tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52018718216759905932024-02-19T16:51:59.813-07:00Open Source Sonnetscelebrating sonnets and the creative freedom that comes from being able to freely borrow and adapt others' workGideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.comBlogger378125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-24336455095248703472016-09-09T14:59:00.000-06:002018-11-14T13:00:14.837-07:00How to Write a Sonnet: A Student GuideAre you writing a sonnet -- maybe for a class, or just for fun? Here's a guide for you.<br />
<br />
My name is Gideon Burton and I have written thousands of sonnets -- and helped untold numbers of students compose their own. I've taught the history of the sonnet form, and frankly, I just love this form of poetry. Some do not. Some people HATE sonnets. I get it. They are hard. They have rules. Bad ones are painful to read. Good ones can be tough to compose. Hopefully this will take the sting out if it just a bit and maybe get you on the road to something of which you can be proud.<br />
<br />
I've divided this guide into four parts:<br />
<ol>
<li>Know the Form</li>
<li>Read Model Sonnets</li>
<li>Imitate and Experiment</li>
<li>Select a Subject</li>
</ol>
<h3>
<a name='more'></a>1. Know the Form</h3>
Most people know that sonnets have strict rules. They do. You can write any sort of poem you want, but if you want it to be understood and appreciated as a sonnet, you must abide by its rules. You will feel very restricted by these formal requirements; however, as with all art, restrictions lay the groundwork for great creativity.<br />
<br />
The strict rules for form include <u>number of lines</u>, <u>rhyme scheme</u>, and <u>meter</u>. Other aspects of form are customary but optional. Knowing them can much improve your composition.<br />
<br />
<h4>
The Strict Rules of Sonnet Form</h4>
<ul>
<li><b>Number of lines</b>A sonnet must be 14 lines long. </li>
<li><b>Rhyme Scheme</b><br />A sonnet must follow a set pattern of rhymes. It's useful to think of the 14 lines that make up a sonnet in groups, each of which is held together by words that rhyme in a certain pattern at the end of each line, as detailed below. There are three rhyme schemes: the Shakespearean, the Spenserian, and the Petrarchan:</li>
<ul>
<li><u>Shakespearean Rhyme Scheme</u><br />This rhyme scheme divides up the sonnet into three sets of four lines (or "quatrains"), followed by a final couplet (a pair of rhyming lines.) The rhymes appear in this order: A B A B / C D C D / E F E F. To see this in an example, look at the last word of each line in <a href="http://www.shakespeare-online.com/sonnets/130.html" target="_blank">Shakespeare's sonnet 130</a> ("My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun.")</li>
<li><u>Spenserian Rhyme Scheme</u><br />Very similar to the Shakespearean rhyme scheme, the Spenserian sonnet is also divided into three quatrains and a couplet, but with this rhyming pattern: A B A B / B C B C / C D C D / EE. Do you see how the rhyme of the last line of the first quatrain is the same rhyme as the first line of the second quatrain? The same is true between the second and third quatrains. So, this rhyme scheme simply reduces and interweaves the rhyming across the quatrains, thereby binding the set of quatrains together in the same way that internal rhymes keep the four lines of each quatrain coherent. To see an example of this rhyme scheme, look at Spenser's "<a href="http://www.sonnets.org/spenser.htm#075" target="_blank">One day I wrote her name upon the sand</a>."</li>
<li><u>Petrarchan Rhyme Scheme</u><br />This is the oldest and original rhyme scheme for the sonnet, but it more suited for Italian than for English, a language in which more of its words rhyme. But it still has been used very effectively in English. To understand this rhyme scheme, think of the 14 lines of the sonnet divided into two parts: a set of eight lines (called the "octave") and a set of six lines (called the "sestet"). This division relates to content, as explained more below, and is sometimes signaled by a "volta" or "turn" in the ideas at line nine. The rhymes go as follows: A B B A // A B B A /// C D E // C D E. It should be noted that the final six lines, the sestet, can actually be any combination of three rhymes -- though it is uncommon for the sestet to be a set of three couplets. For a good example of this rhyme scheme used in English, see John Milton's "<a href="https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/when-i-consider-how-my-light-spent" target="_blank">When I consider how my light is spent</a>."</li>
</ul>
<li><b>Meter</b><br />English sonnets are typically written in a poetical meter known as "iambic pentameter." That’s five feet (or units) of iambs (an unstressed-stressed pattern): “Paralysis among the colored stones” (Can you hear the alternating rhythm of unstressed followed by stressed syllables?: “ParALySIS aMONG the COlored STONES”). Some people can hear this rhythm readily; others cannot. It helps to say it aloud. I've written a separate document focused entirely on this, which I recommend: "<a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1K6Bw9_-HJh7Zw81HMC2sVog6kzn3sBg4WLDjAh4U7pg/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">Rhythm and Meter Guide for Poetry and Blank Verse</a>."</li>
</ul>
<h4>
Optional Form Elements</h4>
<div>
<ul>
<li><b>Volta</b><br />This Italian word means “turn” and has to do with the fact that in many Petrarchan sonnets there was a change in direction or tone after the first eight lines (the “octave”). The last six lines (“sestet”) have often been structured as an answer to the problem put forth in the octave, or some other kind of redirection. In the English sonnet, that turn is often delayed until the final two lines, the couplet, though it can also appear elsewhere. For example, in Shakespeare’s <a href="http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/130" target="_blank">sonnet #130</a> (“My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun”) the volta comes in the final couplet, which takes a new direction from the apparent mocking the narrator has been doing of his lover’s looks: “And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare / As any she belied with false compare.” Shakespeare also follows a more conventional placement for the volta in his <a href="http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/29" target="_blank">sonnet #29</a>. The narrator bemoans his stake for eight lines, and then in line 9 the mood shifts: "Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising, / Haply I think on thee..."</li>
<li><b>Enjambment</b><br />Enjambment is when a sentence does not end with the end of a line of poetry but carries on to the next line of the poem. There is no rule for how much enjambment needs to be in a sonnet, but it’s a fair bet that poems in which the end of every line corresponds to the end of every sentence will sound jilted or artificial. Enjambment will help a sonnet flow, and usually helps the tone sound more natural. Shakespeare's sonnet #29 has enjambment in its first two lines:<br /> When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes<br /> I all alone beweep my outcast state,</li>
</ul>
<h3>
</h3>
<h3>
2. Read Model Sonnets</h3>
</div>
<div>
The best way to prepare to write a sonnet is to read good ones. It helps to read these aloud, especially in order to get a feel for the iambic rhythm, and to hear the flow of enjambment across lines. Sonnets are sometimes dense (and some are written in another era) and so it can help to re-read sonnets, teasing out their figurative language and hearing how sound and sense go together.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here are two sources of model sonnets:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>"<a href="http://smartbard.blogspot.com/p/famous-sonnets-briefly-analyzed.html" target="_blank">Famous Sonnets Analyzed</a>" - A set of nine famous sonnets preceded by brief analysis to help appreciate the form.</li>
