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#Sonnets
charseraph · 11 months
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Drafting
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thebeautifulbook · 1 year
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SONNETS & POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS . Art binding by Bayntun-Riviere.
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snehadarkacademia · 2 years
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When Oliver Marks said "I don't know it's like I look at you and suddenly the sonnets make sense"
I lost my shit.
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Cupids arrow had snagged me so, and in its wake it made you glow.
Stars aligned, constellations made complete, an adventure promised if I dared agreed.
I took your light within my grasp, cherishing its beauty as our days past.
Nobody matched your Shakespearean soul,
Too bright in your ways like a setting sun.
The moon was I now shining, with every ma’am I was smiling.
The world to be changed was the goal, but now atoms collided and melted the snow.
You chose me for something very ridiculous, using your sun beams, you caught my Icarus.
- a poem for the boy who caught my eye, thank you for the adventure you gave me. I’ll cherish our time together forever.
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thelugubriousheart3 · 3 months
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hornyforpoetry · 8 months
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// You are a hopeless romantic reading poetry at midnight //
• // Art Amatoria (The Art of Love) // Ovid //
• // Rerum vulgarium fragmenta (Fragments of Vernacular Matters) // Francesco Petrarca //
• // Sonnets // William Shakespeare //
• // Roman Elegies // Johann Wolfgang von Goethe //
• //Amor aethernus / Mont Blanc / Ozymandias / Love's Philosophy /  Hymn to Intellectual Beauty // Percy Bysshe Shelley //
• // Lyrisches Intermezzo // Heinrich Heine //
• // The Corsair // Lord Byron //
• // The Flowers of Evil // Charles Baudelaire //
• // Impressions // Oscar Wilde //
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notpoet06 · 3 months
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Writing sonnets is hard af. Mad respect to Shakespeare
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I love the sound of the pages flicking against my fingers. Print against fingerprints. Books make people quiet, yet they are so loud. ―Nnedi Okorafor
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Starkiller
The Force trenched deep within the chosen ground— That fallow land once hallowed by the Light, Betrayed by wounds of old Imperial might— Will through the Order find new strength abound. That fierce machine, with sun-struck power crowned— 'Twixt snowy lands that parted like pale thighs Receiving in its depths its lover's might— Will triumph through twined flesh and heart and sound.
How glorious the cataclysm there— The deluge of the crimson o'er the black! Collapsing 'neath the heat of red and white, The Forceful—shaken, bounty all laid bare— Could not, before that lethal corps, turn back: Together bound in monstrous appetite.
Poetic explanation in the notes on AO3 here.
My brain was too tired to write old-fashioned prose last night, so instead of working chapter 3 of my Beauty and the Beast AU I did this instead. Have another moodboard because apparently I just can't help myself.
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satrangee-ray · 6 months
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Okay hear me out!
What if, what if I say Willy Shakes has established the norm that every disaster bisexual icon would have:
1. A short fun fling with a woman of colour.
2. A longstanding intense romantic love affair with a white boy.
no but wait listen– THIS HAS BEEN GOING ON TILL TODAY. IN MAINSTREAM POP CULTURE.
Exhibit A:
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Exhibit B:
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...
I hereby rest my case.
Anybody who even dares to oppose, argue with the fvcking wall.
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charseraph · 11 months
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Can we have a list of all ur aliens? Like the crowns n the box kites n whatever else you’ve made? They’re super cool and I wanna know everything about them :)
Sure thing!
From left to right, not to scale:
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Crowns
Humans
Trumpets
Wards
Boxkites
Towers
Sonnets
A.I. (Not shown)
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vermin-disciple · 9 months
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With Apologies to Shakespeare
No one's given me a prompt on my shower notepad for awhile, alas, so this morning I scribbled out a Garashir pastiche of my favorite Shakespearean sonnet instead. As you do.
(Transcribed with light editing below the photo. The original poem is Sonnet 138: When my love swears that she is made of truth, which I memorized on a whim in high school and has thus been rattling around in my brain for the last 20 years or so.)
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When my love swears that he is made of truth I do believe him, though I know he lies For his culture finds honesty uncouth (Or so he says, with mischief in his eyes) Whene’er I question him about his aims In response to my many wearied sighs He sits across our table and proclaims That all is true, especially the lies! But when I think on secrets that I keep Not just from him, but all those I love best This seeming lack of trust cuts not so deep For on both sides is simple truth suppressed And I have learned a new truth of my own: That love lies not in trust of words alone.
(Also on AO3)
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rustbeltjessie · 2 months
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Sonnet Reducer (pay-what-you-want, starting at $0)
Susan Sontag once wrote: “If I had to choose between the Doors and Dostoyevsky, then — of course — I’d choose Dostoyevsky. But do I have to choose?” When I first read that quotation, I thought of a journal entry I wrote in 2002, wherein I said: “I love Shakespeare and the Ramones. People want me to choose between high and low culture, but do I have to choose?” If I had to choose between the Ramones and Shakespeare, then - of course - I’d choose the Ramones, but the great thing is that I don’t have to choose. This zine lives in that split between ‘high’ and ‘low’ culture (which is a false dichotomy, anyway, but I digress) - sonnets (which are often considered a pretentious form of poetry) about punk stuff, stuff like mosh pits, drinking on rooftops, battle vests…and the Ramones.
I originally wrote and published this zine in early 2014, but it has been out of print for a while, so I decided to upload a .pdf version of it.
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literatureandtrees · 3 months
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Michaeleok (just listen - with headphones if you can)
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shakespeare-sonnets · 2 months
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Sonnet III
𝐿𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡
𝑁𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟,
𝑊ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑠ℎ 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑖𝑓 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡,
𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑, 𝑢𝑛𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟.
𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑏
𝐷𝑖𝑠𝑑𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑦 ℎ𝑢𝑠𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑟𝑦?
𝑂𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑏
𝑂𝑓 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓-𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑦?
𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟’𝑠 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑒
𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝐴𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑙 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑒;
𝑆𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒,
𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒.
𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒,
𝐷𝑖𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑒.
The poet urges the young man to reflect on his own image in a mirror. Just as the young man’s mother sees her own youthful self reflected in the face of her son, so someday the young man should be able to look at his son’s face and see reflected his own youth. If the young man decides to die childless, all these faces and images die with him.
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uchidachi · 1 month
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I’m in a Shakespeare mood now so let’s goooo sonnet face off time:
(Sonnets were chosen based on how well known I think they are, feel free to blast me in the reblogs for whichever ones I’ve overlooked)
Full sonnets can be found here
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