Richard II blue-ray sonnet contest
Please, why thy post should haste me write in verse?
I have no art so be my sonnet scorn’d,
Whose thievish tongue plucked English to disperse
My heavy ignorance aloft, air borne.
Forget the Bard and wit, there’s not such matter
To win the blue-ray disc. Thus should I sway,
A twice lame poor, along these lines at better.
May Fortune help my limp to find a way.
Despite the hobbling, I do not repent,
For Shakespeare’s reading through sublime invention
Rewarding was enough, I feel contented:
A joy above the rest in wrong direction.
And since ‘tis justly said “What owe, you pay”
I’d like to thank thee for the bid to play.
Sonnet for the Black Sabbath
(Paranoid sonnet)
The mistress left, whose scant regard my mind
Did suffered; yet nothing seems to hold me
Whilst hours pass in thinking, deaf to time
And to men boasting my frown, mad, proves me.
But neither Peace with balmy bliss of presence,
No, nor the weak relief my brain to dwell;
Could someone grow for me a silent pleasance,
Show me the things in life that do me well?
My friend, to thy good jokes I sigh and cry,
Since happy cannot be whose heart is blind;
He changes the hue of sun to night dark sky,
And love’s behond the reaching of his mind.
If thy do hear these words describe my state,
Enjoy your life, I pray, for me is late.
Ciano, blu, chimico veleno, lava,
dalla tua bocca come sfiamma sbocca
e le ferite più profonde tocca,
preme marchiando, nella carne scava.
Sono coperto, corroso dalla bava
delle parole che ardenti la bocca
e sento cede, cade dalla rocca
il cuor; ragion a te s’è fatta schiava
perché conosce neri desideri
ed ogni piaga urla di vergogna
tanto ne sveli il ver e ne rimesti.
Così, scoperto, mostro ciò che speri:
le ossa, il sangue marcio di carogna
ma i colpi tuoi non fan che ti detesti.
Acrostic Sonnet to a linnet
Perilous winds and stormy skies you tempted
Leaving the flock. You petty linnet, dream
Ephemeral dreams and won’t be contented.
Ahead it’s raining and the air is a stream
Swallowing, your wings are small and you’re bleary.
Every attempt to fly is unrewarding
Lurks shame in your defeat, but you feel cheery,
Every time trilling hail and happy singing.
The blows of tempest and the cold you fear
Most: the night, you are not prepared to meet,
Enduring fool, even if the goal’s near,
Will lack of skill, your strength will be defeat.
I see the end: you won’t amend your sin
Nagging hostile weather: please, let me win.