<li><a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Open Source Sonnets</a> - My sonnet site, with hundreds of examples of many different types of sonnets.</li>
</ul>
<h3>
</h3>
<h3>
3. Imitate and Experiment</h3>
</div>
<div>
Shakespeare learned to write by imitating great authors from his past, and we can do the same with him (and other great authors). It is sometimes easier to vary or "translate" an existing sonnet than to come up with one all on one's own. So you might consider cutting your teeth on the sonnet by choosing one of those famous ones (linked above).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
How does one imitate? You can either keep the form and change the content, or keep the content and change the form. For examples of a range of imitations, see my various <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/imitations" target="_blank">sonnet imitations</a> (each of which is paired with its original). You will note that many of these imitations are not imitations of sonnets, but recastings of <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/11/on-dovers-beach.html" target="_blank">non-sonnet poems</a>, <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2011/01/what-piece-of-work.html" target="_blank">speeches from plays</a>, <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/12/unto-least.html" target="_blank">passages from scripture</a>, <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/11/o-magnum-mysterium.html" target="_blank">song lyrics</a>, and <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/12/dead.html" target="_blank">prose passages</a>. Try your hand at translating a famous saying or literary passage into a sonnet.</div>
<h3>
</h3>
<h3>
4. Select a Subject</h3>
<div>
<ul>
<li><b>Love</b><br />Sonnets have typically been on the topic of love -- especially unrequited love. Writing a sonnet might be your time to try your hand at an eloquent love poem, and reading and imitating some of the great poets' love sonnets is a great way to prepare for such composing. Take a look at Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "<a href="https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/how-do-i-love-thee-sonnet-43" target="_blank">How do I love thee, let me count the ways</a>," as a model, or Shakespeare's famous "<a href="http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/18" target="_blank">Shall I compare thee to a summer's day</a>?" One can also take a humorous approach to love, as Shakespeare did in sonnet #130 ("<a href="http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/130" target="_blank">My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun</a>"). Not all love poems have to be about the pain of unrequired love. I've written a serious of <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/uxorious%20sonnets" target="_blank">sonnets based on married love</a>, or dedicated to my wife. She seems to like them. Why wouldn't you?</li>
<li><b>Nature</b><br />Much lyric poetry is devoted to an appreciation of nature. You can see some of my many examples of <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/nature%20sonnets" target="_blank">nature-themed sonnets</a> or even <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/seasonal%20sonnets" target="_blank">season-themed sonnets</a>. Vivid description is always a welcome variety.</li>
<li><b>Religion</b><br />So many poets have expressed their religious ideals, doubts, praise, and inner feelings through sonnets. John Donne is a great model of this in his <a href="http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/donne02.html" target="_blank">Holy Sonnets</a>. I have written a broad variety of <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/religious%20sonnets" target="_blank">religion-themed sonnets</a>. Since the sonnet is a type of lyric poetry, it often carries a very personal voice, and this lends itself to religious devotion, or even to religious frustration (as Donne illustrates so nicely with his "<a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/44106" target="_blank">Batter my heart, three-personed God</a>" sonnet). Writing a poem can be an act of devotion, repentance, or even religious rebellion.</li>
<li><b>Food</b><br />I have found myself composing many <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/food%20sonnets" target="_blank">food-themed sonnets</a> (often humorous). I include this category so sonnet writers can feel free to be funny, or simply feel it's okay to write about something everyday and common, like food.</li>
<li><b>Space</b><br />I love the cosmic -- in science fiction and in epic literature like Milton's Paradise Lost. So I have written a variety of "<a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/cosmos" target="_blank">cosmos sonnets</a>" that are out of this world!</li>
<li><b>Abstract or Philosophical</b><br />Sonnets can revel in language, with its sounds and figurative possibilities, and not have to make a lot of rational sense in order to be satisfying. I offer some samples of <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/abstract" target="_blank">abstract sonnets</a> and <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/philosophical" target="_blank">philosophical sonnets</a> as thought-provoking alternatives to traditional subjects for this genre of poetry.</li>
<li><b>Language</b><br />Language isn't just a tool; it's a topic. Some sonnets are <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/language" target="_blank">about language</a> or even more specifically about the joys and frustrations of <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/writing%20sonnets" target="_blank">writing itself</a>.</li>
<li><b>Impersonation</b><br />In Shakespeare's day, budding writers would stretch their literary talents by trying to speak in the voice of someone or something else: a famous person from history, an inanimate object. It can be a lot of fun to be someone else. Here are a few examples of <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/impersonations" target="_blank">impersonation sonnets</a>.</li>
</ul>
</div>
Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-51472730943310093512016-03-06T20:21:00.000-07:002016-03-06T20:21:31.643-07:00Day of Wrest<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvZe_xSONDIM6iHzybCwSXBfn_hSVHO4YHkSnSjgrj0XcrtFaAo6YW56GwOBO6bI4Z3ZSE2c1-6kKJkB7SHC4U2Dw6ULAQPUvgATeL3U7h4jX9C952JwPaFsAXa0oaMIuzQuhYpG-2vGo/s1600/looking-west.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvZe_xSONDIM6iHzybCwSXBfn_hSVHO4YHkSnSjgrj0XcrtFaAo6YW56GwOBO6bI4Z3ZSE2c1-6kKJkB7SHC4U2Dw6ULAQPUvgATeL3U7h4jX9C952JwPaFsAXa0oaMIuzQuhYpG-2vGo/s640/looking-west.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I stopped to watch this western sky today.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Day of Wrest</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<br />
The sabbath: day of wrest. I twist away<br />
from all the rest. I shear and cut. I break.<br />
This will not pass and press as other days<br />
whose worried layers mud my mind. I make<br />
a pause of purpose, better if I shake<br />
up rhythms, sabotage, dislodge and blunt<br />
efficiencies. If slow enough, I make<br />
my week lie weakened, muted, stunned.<br />
With time untied to let what's running run<br />
itself away, I can be still -- am stilled,<br />
and bold enough to hold, to wait, the sun<br />
in slow progression warming -- if I'm still<br />
enough, apart enough, and emptied, calm<br />
enough to let Him salve me with His balm.<br />
<br />
