Category Archives: sonnets

Sonnet variant: Michael R. Burch, ‘Once’

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for Beth

Once when her kisses were fire incarnate
and left in their imprint bright lipstick, and flame,
when her breath rose and fell over smoldering dunes,
leaving me listlessly sighing her name …

Once when her breasts were as pale, as beguiling,
as wan rivers of sand shedding heat like a mist,
when her words would at times softly, mildly rebuke me
all the while as her lips did more wildly insist …

Once when the thought of her echoed and whispered
through vast wastelands of need like a Bedouin chant,
I ached for the touch of her lips with such longing
that I vowed all my former vows to recant …

Once, only once, something bloomed, of a desiccate seed—
this implausible blossom her wild rains of kisses decreed.

*****

Michael R. Burch writes: “Once” was submitted to The Lyric in 1999, and elicited these comments from editor Jean Mellichamp Milliken: “. . . I actually loved “Once” (better than ‘Twice,’ even), but you need a resolution—it leaves the reader hanging . . . please, please finish it. It’s such a wonderful, fiery, lyrical piece!”
The original poem was intended to leave the reader hanging. There was no resolution at the time it was written. The challenge of writing an ending couplet was intriguing, however, and “Once” was accepted (in its revised form with an ending couplet) and appeared in The Lyric along with “At Once,” “Twice” and “The Leveler.”

Michael R. Burch’s poems have been published by hundreds of literary journals, taught in high schools and colleges, translated into 23 languages, incorporated into three plays and four operas, and set to music, from swamp blues to classical, 86 times by composers.

“Sand Dunes, Socotra Is” by Rod Waddington is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

Sonnet: Richard Fleming, ‘The Attic’

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The attic, once unreachable, taboo
in childhood, is a temple laid to waste.
I climb the ladder, face the overdue
clear-out of debris with a mild distaste.
A View-Master, kaleidoscope, a kite,
a rocking-horse in much need of repair,
a reel-to-reel recorder I’d recite
poems into as though speaking them ‘on air’.
I dust them off, then pack them in a case
and glimpse in a chipped mirror on a shelf,
the look of an intruder on his face,
a fellow who can only be myself,
the last one left, unsportingly miscast
as tomb-raider, despoiler of the past.

*****

‘The Attic’ was first published in a set of ten semi-autobiographical poems in The High Window, where Richard Fleming was the Featured Poet.

Richard Fleming is an Irish-born poet and humorist based in Guernsey, a Channel Island between Britain and France. Widely regarded as one of the island’s foremost literary voices, his versatile work blends lyricism, sharp wit, emotional depth, and a strong sense of place. Drawing from his Northern Irish roots and adopted home, his poetry and prose explore love, loss, nostalgia, identity, and modern life. Collections include Strange Journey (2012), held in the National Poetry Library, and Stone Witness (Blue Ormer) featuring the BBC-commissioned title poem. His work can be found on
Facebook https://www.facebook.com richard.fleming.92102564/
or Bard at Bay www.redhandwriter.blogspot.com

“VIEW-MASTER” by Kim Hanwool is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

Sonnet: Melissa Balmain, ‘Solidarity. On a recent explosion of fireflies across the US’

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Even my ordinarily blank lawn
is flashing this July—no bottle rocket
or Catherine wheel could match the pleasant shock it
gives me each time a tiny lamp turns on
to help a bachelor find a blinding date.
The bugs can’t read, of course, about pollution
and other woes that might spell dissolution
for all their kind, but as they mate and mate
I like to think they somehow know what’s looming,
deep in their chitin—that their sudden blooming
is nature’s way of putting up a fight,
and that these living fireworks before us
can make us hear, and heed, a timely chorus:
When darkness threatens you, crank up your light.

*****

Melissa Balmain writes: “For some reason, I’ve written a lot of bug poems lately. And I’m starting to suspect this has given insects the wrong idea about me. Memo to the ants infesting my kitchen: if you think my plans for you involve writing an ode, think again.”

First published in The New Verse News

Melissa Balmain edits Light, North America’s longest-running journal of comic verse, and teaches writing at the University of Rochester.  Her poems and/or prose have appeared in Crab Orchard Review, Ecotone, The Hopkins Review, Literary Matters, McSweeney’s, The New Yorker, The New York Times, Nimrod, Poetry Daily, and Rattle. Her latest book of poetry is Satan Talks to His Therapist (Paul Dry Books). 

