
I Don’t Write Sonnets Anymore
I have a friend who is a published poet in Norway.
I showed her my work and she said I cannot claim to write sonnets.
I do not follow the established rules for sonnets laid down 400 years ago.
It's a new century and I'm taking sonnets into the Space Age I said.
Nuh-uh was her reaction.
OK.
No more sonnets.
I write fourteen line poems in iambic heptameter called Sonnitz! TM
Join me!
For a small fee.
Lay of Kushta, Sonnet 43
The capitol quieter, the mob restrain’d, they turn’d once
More to planning the embassy to Bror. Ambassador
Need’d, they select’d Amit, a noble from the old
Forest of Hapalan. Competent but best known for hunts,
They hop’d he’d appeal to Moneos. Then away for Bror
They proceed’d, laden with gifts of silk, oak, beer, wine, and gold,
For such were most greatly lov’d by dwarves. They march’d in winter,
For regardless of season, most bitter cold would they meet.
Higher rose their road, steeper their trail, into the alpine
Land above the treeline, without vine or grape or vintner,
Sore were their backs, sore were their legs, sore were their eyes, of feet
The less said the better. Ysolde soaked them in hot salt’d wine.
Without her ministrations they’d still be on the white slopes.
Til at last they reach’d the entrance and could descend on ropes.
Lay of Kushta, Sonnet 42
Scum! Said Abner from beside the Throne. Guess what would Mother
Say we had done. They stood together on jade Temple stair
And look’d on at the mess of the city below. Fires were
Burning on heaps of trash, and drunken mobs chas’d one another.
O Jamal, said Ysolde, this is our home. Tears shone on her
Cheeks, but she did not wail. She said, What must be done, fellows
To restore peace to the Emperor’s capital? And none
There thought it odd that Ysolde would ask as a full equal.
Hire half to arrest the other half, said Bob. His mellow
Wit was met with a deep silence, since almost everyone
Thought it was the best idea since receiving the eagle.
So that is in fact what they did, though it was very hard,
Bob’s bad joke became the start of the Imperial Guard.
Lay of Kushta, Sonnet 41
Abner agreed, and Geoff ordain’d, and so to Bror was
Their embassy planned, and supplies gather’d in giant piles,
And strong porters hir’d on from among streams of applicants
For popular was the Empire in Argora. Abuzz
Were the crowds to serve the new dynasty in lavish style
With eager honest labor for the Imperial chance
Of glory with honor, something rarely then seen in days
Of petty kingdoms with fickle disputes and little wars.
So the common people were glad the Empire was restor’d.
And long lines of soldiers of fortune did roam the maze
Of Argora’s streets, drunk, and roistering with drunken whores,
All loudly pleading, Pardon us, Pardon us, August Lord!
For many understood this priestly king easily freer
To forgive a mercer his foul buccaneering career.
Lay of Kushta, Sonnet 40
Jonachem spoke first, as was his wont, Start abroad in Bror
The dwarven kingdoms are in turmoil there, and the oil of
Imperial peacemaking should be spilt rather than blood.
Mostly physical are the chief obstacles, for the roar
Of avalanche is often heard in the passes there. For love
Of Maliva they ought embrace the Empire, which is good;
For fewer things are more stubborn than a royal dwarf.
I hope you do not mind a subterranean journey.
As a hindrance, they are as far as I know of, land-lock’d,
For Bror has no outlet to the seas, no port or deep wharf
They may be nigh indifferent to the divine tourney
That has gripp’d our Ombras coasts and our global commerce rock’d
Durkghu’s menace may not be felt keenly in the dark deep
Where Moneos king of Bror lays his crown’d head down to sleep.
Lay of Kushta, Sonnet 39
The rain was a reminder of Durkghu’s submarine threat
So while the city celebrated in Imperial style
The confederates gather’d anew in Geoff’s palace
An ornate relic of past union and peace. They all met
In the throne room of checkerboard flag and lapis wall tile
Geoff on the throne, Abner at his side, a gold chalice
Of sweet wine in his hand, and poor Jonachem at his feet
A symbolism that did not escape the cleric’s notice
But he let it pass, being early days. Geoff spoke loud
And the others were still, to hear their new Emperor greet
And thank them, and ask their response to the divine menace
For Geoff was a modern monarch, and his court allow’d
Solicit’d advice sincerely given to the Throne
Although Geoff disdain’d secret free advice for him alone.
Lay of Kushta, Sonnet 38
Cecil the Paladin spent some weeks’ time rallying the lords
Of Armatta, which to him was a sport and fun, rather
Than serious hard work. So while Jamal dallied, and Bob
Fought garou, and Edmund mop’d, and Saul hik’d, Cecil with his words
Exhorted vehemently in Maliva’s name with blather
So that most believ’d the Empire must come, and a small mob
Of agreeable lairds follow’d Cecil about Armatta.
Towards Argora’s holy Temple they made procession.
So that at high full moon in cold winter they did arrive.
No Romanov, no Bourbon, no Hapsburg or Mahratta
Had greater pomp and circumstance. Edmund’s intercession
For Geoff’s coronation did meet with acclaim and thrive.
So it was that Jonachem in winter, amid cloudburst,
Did from jade stair proclaim the Empire of Geoff the First.
Lay of Kushta, Sonnet 37
Now a miracle was wrought, or so it seem’d. For in their
House the will of their Matriarch was as constant as the
Burning heat of noonday sun. But in this moment the disc
Set, as even Apuchi must. Angela bent head there
And bless’d Edmund, the coming and going of him, and she
Even bless’d the Empire and his Imperial risk.
And the mood in the room lighten’d, and there was no question
That Geoff’s intercession had guid’d what had just transpir’d.
And there was a satisfaction within the company.
But then Angela rose and complain’d of indigestion
Unable to tolerate food and divinely inspir’d
Rebuke. She sat in her room staring at nothing to see.
So it was alone at dawn of the next day that Edmund rode
And left forever Taraf, the elegant, his former abode.
Lay of Kushta, Sonnet 36
It was Geoff who spoke next, with his booming tenor voice
Train’d for the pulpit of the Temple itself by Angela
In earlier days when it seem’d Geoff might be High Priest.
Now he spoke, and though address’d straight ahead, his subject choice
Was aim’d at his Mother. In the silence the cupola
Above rang with his cry, Maliva be praised! I at least
Proclaim our gratitude to our great god. If Jonachem
Has foreseen the need, then so it must be. One does not doubt
The pontifex’s powers. And the full power of this House,
Its wealth, its favors, and yes its sons, must to the problem
Be applied. Taraf has fifteen generations prospered without
Faltering. Let it continue to shine, let us not douse
The hot flame of our most luxuriant prosperity
With the asphyxiating miasma of blasphemy.
Lay of Kushta, Sonnet 35
Then Edmund grew flush’d and within him swell’d great emotion
And he made answer back, Is Taraf then greater than God?
For the Empire was Maliva’s original kingdom
And who are we, mother, to dispute the god’s own vision?
At this Angela just star’d, biting her tongue, for odd
Truth was that she did esteem Taraf over Maliva. Income
Power, and pride work’d on her thus. But she dar’d not so speak
Aloud the words. For in those times to blaspheme was to draw
Great malevolent power down upon him who had err’d
To so disrespect a greater power with bluff and weak
Words. So in blasphemous silence Angela sat. He saw
It was so. A religious fervor rose, and he dar’d
To rebuke mother Angela with memory of oath
Consecrating him a paladin, which had bound them both.