<i>I drafted this three years ago in February 2013 and just discovered it in a notebook and revised a sagging stanza. This poem fits with what my church leaders have encouraged of late: more reverence for the Sabbath, more pondering, more spirit of worship. Taking time to be holy.</i>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-29284343898935552692013-06-05T14:06:00.000-06:002013-06-05T14:07:16.161-06:00Filament<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5B4y1xDWV97WzPsJ57T77Vo3gGzejM1AqdyKhEXWbl89uNx1sBP9ZDQFC0slchImjHHm9YyV5zE08QHZpUJCFuE0HcB-Eks2ZaXwVPEZio4hG9bk9liUq7dlZTO8qgmhhgvVuYMZece4/s1600/pulpit-rock.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5B4y1xDWV97WzPsJ57T77Vo3gGzejM1AqdyKhEXWbl89uNx1sBP9ZDQFC0slchImjHHm9YyV5zE08QHZpUJCFuE0HcB-Eks2ZaXwVPEZio4hG9bk9liUq7dlZTO8qgmhhgvVuYMZece4/s1600/pulpit-rock.png" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Filament</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<i>inspired by Walt Whitman's "A Noiseless Patient Spider" (below)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>Not anything can measure it, not light<br />
nor miles nor time nor words like "depth" or "height"<br />
and I am, insect-like, a speck, so slight<br />
so blank so mute so pale within the white<br />
yet poised along the cusp of sound and sight<br />
some primal part, down deep where neurons bite<br />
where forces stir that blurred primeval night<br />
with white-hot wonder, blazing through the fight<br />
to see: the sea, the scene, each atom bright<br />
from here from me somehow so wide despite<br />
my jellied lenses, dulled by mortal rites<br />
yet lasering through all till all ignites.<br />
Some filament is cast that cords the kite,<br />
I board the flight, I soar though sore in sight.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">image: creative commons licensed by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/johotravels/1570563017/" target="_blank">John Barton</a></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<u>A Noiseless Patient Spider</u> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
by Walt Whitman</blockquote>
<blockquote>
A noiseless patient spider,<br />
I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,<br />
Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,<br />
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,<br />
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.</blockquote>
<blockquote>
And you O my soul where you stand,<br />
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,<br />
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,<br />
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,<br />
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.</blockquote>
Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-56442183239115517092013-05-26T15:15:00.001-06:002013-05-26T15:23:42.756-06:00No Love for Mustard<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCAcJh9dIUiyQTUq99pQZcFpZ1VFGoNhIDe6cGSkYTYwg9arimotqHwxLYSAYXvpf7F-yAiWnOCsgHAsnZbOjIpROEu7d_KO4N8vNjnr0Jo7OI95rdbwpRTVZZe4cs3_QgkofAxoeJQ5s/s1600/Flickr-Swamibu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCAcJh9dIUiyQTUq99pQZcFpZ1VFGoNhIDe6cGSkYTYwg9arimotqHwxLYSAYXvpf7F-yAiWnOCsgHAsnZbOjIpROEu7d_KO4N8vNjnr0Jo7OI95rdbwpRTVZZe4cs3_QgkofAxoeJQ5s/s400/Flickr-Swamibu.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mustard contest or fraternity dare?<br />
The fact that you can't tell the difference<br />
tells you everything</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>In the spirit of my other <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/food%20sonnets" target="_blank">food sonnets</a>, I have penned this one about my least favorite of the condiments, mustard. This one I wrote with some imagery help from Janessa, a well-read sixth-grader with equally disapproving tastebuds. If this poem pleases you, you might also enjoy the vituperation of another would-be food, <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/03/white-chocolate-vituperation.html">white chocolate</a>. Anyway, my apologies to all the mustard lovers out there. No, I take that back. I stand by the poem.</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">No Love for Mustard</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<br />
Let's just be honest: mustard is a slime,<br />
a sour, gooey, beige-brown-yellow paste<br />
ground up from foot-long garden slugs who dine<br />
on maggot larvae and on cabbage waste.<br />
That color --oh, so cheery. Neon fraud<br />
disguising moldy pesto, eye of newt.<br />
But go ahead and lather up your dog<br />
or victim burger with that poison stew--<br />
that con of condiments, a pretzel's bane,<br />
that choice of kings (if kings have gone insane),<br />
that turdy must that does all food profane,<br />
that musty turd, so wrong except in name.<br />
If heaven's food is fair, then oh, not this--<br />
the bug guts Satan smothers on his grits.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">image: creative commons licensed by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/swamibu/6829252072/sizes/m/in/photostream/" target="_blank">Swamibu</a> (Flickr)</span></div>
Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-31348459867852641632013-03-21T12:43:00.003-06:002013-03-21T12:43:57.930-06:00Write It<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjReskWI37vcOLTEaKsRKiH4F_WzmwS4LzmMtz3uflG0ePoVk30x8O5NKXAPHlGbzr9OXvLXFApSXb8MeTno_OMoGnPa7CgTLfWaWxAn-TFWMjbFYQfmk06FOJNgkxRjSST2nhwlGe69OA/s1600/know-this2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjReskWI37vcOLTEaKsRKiH4F_WzmwS4LzmMtz3uflG0ePoVk30x8O5NKXAPHlGbzr9OXvLXFApSXb8MeTno_OMoGnPa7CgTLfWaWxAn-TFWMjbFYQfmk06FOJNgkxRjSST2nhwlGe69OA/s320/know-this2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Write It</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<br />
Know this: if but an inky remnant scrawl<br />
awakens memory, then wake. The wake<br />
of thunders sunders, echoes, spreads and sprawls,<br />
and you have heard and known it for your sake,<br />
<br />
as though He tuned the atmosphere to breathe<br />
your breathing. Rhythmed right, alive to light<br />
too light to sink or wince or falling leave<br />
the falling leaves their crimsons breaking bright.<br />
<br />
So fight, so grasp two-fisted, whitely tight<br />
what was to you so present thick with fire<br />
with floods of rushing hushing stillness. Bite<br />
the sugar-stinging bloody orange. Wire<br />
<br />
and weld the ever wonder, page to ink,<br />
to keep untamed, alive in all you think.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">composed 12-9-12</span></div>
Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-86479416052507345442013-03-03T22:29:00.000-07:002013-03-03T22:29:42.591-07:00Another Weekend Drinking With the Sinners<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwIjHifDJS5h30PJf70yB0dftb66Eb2YOupRALeGgJ64CabnfniOBhDtA3VQnWN5Ptx4MsSB_F6Odv3VcCjkQ3zGG2LNX0q0Ck9RP4ciiyW0EHOvarUeaBgBxR6bqpB_nwZWsyUAB23U/s1600/5138624327_523ed8d190_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwIjHifDJS5h30PJf70yB0dftb66Eb2YOupRALeGgJ64CabnfniOBhDtA3VQnWN5Ptx4MsSB_F6Odv3VcCjkQ3zGG2LNX0q0Ck9RP4ciiyW0EHOvarUeaBgBxR6bqpB_nwZWsyUAB23U/s400/5138624327_523ed8d190_z.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Another Weekend Drinking With the Sinners</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<br />
Another weekend drinking with the sinners,<br />
the wine like water freely freely passed around.<br />
We regulars are here, plus some beginners.<br />
We sometimes laugh, or drink without a sound.<br />
<br />
Hung over from another weary week,<br />
we're drinking to remember, not forget.<br />
To fix what's broken, get up on our feet,<br />
it's easier together, dry or wet.<br />
<br />
In time you get to know the others' troubles,<br />
at least you read the reasons why they come.<br />
It's hard to razor smooth the bumpy stubble,<br />
but harder still to walk away or run.<br />
<br />
A piece of bread, a friend to hold the cup,<br />