Photo: “Fireflies and Star Trails No. 3” by ikewinski is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

Sonnet: John Gallas, ‘Ascension Sonnet’

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you can’t unload the caravan for one lame donkey

It’s six a.m. We’re swarming up a drain.
Someone up the front knows what we’re doing.
Me and Tich are flying up the flueing.
Snap! My leg falls off. You can’t complain:
you can’t expect an army on the trail
of half a dog and sugar-sick to stop
and say Oh dear, Goodbye. I squirm and flop
along the gutter’s edge. A wizened snail
laced up in cobwebs grins across the slime.
I hear a million footsteps fading. Tich!
The sun smacks like a snare-drum. Life’s a bitch.
My head goes dry. I’m running out of Time.
I climb a twig to face the Ant Unknown.
We have to face our last few pricks alone.

*****

John Gallas writes: “Ascension: a slightly cruel Proverb to modern ears, but of course often the case as we all bustle forwards in life. The sad demise of this Ant is done in a cod-Existential drama, and tries to mix some black humour with the Final Stand (even with a leg missing). The also-once-left-behind snail a warning to us all. Who knows how Ants talk, but they are sociable, so …”

Ascension Sonnet is one of the 100 sonnets collected in The Coalville Divan (part of John Gallas’ ‘Star City’ from Carcanet), which use as their beginnings Persian Proverbs from the Wisdom of the East series by L.P. Elwell-Sutton.

John Gallas, Aotearoa/NZ poet, published mostly by Carcanet. Saxonship Poet (see www.saxonship.org), Fellow of the English Association, St Magnus Festival Orkney Poet, librettist, translator and biker. 2025 Midlands Writing Prize winner. Presently living in Markfield, Leicestershire. Website is www.johngallaspoetry.co.uk which has a featured Poem of the Month, complete book list, links and news.  

“Trail of Ants” by McLevn is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

R.I.P. Chris O’Carroll, ‘Ballynagaul, County Waterford’

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A graybeard and a girl walk on this beach.
She’s his grandmother; she’s not really here.
He stoops for shells and pebbles. His hands reach
Across a family’s distances and years.
Of her eleven children, three are left —
His father and two aunts back in the States.
He pockets bits of Ireland, reverent theft
Of relics for her blood to venerate.
She lost two brothers here, both fishermen
Who labored daily on this chill, gray sea
That one day failed to bring them home again.
That’s when her childhood ended. That’s when she
Booked passage for her children’s native land.
She’s not here; she can’t hold her grandson’s hand.

*****

Chris O’Carroll was largely known as a poet for his light verse, but even a volume with the title ‘The Joke’s On Me‘ would contain more reflective work such as this sonnet. As an expatriate child of expats, I enjoy his appreciation of the back and forth across the seas, a family aware of its roots and far away. I included this poem in the Potcake Chapbook ‘Families and Other Fiascoes‘.

Chris passed away earlier this month. Christopher O’Carroll Obituary (1951 – 2026) – Pelham, MA – Daily Hampshire Gazette. The world of light poetry will retain his glow.

“Annestown Beach, County Waterford” by mwmosser is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

Sonnet variation: Daniel Kemper, ‘No Matter What, You’ve Got To Strut’

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A courtly, grand, tradition; sure, but men
are men, and poets, poets; so, of course
behind their art is merry mischief, force
of guile, if not just force; but having then
been properly improper once again
with risqué sonnets, sometimes merely coarse
(if richly rhymed), how long must we endorse
these minuets? Will someone shout, A-men!?
 
Step it up and shake a foot, a
hand, a bodice: make it syncopated–
let it, having been elaborated,
settle for a minute.
Strike a pose. Then strut. And put a
little music in it.

*****

Daniel Kemper writes: “No Matter What, You’ve Got To Strut” –Yes, I’m quoting Buddy Love from Eddie Murphie’s version of The Nutty Professor! This, as you can tell from all the meta-textual wordplay (using a rime riche and then naming it [richly rhymed, and on and on]) was a lot of fun to write, but there’s a serious aspect to it as well. I’ve gone hog wild exploring sonnets and meters. This could be considered one of the culminating branches of that.

Sonnets in non-iambic meters:                            trochaic, anapestic, dactylic                                          {sonnet “space” increased by x4}

Sonnets that used more than one meter:

              Four possible meters to mix                                                                                                          {sonnet “space” increased by x64!}

Rule: One meter: one line, no changing within a line, only between them.

