Welcome, my friends!
This week’s poem is an homage to sonnetry.
Though I am certain some of my contemporaries still espouse the virtues of free verse, I must admit I rather enjoy traditional meter, rhyme, and structure.
New Formalism is a late-20th century movement in poetry, that dedicates itself to celebrating the narrative structures, traditions, and aesthetics all but abandoned by poets post-Cold War.
If you like poetry with a more traditional feel, check out some of these prominent New Formalist poets: Charles Martin, Molly Peacock, Marilyn Hacker, and Dana Gioia… to name a few!
Let there be no doubt… it is hard as hell to write a sonnet. Maybe it’s the challenge I love. Dunno.
Either way, I believe I have created a poem this week that gets after some challenging topics, using several poetic devices, and maintains its dark emotional heft while adhering to the mandates of an Elizabethan sonnet.
I truly hope you enjoy it. Would love to hear your thoughts and feelings in the Comments Section below.
-PS Conway ☘ ☘ ☘
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If you have a Twitter account, I was honored this week by my dear friend, Simon Howard, to have this poem narrated. Listen to him bring this poem alive here with his brilliant, dulcet, British baritone. Thanks again, Simon. Cheers. 🍷
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help me make sense of turmoil, for turmoil’s
sake, when malcontent turns to malfeasance,
be it jealousy which seeks to embroil
those we once loved, suffer such recompense
as to lose our last sense of right or wrong,
to succumb to betrayals of our most
beloved, to be so wrong in our swansong
that we slaughter love and mourn her ghost,
in acts of our most Machiavellian deeds,
we plead for the gods to hear our appeals
to save us from venality, the seeds
of which compel us – in horror – to kneel…
“Demand me nothing’ utters vile Iago,
as he draws the sash, closes the window.