a reason to look down, and then look up.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Composed 8-19-2012. Revised 2-24-2013</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Image: creative commons licensed, <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/moregoodfoundation/5138624327/" target="_blank">More Good Foundation</a></i></span></div>
Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-7977624679856640882012-10-11T16:42:00.001-06:002020-10-29T16:22:41.095-06:00To Carry Sorrows<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt9GKJrTxiHihqdnnka8pCNl0Kd8gpvv4R_nYTIqMbLOfAdrpioB0E8A3ee7Kw5fFgoiZ8jHxZz3dQ5fagan0HVu-hABc5nJnNlaK-hgTHU2DyJFbnVfjlz35kNncfVGYgUt7kYcmlgsE/s1600/flickr-3645246360-original.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt9GKJrTxiHihqdnnka8pCNl0Kd8gpvv4R_nYTIqMbLOfAdrpioB0E8A3ee7Kw5fFgoiZ8jHxZz3dQ5fagan0HVu-hABc5nJnNlaK-hgTHU2DyJFbnVfjlz35kNncfVGYgUt7kYcmlgsE/s320/flickr-3645246360-original.jpeg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">creative commons licensed - <a href="http://www.fotopedia.com/items/flickr-3645246360" target="_blank">fotopedia</a></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">To Carry Sorrows</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<br />
<i>a meditation upon <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/isa/53.3-6?lang=eng#2" target="_blank">Isaiah 53:3-6</a> (KJV)</i><br />
<br />
To carry sorrows, this the pressing weight<br />
the press and wait, uncertain how much more<br />
or what it's for, these carried sorrows, freight<br />
toward a destination without shore<br />
nor harbor, harboring the laden craft<br />
suspended in a deepening depth, a grief<br />
whose eddies slowly spin this shaking craft<br />
til all is tearing, torn upon the reef.<br />
To carry sorrows, bury sorrows deep<br />
within the organs' darkened tissue rich<br />
with wrong, the layered cankered cancers keep<br />
their host and host the oily muck and pitch<br />
and how can I abandon cells and skin<br />
to leave these sorrows, even now, to Him?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
<br />Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-56179950182625130372012-04-06T09:39:00.000-06:002012-04-06T09:52:14.816-06:00Good Friday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Good Friday</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<br />
When I forget--this settled peace, erased;<br />
this stillness-fullness broken, emptied, pale,<br />
the numbing noise of business in its place;<br />
this freshness forced to something sick and stale;<br />
my piece of peace a sharpened, cutting shard;<br />
my wholeness raked with ragged ripping holes,<br />
and everything once easy, cold and hard;<br />
this world off-rhythmed, wobbling on its poles--<br />
then come, Redeemer, come unpawn, untie,<br />
undo, bind up, relieve, remind my timid eyes<br />
to look again, to watch, to wait, to try<br />
this trial, wrench from it the brighter prize,<br />
and let you fight for me on bloody knees,<br />
where praying shakes the silent olive trees.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>photo: creative commons licensed from <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/aftab/93243941/sizes/m/in/photostream/" target="_blank">aftab</a> via Flickr</i></span></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-14109645021194772562012-03-25T13:10:00.000-06:002015-03-25T09:44:08.453-06:00Olive<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Olive</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>in memory of our first grandchild, Olive Burton, <br />who came to us, and left us, on March 25, 2012 </i><br />
<br />
The ultrasound technician didn't know<br />
the baby couldn't stay. Her mother, close<br />
to dying, wouldn't last to keep the flow<br />
of growing until safety interposed.<br />
"And that's her arm, and here's her beating heart.<br />
She's healthy, normal, right on track with growth."<br />
We watched my son with tender groaning start<br />
their child-grief, Adam clutching Eve and both<br />
a witness to the miracle, the spike<br />
of seeing such divinity in reach<br />
that in our darkness nothing seems more light,<br />
more fleeting-weighty than a parent's weeks.<br />
Oh, little Olive, here and gone again;<br />
we'll dance with you when time at last unbends.Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-77712118436645152692012-02-14T13:40:00.001-07:002012-02-14T13:40:54.491-07:00Love Rocks<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh30cAPEL6V9O-27dMyn6PIh7kir4rD89XOjcZQmZTquR5ZQhYreQ2HfU2e8X33k-_9J7fLVSSUSVLBeW6NF2ACYYX-8IgAhGaPlEZitauN1gmLVziU4SWaowoCH8ZVU9bf_SZp8FJ0XUw/s1600/2738582688_4a14ba78f5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh30cAPEL6V9O-27dMyn6PIh7kir4rD89XOjcZQmZTquR5ZQhYreQ2HfU2e8X33k-_9J7fLVSSUSVLBeW6NF2ACYYX-8IgAhGaPlEZitauN1gmLVziU4SWaowoCH8ZVU9bf_SZp8FJ0XUw/s320/2738582688_4a14ba78f5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">creative commons licensed by<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jamesjordan/2738582688/sizes/m/in/photostream/" target="_blank"> James Jordan</a></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Love Rocks</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
by Gideon Burton<br /><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">for Karen</span></i><br />
<br />
On balance, I am not -- not balanced, all<br />
these years of trying (and I know I'm trying):<br />
I run, careening, leaning, then I fall<br />
again. (Just saying, not at all implying.)<br />
And what a lovely sentiment to state<br />
"You are the ballast force, the leveling,<br />
the plumb line, ever true, my steady mate,<br />
as constant as my constant life disheveling."<br />
But you, my equal, mess with gravity,<br />
creative force disordering with grace.<br />
A steady state? to you, depravity:<br />
you smiling think, and soon explodes our place.<br />
Our love has rocked us sleeping and awake,<br />
a living rhythm, holding as all breaks.Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-11547558989599588382011-12-04T23:33:00.001-07:002011-12-04T23:54:34.773-07:00Winter Window<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1J1u_IUGkL2O8pmhkgP_dldzJskg_cQOfMONWX9utaWlVAxJQISP2tgoAWeDC1iKxZcdX5CVEvelHwfIsBNuhqapgQneCPK8p9E887B5hsFAuOCvW6mirONRlgeSXrzy0_-1a5q85ftU/s1600/2284996894_472d415616.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1J1u_IUGkL2O8pmhkgP_dldzJskg_cQOfMONWX9utaWlVAxJQISP2tgoAWeDC1iKxZcdX5CVEvelHwfIsBNuhqapgQneCPK8p9E887B5hsFAuOCvW6mirONRlgeSXrzy0_-1a5q85ftU/s1600/2284996894_472d415616.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Winter Window</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<br />
I have been watching at the window, still<br />
enough for tides of moonwash moistening<br />
the cooling glass, the slowing hours, the still<br />
arranging silences. I'm listening.<br />
Above in bloodied trails hot comets score<br />
the flimsy fabric, screaming light. But no<br />
unwintering, no auguring the core<br />
of cold, no pause against the piling snow--<br />
this flow of every evening, evening<br />
to one, to waiting at a window framed<br />
with stains of weary wonder hovering<br />
in something said, in something pure and named<br />
and washing me or watching me or spilled<br />
and spelled with mercies tendered as He will.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Image: Creative Commons licensed through Flickr - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mariya_umama_wethemba_monastery/2284996894/sizes/m/in/photostream/" target="_blank">Randy OHC</a></span></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-57462932186775359032011-11-20T22:57:00.001-07:002011-11-20T22:58:52.712-07:00Provided For<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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creative commons licensed by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jamesjordan/1903863438/sizes/m/in/photostream/" target="_blank">James Jordan</a></div>