Most definitions of sonnets assumed iambic meter and so did not rule out the other meters. Many also implied only one meter throughout, but so long as it’s metrically consistent, it should be considered. Maybe there’s less wiggle room here, but I think I can lawyer it anyway.

Oooh, but then, in tandem with my poetic symphony inventions, I my thoughts ran down two paths at once. Other variations that I could “legally” do and, out of all the possible sonnet types, why are only a few around?

Other variations:

              Vary the line lengths: There are precedents. Shakespeare, #145 (tetrameter); Hopkins, Curtal sonnet (L11 is a half-length line), Spenserian Stanza (not a sonnet) last line is hexameter.

              Vary the rhyme schemes.

                             In multi-sonnet pieces, what effects can be achieved by moving the rhymed lines around a bit?

                            Why some combinations of rhymes and not others (bridge to second path).

So I felt leeway to go hog wild with variations—however, I was bound and determined to be “legal.” (I do not care for the lack of rigor in the thinking that allows “free verse sonnets” and “blank sonnets.”) Since I was starting with tradition, well, I started with tradition… That’s for the first half of [Strut].

I got a coder to help me run some common permutations for 14 lines. If 1.) they must all rhyme and 2.) no more than two consecutive rhymes and 3.) no rhyme is separated by more than two intervening lines, then there are 165,995 possible combinations for a sonnet. Why then do we have about a dozen and a half? Sure people “invent” new ones all the time, but those one-offs die pretty fast.

I arrived at two answers. One is historical. There are only so many poets writing formal poetry over only so many years—and poets actually tend to be conservative in bringing new forms to the canon.  The other is musical. There’s huge stuff here. Too much for this email. Suffice to say, there has to be a melodic contour, a musicality, a beat, a riff, a tension and release—NOT arbitrarily ordered rhymes. How does one define that “musicality”? It’s tough; what differentiates a melody from a random string of tones?

Back to [Strut]. Now you can see how the second half formed up in my mind and why the proliferation of musical terminology, also meta-textual. It is syncopated where it calls for syncopation. The meter before the volta and after are different. The rhyme pattern, btw, remains one of the traditional variations of the Petrarchan Sonnet.

As you look closer, you’ll notice that it’s not irregular; it’s highly structured. Key is that rhyming lines are the same length as each other, though different from others. That keeps the music in it—a kind of predictability despite change, an added degree of recognition. This is the future of the sonnet, the 21st century sonnet, IMO.”

*****

‘No Matter What, You’ve Got To Strut’ was first published in Rat’s Ass Review.

Daniel Kemper, a former tournament-winning wrestler, black belt in traditional Shotokan karate, and infantryman has earned a BA in English, an MCSE (Systems Engineering), an MBA, and an MA in English and had works accepted for publication at more than a dozen magazines, including a pushcart nomination. He’s been an invited presenter at PAMLA 2024 and presided over the Poetics Panel in 2025 and has been the feature poet at several Sacramento venues.

“2014 07 05 Street Performer Strikes a Pose” by Jerome Olivier is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

Sonnet: Richard Fleming, ‘The Masters’

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They deemed us empty vessels to be filled
with formulas to memorise and dates.
We kids thought school was just time to be killed
until we’d spill out through the ornate gates.
A motley bunch, those schoolmasters of old:
the idols, the degenerates, the mad:
we learned that we must do as we were told
or get struck by a well-aimed blackboard-pad.
Four years at prep, then four years in long pants,
seemed an eternity when we were young.
Eight years of plaudits interspersed with rants
until, at last, the final bell was rung
and we escaped to grow into the men
who bear the scars or stars received back then.

*****

‘The Masters’ was first published in a set of ten semi-autobiographical poems in The High Window, where Richard Fleming was the Featured Poet.

Richard Fleming is an Irish-born poet and humorist based in Guernsey, a Channel Island between Britain and France. Widely regarded as one of the island’s foremost literary voices, his versatile work blends lyricism, sharp wit, emotional depth, and a strong sense of place. Drawing from his Northern Irish roots and adopted home, his poetry and prose explore love, loss, nostalgia, identity, and modern life. Collections include Strange Journey (2012), held in the National Poetry Library, and Stone Witness (Blue Ormer) featuring the BBC-commissioned title poem. His work can be found on
Facebook https://www.facebook.com richard.fleming.92102564/
or Bard at Bay www.redhandwriter.blogspot.com

