A classic poetic form, consisting of fourteen lines of iambic pentameter. The two most usual rhyme schemes are ababcdcd-efefgg (English/Shakespearean) and abbaabba-cdecde or abbaabba-cdcdcd (Italian/Petrarchan). The move from the first eight lines (the octave) to the remaining six lines (the sestet) often sees a turn in the theme or the 'argument' of the poem. Dialectical, innit?
Submitted by Janine on
She’s safely shut in and yet Hettie gets out
And she goes to the places she cares most about
Hettie gets out under cover of dark
And she pushes the kids on the swings in the park
Hettie meets Beryl who moved out last June
And they chat about old times and tap out a tune
And then Hettie tells Bel she’ll be joining her soon
Submitted by Janine on
The NHS is not another country
Going to clinic's not a trip abroad
Its purpose is for treating not for hunting
No frontiers from reception to the ward
I have to cross the town not cross the oceans
A hospital's no tourist trap now, is it?
Rather than the needles, stitches, lotions
So many other sites I'd rather visit
Not smuggling drugs nor medicines nor pills in
The staff are healers, they're not border guards
I've nothing to declare except my illness
I don't send postcards, I get Get Well cards
- They treat my sickness not my shade of skin
- Why should I need a passport to get in?
Submitted by Janine on
Blood sprayed across the ticket hall floor
Capes caught and torn in moving rails
Horns and scales and devils’ tails
Make-up smudged some hours before
Biting, fighting, broken jaw
Cuts and slashes, tears and gashes
Blades and bottles, glints and flashes
Of steel, red handprint on the door
Claws and punches, noses broken
Howls and screams and curses spoken
Submitted by Janine on
Concealer hides the redness and the bruises
Long sleeves disguise the marks along her arm
A bangle covers twisted wrist contusions
A bandage shields her fractured thumb from harm
Dark glasses screen her puffy eyes and tears
Uncertain smile conceals the broken tooth
The scent he bought her drowns the smell of fear
A well-told story masks the brutal truth
The curtains shut out busybody neighbours
Just punching her emotions leaves no mark
His patronage buys sympathy and favours
Control her movements, keep her in the dark
- His hand across her mouth ensures her silence
- His public image veils his private violence
Submitted by Janine on
Your breathlessness feels like asphyxiation
You've missed a deadline for some bureaucrat
You're sighing, crying, busting with frustration
I'm sure there is a therapy for that
The lights and noise and pressure make you dizzy
The heat is burning up the thermostat
I'm sorry but the therapist is busy
I'm sure there is a medicine for that
Submitted by Janine on
'Sonnet' means 'little song'; Saga Noren is the (autistic) lead character in Swedish/Danish crime drama The Bridge.
A little song across a Bridge to link
A multi-neuro-lingual Tower of Babel
Two tongues, two countries, varied ways to think
On fire not cold, you're different not unstable
Unmentioned spectrum's focus, dedication
Not held up by romantic hero's arms
Your single mind concludes investigation
No need for verbal foreplay, social charms
Embittered colleague, hostile boss and mother
Atypical emotions still run true
The problems you have understanding others
Are no more than their problems knowing you
Subtitle this if our sort still seem foreign:
I think perhaps I love you, Saga Noren
Submitted by Janine on
The house is getting dirty, she can't face it
The vacuum cleaner's burnt out, lying dead
She knows she'll have to save up to replace it
She wants a life of roses not just bread
And sucking up the dust from crusty carpets
Is never going to give her quite the pleasure
Of thumbing dusty pages at the markets
To clear the cranial cobwebs finding treasure
Submitted by Janine on
We have a fearless leader we can trust
Who's proved to us already that he would
Destroy communities for their own good
Burn shadows into pavements, flesh to dust
He flaunts the firmest finger, face that fits
A leader who can make that tough decision
Personifies the stone-heart politician
Choose yes or no to blow the world to bits
- When button push one day will come to shove
Submitted by Janine on
Every year on holiday he says
He'll write his life, a memoir from the flat
Where once a letter slipped beneath the mat
And sent him off to work not college days
He says he'll put on record anecdotes
Red cash bag in the office flying high
On picket lines and letterheads and tie
Guitars and drumkits, reels and fishing floats
He'll write of those who fell along the way
Submitted by Janine on
If I could build the world from LEGO bricks
The clean-lined architecture would delight
We'd build for function and construct for kicks
Each beautiful creative studded site
If I could build the world from LEGO bricks
I wouldn't let one small set hoard them all
To build monstrosities to make them rich
While others wait in hope for tiles to fall
If I could build the world from LEGO bricks