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<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Provided For</span></div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
by Gideon Burton</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i>after </i><a href="http://lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/78.17-18?lang=eng" target="_blank"><i>D&C 78:17-18</i></a><i>:</i></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="font-size: medium;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i>Verily, verily, I say unto you, ye are little children, and ye have not as yet understood how great blessings the Father hath in his own hands and prepared for you; And ye cannot bear all things now; nevertheless, be of good cheer, for I will lead you along. The kingdom is yours and the blessings thereof are yours, and the riches of eternity are yours.</i></div>
</blockquote>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
What copious abundance, ready, set,</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
awaiting and prepared by Father's hands</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
but hidden to your little eyes: the grand</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
and great, the fishes heavy in their net.</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Too little, children, yet to see or bear</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
the rush of grace, the hush of others' pain,</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
the cresting crush of deserts' sudden rain,</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
the blooming flush of flesh in fresh repair.</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Yet I will lead and cheer you, find your way,</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
will clear the tangled knots and smooth the road,</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
will coach and calm and cry and seek and pray.</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
In joy await: the kingdom keeps for you,</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
eternities that surge and swirl and flow</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
in blessings, riches -- quiet, promised, true.</div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-53850041366315963412011-03-12T16:05:00.000-07:002011-03-12T16:05:14.919-07:00Long Division: A Story in Sonnets #1Well, I let myself have a bit of time off after completing a year's worth of daily sonnets. The inertia of that regular composing created a rhythm that was hard to break, though, so the last couple weeks I've been in withdrawal. I'm still toying with the idea of trying to tell a story through a series of sonnets. Maybe this could be the start of one.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrs8JtLoNB2QQ5qqPRuiv4tCSmTYruec2WnbchID31YLAsh7kd_8e_Eo8I9owSsFSwctPsC67JhhP69UWzPqPYx4YO7KjmdzhvJNxpzhvQVD4FdEBdVJo0lKDd0b0IuzOwtaAOzAsQP54/s1600/1495066_aee50b7849_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrs8JtLoNB2QQ5qqPRuiv4tCSmTYruec2WnbchID31YLAsh7kd_8e_Eo8I9owSsFSwctPsC67JhhP69UWzPqPYx4YO7KjmdzhvJNxpzhvQVD4FdEBdVJo0lKDd0b0IuzOwtaAOzAsQP54/s320/1495066_aee50b7849_z.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Long Division: A Story in Sonnets #1</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<br />
"It's different now," she said, her downward glance<br />
confirming everything: her shift of tone,<br />
as though a sounding bell shook loose their trance;<br />
her calm, as though time bleached a desert bone.<br />
He reached for words, but not for words, he trawled<br />
the murky shallows for a passing trace<br />
of certainty to anchor to. He called<br />
upon a past or future in her face,<br />
a plot line rising from that almond curve<br />
her closing eyes defined, though shutting, wet;<br />
an answer or a question that could swerve<br />
toward assurances; some golden net<br />
to braid new bravery. "I'll take you home."<br />
Then he would wander, sinking, mute, alone.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo: flickr - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/heilemann/1495066/">Michael Heilemann</a></i></span></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-33965389658899397652011-02-28T00:02:00.000-07:002011-02-28T00:02:42.127-07:00Finishing my 365 Sonnets Project<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp77w-ai2NYXS_3zadO6riJaBZnMpa7Y-ARg01j9bW1ziKYhGqCMz-0UVH1zS0RQbtKPgoaDuWC5V30fbIRzX36yr3KiEsz26W9nNGZNjGa2DR4NPyx8E6G8hE8jAngkZwZuSfNoGxiSg/s1600/3343929029_b20dcef20d_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp77w-ai2NYXS_3zadO6riJaBZnMpa7Y-ARg01j9bW1ziKYhGqCMz-0UVH1zS0RQbtKPgoaDuWC5V30fbIRzX36yr3KiEsz26W9nNGZNjGa2DR4NPyx8E6G8hE8jAngkZwZuSfNoGxiSg/s320/3343929029_b20dcef20d_z.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Well, today I'm finishing a year of posting one sonnet a day. This is something I did once before (not posting them to a blog, but composing one sonnet daily for over three years, between 1998-2001). I've drawn upon some of those earlier sonnets to supply this round, and I've also occasionally featured a <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/classic%20sonnets">classic</a> poet's sonnet, or a sonnet by one of my <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/student%20sonnets">students</a>. But by and large, it's been my own new creation every day since February 28, 2010. (Here's the <a href="http://spreadsheets.google.com/ccc?key=0AsO9Wxk4ogHfdFVtYVQ3WXVaNk1LQXVEWFdQV091WFE&hl=en">full index</a> in case you're interested).<br />
<br />
Many of these sonnets have been <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/imitations">imitations</a> (43, in fact), with my major topical categories going to <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/religious%20sonnets">religion</a> (75) and <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/nature%20sonnets">nature</a> (46). Some 19 have been written to or about my wife (my "<a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/uxorious%20sonnets">uxorious</a>" category) and another 5 about <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/marriage%20sonnets">marriage</a>. Many of my sonnets are <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/reflective">reflective</a> (25), <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/philosophical">philosophical</a> (32), or even <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/abstract">abstract</a> (21). But there are also some 25 <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/humorous%20sonnets">humorous sonnets</a>, often about <a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/food%20sonnets">food</a> (21). You can see the full list of tags on the side of the blog.<br />
<br />
I just added the Popular Posts widget, something that if I'd put up earlier might have changed some of my writing choices. How do people find and read this little niche blog? Hard to say. Why do some sonnets get read more than others? A puzzle. <br />
