can then compare the poet's descriptions of the youth's beauty to the beauty of the youth's child — now asking the youth to have a child in order to confirm the poet's worthiness.
The sonnet's concluding couplet links s*xual procreation and versification as parallel activities: "But were some child of yours alive that time, / You should live twice — in it and in my rime." The poet's task is an endless struggle against time, whose destructive purpose can only be frustrated by the creation of fresh beauty or art, which holds life suspended.
Sonnet #21
Posted:
XXI.
So is it not with me as with that Muse
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse
Making a couplement of proud compare,
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O' let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air:
Let them say more than like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
XXI.
So is it not with me as with that Muse
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse
Making a couplement of proud compare,
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O' let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air:
Let them say more than like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Apr 2017
About this poem:
Modern Interpretation..I’m not like that other poet who writes about a woman who’s pretty because she wears a lot of makeup. In his verses, he compares her to heaven itself, and to every other beautiful thing—the sun and moon, the rich gems of earth and sea, the first flowers of April, and all the rest of the precious things on the face of the earth. Since I really am in love, I just want to write the truth, and when I do, believe me—my lover is as beautiful as any human being, though maybe not as bright as the stars. Whoever actually likes those love-poem clichés can say more; I’m not trying to sell anything, so I won’t waste time with praise
Sonet #22
Sonnet #22
Posted:
XXII.
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary
As I, not for myself, but for thee will;
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again.
Posted:
XXII.
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary
As I, not for myself, but for thee will;
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Apr 2017
About this poem:
Forever Young
The Seer
Closing my eyes tightly yet still seeing
Time and time again I closed them tightly
Some things just never change always the same
The gift of seeing beyond ones eye sight
Usually unable to change the vision
Humans have a way of fighting the truth
Not wanting to believe what they can't see
Their always wanting the tangible proof
The pain is so great I can barely look
My heart already grieving for the loss
If I say would you believe me and change
If not would you turn and love be the cost
Wishing to tell you yet turning away
Hoping this time I will be wrong I pray
Time and time again I closed them tightly
Some things just never change always the same
The gift of seeing beyond ones eye sight
Usually unable to change the vision
Humans have a way of fighting the truth
Not wanting to believe what they can't see
Their always wanting the tangible proof
The pain is so great I can barely look
My heart already grieving for the loss
If I say would you believe me and change
If not would you turn and love be the cost
Wishing to tell you yet turning away
Hoping this time I will be wrong I pray
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Apr 2017
About this poem:
Just thoughts and ramblings.
online today!I'm Back
Not really a poem (although just to say)
Your top Aussie poet is now back today.
Now three weeks offline, has been long enough
(My old laptop crashed - indeed it was stuffed).
I did all I could to fix the old thing;-
Tried this and that, and repairs on the wing.
Wasted three days and four nights on repairs
But the old girl was gone - it seemed no one cared.
So I bought a fresh laptop - a great new device
And set the thing up for some more CS spice.
And to be honest - how could I keep away?
When it's part of my life to write a poem a day.
And if not one a day, then one a week
To all CS poets - you make my life complete.
© lovecanbereal
All rights reserved
Your top Aussie poet is now back today.
Now three weeks offline, has been long enough
(My old laptop crashed - indeed it was stuffed).
I did all I could to fix the old thing;-
Tried this and that, and repairs on the wing.
Wasted three days and four nights on repairs
But the old girl was gone - it seemed no one cared.
So I bought a fresh laptop - a great new device
And set the thing up for some more CS spice.
And to be honest - how could I keep away?
When it's part of my life to write a poem a day.
And if not one a day, then one a week
To all CS poets - you make my life complete.
© lovecanbereal
All rights reserved
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jun 2017
About this poem:
Hi to all of the CS poets - here's a sonnet of sortsOh how I've missed what you all have to say -
And hooray, hooray, I'm back online today.
© lovecanbereal
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