Image: L0020769 ‘The English dance of death’: The schoolmaster
Credit: Wellcome Library, London. Wellcome Images
images@wellcome.ac.uk
http://wellcomeimages.org
‘The English dance of death’: The schoolmaster
Aquatint
By: Combe, Pugin & RowlandsonThe English dance of death
Published: 1814-16

Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons Attribution only licence CC BY 4.0 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

Sonnet: RHL, ‘Bubbles’

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The Earth’s a pot of water on the range,
and nothing happens for a billion years;
then as the water heats, things start to change
and movement – formless, unaware – appears.
Next the first tiny bubbles start to form,
brains self-assembling, they form, collapse,
form and collapse in water barely warm,
minds that start yearning for some Great Perhaps.
They grow, they start to rise, still fade away
while dreaming of a life that will not fail;
and this is humans as we are today,
starting to boil up from this mortal jail
to break into the vastly bigger air…
unknowing where steam goes, what happens there.

*****

This is as close to religious belief as I can get. Somewhere at the intersection of Nietzsche and Vonnegut, of reincarnation and “It’s all a simulation”, with Musk aiming for Mars and wondering aloud if he’s an NPC, is a place of absolute and unknowable change. And that’s where we are.

‘Bubbles’ was first published in Pulsebeat Poetry Journal.

“Boiling Pot” by Brad Ruggles is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

John Gallas, ‘Amman Sonnet’

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‘Musk is known by its smell, not the shopkeeper’s words’

‘As smooth as a sheet and as sweet as a sweet; nutritious,
delicious, delightful and sprightful and dreamy as silk;
as fat as a sausage in sassafras, creamy as milk;
a Quazi of Fishes, a Mogul of Dishes; capricious,
lubricious, the Sultan of Mambo, the Queen of the Deep;
scrumptious with camel’s milk, aubergines, pickles and beans;
with anchovies, lovage-leaves, lentils and lashings of greens;
as cool as a cucumber, fragrant and filling and cheap;
unequalled, unsequelled, the Whacker, the Whopper, the Winner,
the One; stuff it or steak it or bake it or boil it
or roast it or toast it or roux it or stew it or broil it
or fry it but BUY IT! I give you THE NUMBER ONE DINNER!‘
‘That one, please.’ He winked: ‘You like my spiel?’
‘I would have bought it anyway.’ An eel.

*****

John Gallas writes: “a little meditation on selling techniques vs the buyer who knows what s/he wants anyway. I once heard a fruit-seller in Amman singing for half an hour about their wares, while the customers, unimpressed but smiling, just bought what they needed. So the song was a kind of merry soundtrack to shopping, and everyone liked it: I’ve tried to reproduce this in the sonnet. And I’ve added a plonking ‘eel’ bathos.”

The one hundred sonnets collected in The Coalville Divan (part of John Gallas’ ‘Star City’ from Carcanet) use as their beginnings Persian Proverbs from the Wisdom of the East series by L.P. Elwell-Sutton.

John Gallas, Aotearoa/NZ poet, published mostly by Carcanet. Saxonship Poet (see www.saxonship.org), Fellow of the English Association, St Magnus Festival Orkney Poet, librettist, translator and biker. 2025 Midlands Writing Prize winner. Presently living in Markfield, Leicestershire. Website is www.johngallaspoetry.co.uk which has a featured Poem of the Month, complete book list, links and news.  

Photo: “Fischmarkt (2)” by Gerry Balding is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

Sonnet: RHL, ‘Why I Lie’

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When hitchhiking, inevitably tasked
with answers to ‘Where from?’ and ‘Origin?’
I lie to simplify the tales I’d spin
if my odd background really were unmasked.
(The childhood travels, seas in which I’ve basked;
prep school: Jamaica. Teen years schooling in
a former English palace, slept where Queen
Victoria stayed…) because then I’d be asked:
‘Why hitchhike? Spoiled kid! Don’t lie! Get out!’

Therefore of course I have to cut some slack
for other people with their bogus tales:
big boasters may have nothing to boast about,
while quiet ones may not want to go back,
whether to jobs or spouses, wars or jails.

*****

I thought I’d pair this with Marion Shore’s reflection on lies, which I republished here in the previous post. The issue of deliberate lies is unresolved for me, along with so many other things. But at least I (rarely) lie about my confused background any longer – I just mention bits that seem relevant in the context.

‘Why I Lie’ was first published in the Sonnet Scroll of the Poetry Porch.

“Both the truth and lies can get you in trouble” by duncan cumming is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.