<a name='more'></a>But the most read sonnet is one based off of a spam letter I received that had a funny line in it (whoda thunk?), "<a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/08/my-name-is-darja.html">My Name is Darja."</a> A serious sonnet on marriage (at the occasion of my son's wedding) takes second place, "<a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/09/learning-love.html">Learning Love</a>," with another marriage sonnet also in the top 10 ("<a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/09/let-her-speak.html">Let Her Speak</a>"). Two of the poems in the top ten are imitations (one after Matthew Arnold, "<a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/11/on-dovers-beach.html">On Dover's Beach</a>"; and the opening lines from Milton's Paradise Lost, "<a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2011/01/illumine-me.html">Illumine Me</a>." Two are Mormon-themed sonnets (though neither my favorites in this category): "<a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/10/apostles.html">Apostles</a>" and "<a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2011/01/shakespeares-of-our-own.html">Shakespeares of Our Own</a>"). An historical-religious poem (based off of a great sermon I heard) was among my favorites, so I'm glad it made the top 10 popular posts, "<a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2011/01/we-will-cross-river.html">We Will Cross the River</a>." A couple of humorous ones round out the top 10, "<a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/07/new-suit.html">New Suit</a>" and "<a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2011/02/cold-cereal.html">Cold Cereal</a>."<br />
<br />
I want to go back and read the whole year's worth to see what I'm most happy with, but my first run at top personal favorites include:<br />
<br />
<ul><li><a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/12/salt-and-blood.html">Salt and Blood</a></li>
<li><a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/08/language-of-sky.html">The Language of the Sky</a></li>
<li><a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/10/art-of-prayer.html">The Art of Prayer</a></li>
<li><a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2011/01/we-will-cross-river.html">We Will Cross the River</a></li>
<li><a href="http://opensourcesonnets.blogspot.com/2010/08/eye.html">Eye</a></li>
</ul><div>So, my millions of sonnet fans -- any favorites?</div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo: flickr - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/caroslines/3343929029/">Caro's Lines</a></i></span></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-62017255707794007072011-02-27T23:39:00.000-07:002011-02-27T23:39:27.205-07:00Squeezed Muse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGS3tq_s-J6T8wNLMXXLTogcTnbG_cGN7ITx7oP5hU_Npj7YsS0aJYkrn0S3RaAlzKIV8EXLJA54wg4gjbRfPKu8ztkvGCuhMwPzYThpHlapblueB9Bz8uKbPBmX90r_ae2NMZgT2NKwk/s1600/2839422139_c3edf3871e_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGS3tq_s-J6T8wNLMXXLTogcTnbG_cGN7ITx7oP5hU_Npj7YsS0aJYkrn0S3RaAlzKIV8EXLJA54wg4gjbRfPKu8ztkvGCuhMwPzYThpHlapblueB9Bz8uKbPBmX90r_ae2NMZgT2NKwk/s400/2839422139_c3edf3871e_z.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Squeezed Muse</span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">by Gideon Burton</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I've taxed her limit; this I will admit.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Each day I've wrung her robes for drops of light,</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">for music (when I wasn't feeling it),</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">for anger (when I didn't have the fight).</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">At times she has refused me, made me walk</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">in blind unrhythmed prose, inert, and blank.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">At times the waters burst my writer's block,</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">then calmed their froth so I had strength to thank.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I've found that one can tame the flighty sprite,</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">can summon depths and heights that she had hidden.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">If I am brave to fail in black and white,</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">she takes me up the paths that once she didn't.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> A year of writing sonnets, one each day,</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> I've squeezed my muse until I've heard her pray.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo: flickr - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/wilwheaton/2839422139/">WilWheaton</a></i></span></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-60866879877686972011-02-26T22:48:00.000-07:002011-02-26T22:48:02.585-07:00Untied<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHLb2QTA2XJFsLTL03JkNHuEqdKxA3ndX_YFWdgBUqnynJl4NtoiT453vhW_oAD_9hL1lzhn8ksh2H0gaK6shGVHOut-GphkCmdEpcjSw-BeVTf8Y5Z-SUcIsYF11yYn1UuTuLOaY80M4/s1600/2992682938_6d8fb58005_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHLb2QTA2XJFsLTL03JkNHuEqdKxA3ndX_YFWdgBUqnynJl4NtoiT453vhW_oAD_9hL1lzhn8ksh2H0gaK6shGVHOut-GphkCmdEpcjSw-BeVTf8Y5Z-SUcIsYF11yYn1UuTuLOaY80M4/s400/2992682938_6d8fb58005_z.jpg" width="397" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Untied</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<br />
as well as things already loosened, this<br />
among the others, doesn't matter how<br />
precise, how even, every word's a kiss<br />
I've blown in tattered threads of here and now<br />
and anyway so little time contained<br />
(one hundred forty syllables, in fact)<br />
and every one dissolving, unretained,<br />
a sieve of slipping symbols, squared and racked<br />
and raked into a sort of order, signs<br />
and seasons, times and moody moods, complaints<br />
and praise all knotted in the bones and spines<br />
of stanzas, rhymes, and reasons-- so much paint<br />
to gloss the larger rhythms out of sync,<br />
the what and how of how and what I think...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo: flickr - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mbgrigby/2992682938/">mbgrigby</a></i></span></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-27550055422039392772011-02-25T23:50:00.000-07:002011-02-26T00:31:21.646-07:00Wilderness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBBqADB9dAvQodJZzkDH0TEeRBtVmjNZbK8exziigq0ittzSrLYhNot7Z4QDsH7FwHHGaQrNMZdvFuWBNQdftGHZY60_S6OZabOG1jAO-dQsFRbCNTIxnGb7H4h4WYPvY0kqKTpF_ODzs/s1600/3233411643_720d3613cf_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBBqADB9dAvQodJZzkDH0TEeRBtVmjNZbK8exziigq0ittzSrLYhNot7Z4QDsH7FwHHGaQrNMZdvFuWBNQdftGHZY60_S6OZabOG1jAO-dQsFRbCNTIxnGb7H4h4WYPvY0kqKTpF_ODzs/s400/3233411643_720d3613cf_z.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wilderness</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<br />
Against these pools of matted dust, this crush<br />
of wet and sliding light, anatomized<br />
by tongues of broken rock, betrayed by lush<br />
anxieties, so many terms revised<br />
in sallow solace, tiled thick with grout--<br />
Among these errant molecules devoid<br />
of plain geometries, the spoils of doubt,<br />
congealed to alkaline too well deployed--<br />
Within this wilderness, this silent wreck<br />
of cactus skin, unspined and greening smooth--<br />
It's simple, really, once the backward trek<br />
to gray conclusions furrows out the groove<br />
of coarse reproaches, edging with their gild<br />
whatever frame of insolence we build.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo: flickr - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/iceninejon/3233411643/">IceNineJon</a></i></span></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-68711923312721215362011-02-24T19:57:00.000-07:002011-02-24T19:57:50.085-07:00Moguls<i>So here's the thing: I'm a skier. I ski better now than I did 20 years ago, and it's because I make time for it and I get better each season. I used to stay away from mogul fields like this one, but now I can't wait to take them on. Today I skied some moguls just like these. They were afraid of me -- or so I like to think...</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvPMhwEkI6INoNN5gO7byzH9d-6xezaiy6h1B1hHG5qGLdjlT_S5ocRIf0J-_zF5fkVSn49RbcZGn7iD9sz8ons6F19digVYSgZ8XVV3zcOd-V6x6wkQIfN6kEXjXJSjRo_ddsia5M7Uc/s1600/2905034454_d7ebe9abe8_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvPMhwEkI6INoNN5gO7byzH9d-6xezaiy6h1B1hHG5qGLdjlT_S5ocRIf0J-_zF5fkVSn49RbcZGn7iD9sz8ons6F19digVYSgZ8XVV3zcOd-V6x6wkQIfN6kEXjXJSjRo_ddsia5M7Uc/s400/2905034454_d7ebe9abe8_z.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Moguls</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">by Gideon Burton<br />
<br />
The mountain wall a powdered canvas, white</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and waiting for the skiers' serpentine</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">impressions. Every turn a stroke, a light</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">suggestion framed in crystals frozen, fine.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As deeper grow the grooves across the day,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">the moguls come, like sleeping beasts whose backs,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">exposed, emerge as though to block the way.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A challenge I accept, and I attack:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">with scissored switching, sharp, between the mounds,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I turn, I turn, descending, faster, bounce</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and carve, push off, rotate, reverse around,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">then pause a breath before I downward pounce.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> What once were obstacles of danger, dread,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> now pound my heart with blood a richer red.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo: flickr - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/random_matt/2905034454/">random_matt</a></i></span></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-22237870045904291172011-02-23T20:02:00.000-07:002011-02-23T20:02:25.285-07:00Fall Faster, Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEuo3SA9oa0Am3v1fH8sK11XKCcCejMNh-a2xdK5bh6OKyQdmLSXVn7sO3cKlnVmSZ8wka-SVeZGdoBmTEw4w-XpI5P0mQKzHyGWl1aGDk_qDxG3di7khF7k6Yy2ErHCjWRunsSx4bqY4/s1600/2528573180_4ce298a8a2_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEuo3SA9oa0Am3v1fH8sK11XKCcCejMNh-a2xdK5bh6OKyQdmLSXVn7sO3cKlnVmSZ8wka-SVeZGdoBmTEw4w-XpI5P0mQKzHyGWl1aGDk_qDxG3di7khF7k6Yy2ErHCjWRunsSx4bqY4/s400/2528573180_4ce298a8a2_z.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Fall Faster, Night</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<br />
Fall faster, night, whose breathing, breeding stars<br />
arrest the pride of over golden day.<br />
The liquid cinders' crimson fades to dark<br />
agreement as the final embers fray<br />
then tear, dissolving to an indigo<br />
of silence, sealing up the tardy west.<br />
Resume at once your vast procession, slow<br />
and arching from the ocean to the crest.<br />
Suspend the pendant moon for just awhile,<br />
as though to let the oily tinder light<br />
the mat of lesser stars. Their threads compile<br />
to thatch with silver hair the spinning night.<br />
This long rotation eases east and slow<br />
when I would faster feel the heavens grow.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo: flickr - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ezz_eddie/2528573180/">ezz_eddie</a></i></span></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-23742033449195105592011-02-22T20:58:00.000-07:002011-02-22T20:58:13.689-07:00Sing to Me<i>I'm very lucky because I'm married to someone who cheers many people with her beautiful <a href="http://kazzysponderings.blogspot.com/search/label/music">voice</a>. Sometimes, it's the only thing I want to hear.</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPE-Ax_IcZkv8KFvxEpA5RAA1MTmV1TWBhFSAySJuuS4jM6NE-6fxb_G0h18bPwBLIUcsan0GR9uc5-ymQqNYxB73XZFVQA4TGcxQI4OIQAcsvuJAQXmVYvnWCvtfOZOlTBL1alQqD8GI/s1600/4841278287_cd849e0466_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPE-Ax_IcZkv8KFvxEpA5RAA1MTmV1TWBhFSAySJuuS4jM6NE-6fxb_G0h18bPwBLIUcsan0GR9uc5-ymQqNYxB73XZFVQA4TGcxQI4OIQAcsvuJAQXmVYvnWCvtfOZOlTBL1alQqD8GI/s320/4841278287_cd849e0466_z.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Sing to Me</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<br />
Build evenly with phrases made of sound<br />
more pure than silent moonlit winter nights.<br />
Construct with smoothest linen tones, with round<br />
and moistened vowels your reply. In bright<br />
hosannas or in humming whispers make<br />
for me redeeming chords to crash and flow<br />
as rivered springtime runoff coldly breaks<br />
in halo sprays. Give me this way to know.<br />
Let words dilate to thinnest wisps of vapor,<br />
for it is but your voice I will attend.<br />
Give up all eloquence, all pen and paper;<br />
your melody sustain until the end.<br />
Perform this service, sing to me in song;<br />
compose me whole, with music, softly strong.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo: flickr - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/karenmburton/4841278287/">karenmburton</a> <br />
(used by permission)</i></span></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-39567958446497554372011-02-21T21:53:00.001-07:002011-02-27T23:08:14.546-07:00There Will Be Fries<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOV-QYrNBNtZg4jqA79TjP4u8DgTDFfZiHPXElEZl5vm2N1pO7hl9JMuHATC03Q3bKYGu8IrNUznEnWzm_ZXPGNWtt9c6GXbR-s3LDTCQ7YlczzkMkwYE5R6Lbr71tVZjvrE7z-lMN5E/s1600/2896697061_53fef6f503_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOV-QYrNBNtZg4jqA79TjP4u8DgTDFfZiHPXElEZl5vm2N1pO7hl9JMuHATC03Q3bKYGu8IrNUznEnWzm_ZXPGNWtt9c6GXbR-s3LDTCQ7YlczzkMkwYE5R6Lbr71tVZjvrE7z-lMN5E/s400/2896697061_53fef6f503_z.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There Will Be Fries</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">by Gideon Burton<br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tonight there will be fries, and fries aplenty.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm driving to McDonald's with my craving.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'll get three orders, four -- or maybe twenty.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In vats of ketchup soon we will be bathing.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Don't talk about the salt, the clogging fat,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">my arteries constricting with each bite.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Shut up about the carbs, enough of that!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'll gobble up some more just out of spite.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So savory crisp, deep fried to beige nirvana,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">each one a blessing from the fast food gods.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Like bits of meat tossed to a starved piranha,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I will devour all these starchy rods.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Wolfed down while driving, lest their heat is lost,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> there will be fries, or Daddy will be cross.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo: flickr - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/tlk/2896697061/">shazam791</a></i></span></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-23360075913363109392011-02-20T18:44:00.000-07:002011-02-20T18:44:27.077-07:00Squinting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jMbQcXQAG7Vx8ygOgN_5sXB3W7G8luARpIwltlDfCsw7rqSTeLqRbjHKo2z24swWpvHX9kaALs4QrwSeOlh3FVsRA8GJC0RfL_e9z4KJmCvPzbt_eUBQnOTZPwlBRJ5W3KrG33UdvmA/s1600/2372276869_2539149efa_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jMbQcXQAG7Vx8ygOgN_5sXB3W7G8luARpIwltlDfCsw7rqSTeLqRbjHKo2z24swWpvHX9kaALs4QrwSeOlh3FVsRA8GJC0RfL_e9z4KJmCvPzbt_eUBQnOTZPwlBRJ5W3KrG33UdvmA/s400/2372276869_2539149efa_z.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Squinting</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">by Gideon Burton</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Where ends the world or where it all began,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">disorder thick with order, dark with light, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">from primal chaos, womankind and man.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">How tardy comes our story, squinting sight,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">but eagerly we chart the eons, scan</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the atoms, reading genes and comets, dazed</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">at each continuum, minute or grand.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">More magnitudes extend the cosmic maze.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And yet, however vast our growing scope</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">we close parameters by reasoned thought.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What are those worlds we've chosen not to note</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">insisting systemed knowledge as we ought?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Our ignorance compounds as knowledge grows;</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> for good or ill, for now, nobody knows.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Photo: flickr - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kingarthur10/2372276869/">kingarthur10</a></span></i></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-74819541791710284112011-02-19T21:16:00.000-07:002011-02-19T21:16:27.361-07:00Unencumbered<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVM-y6Z_F7cSEyCnwP2bJ87YmelVk930uloubyJXJxNV79ulk45UKk19Lpwl8cf4DTwXhdWdBoxgGQN_DqR6eaoNRnDxmyoIv6qjVVQ4WLWGBiVvZaqp-0MfZ6QTUbnHplMLD0IA_U31E/s1600/5048086959_c6186c314a_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVM-y6Z_F7cSEyCnwP2bJ87YmelVk930uloubyJXJxNV79ulk45UKk19Lpwl8cf4DTwXhdWdBoxgGQN_DqR6eaoNRnDxmyoIv6qjVVQ4WLWGBiVvZaqp-0MfZ6QTUbnHplMLD0IA_U31E/s400/5048086959_c6186c314a_z.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Unencumbered</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">by Gideon Burton<br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Our things are weights, are tethers, hobbles, dense</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">and mute and brutally inert. They keep </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">beyond their keeping, adding new expense</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">to store, maintain, or lie about in heaps.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I love a home, an auto, or a sweater,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">but only as they serve and not enslave.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And letting go, I've found, is often better,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">prepared by less to ride the rising wave.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The art of living well is living lean,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">preserving an agility for change,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">a willingness to clear the clutter clean,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">to nothing spare so God can all arrange.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> The tools and tangibles that we require</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> are throttled more by purpose than desire.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo: flickr - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/disaster_area/5048086959/">The Hamster Factor</a></i></span></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-28349764614413652002011-02-18T21:23:00.001-07:002011-02-19T00:10:03.728-07:00Safe Rage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFp1vTlArO1h7mhs5SUUiSpdmoTeplEiyEOWOn7pUPtamGZWBocYvbT_ouVgvtowQ0bGDUz2vEV8H5_s7fZ0TKurYvExMP4a9Lh4NQZLIU_rXFbjX6r0SqmXHe19B0YMGmNysDFCwuMdM/s1600/couple-beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFp1vTlArO1h7mhs5SUUiSpdmoTeplEiyEOWOn7pUPtamGZWBocYvbT_ouVgvtowQ0bGDUz2vEV8H5_s7fZ0TKurYvExMP4a9Lh4NQZLIU_rXFbjX6r0SqmXHe19B0YMGmNysDFCwuMdM/s400/couple-beach.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Safe Rage</span><br />
by Gideon Burton<br />
<br />
Be angry, find and spill your blackest bile.<br />
Complain as though I wished you were more shrill.<br />
Burst into tears and beat my chest at will.<br />
Condemn, accuse, while shouting all the while.<br />
The storm will thunder, then its winds will pass<br />
You and I will still be lashed together.<br />
Best lovers love who weather every weather.<br />
And I am ready: let your lightning crash.<br />
I do not need a reason for your rage--<br />
the world is thick enough to vex the best.<br />
And as emotion rises to its crest<br />
Return and act your Oscar on this stage.<br />
Our marriage is your harbor, refuge, port<br />
where we will turn each tragedy to sport.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo: flickr - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/incubos/2763313904/">incubos</a> (adapted)</i></span></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201871821675990593.post-76232503502423455662011-02-17T22:21:00.000-07:002011-02-17T22:21:09.682-07:00Chance and Choice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUTWWUlRH3S2EZwNPZMW9feI-iubHp1Fy0Nc772STe6vP8td_qvFG8iJkNCBYtHDleRqQDF8qwbyfTzc-rwi9GD408s2TmCpVb_9jhlaOU6a5v9JZIVYa4TWKD4BQzUJ60RfSDcgPczE/s1600/2269443661_4e03e00b8a_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUTWWUlRH3S2EZwNPZMW9feI-iubHp1Fy0Nc772STe6vP8td_qvFG8iJkNCBYtHDleRqQDF8qwbyfTzc-rwi9GD408s2TmCpVb_9jhlaOU6a5v9JZIVYa4TWKD4BQzUJ60RfSDcgPczE/s400/2269443661_4e03e00b8a_z.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Chance and Choice</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">by Gideon Burton<br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A world of chance and choice, a plane not planed</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">of splintered barbs except by dragging skin</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">along the slow progression of the limned</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and matted surfaces that are the main</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and staple places where we wait, we glare,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">we weep for items lost to time or dust</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">with all the other traffickers in rust.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm hopeful that my children may still dare</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">another course less crooked than the one</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I fell to with such hungry, biting blows.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And yet I can still sense the saving snows,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">still sort the tangled rays of distant suns</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">that speak to me in pulses not so mute</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">as careful to reward my patience crude.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo: flickr - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scott-tanis/2269443661/">scott.tanis</a></i></span></div>Gideon Burtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08282494104976426309noreply@blogger.com0