Musician, let me be thine instrument!
On this fair organ, bored and turned for thee
Alone, and spaced to match thy reach, give vent
Thy strains of natural creativity.
No matter whether expert or inept
Were thy technique, or classic or baroque
Thy style, thy fingering awkward or adept,
Thou couldst not fret. Thou solely canst evoke
The mellow tenor of my register–
Most treble at thy gentle touch, not bass–
With thine enchanting. Dextrous amateur,
Thou surely couldst not play except with grace.
Rest not! Thou hast the proper pitch and key;
Swell this recorder with love’s melody.
This is another sonnet I wrote several years ago.
Video: “Poet’s Corner and Globe Theatre“
This video, which is a tour of the Poet’s Corner and the Globe Theatre on Renaissance Island in Second Life, was created using Screencast-O-Matic.
Video: “‘A Princess to a Dragon‘”
I created this video of me reading my sonnet with Screencast-O-Matic, which I want to use to create screencasts for my classes. I’ve tried using Jing before, but I couldn’t convert the file to upload to YouTube, though it works well for screenshots. I also downloaded CamStudio to try, but it seems pretty complicated.
I like reading fantasy, and I’ve read more than one fantasy novel about dragons taking human form. This sonnet, which I wrote and sometimes share with my humanities classes when we’re discussing Renaissance poetry, follows that theme:
You courted me in human form and won
my mind and heart with knowledge, wisdom, power,
not longing looks that saw a fragile flower
or simpering words comparing to the sun
my shining countenance, declaring none
could wish for more than that to be my dower.
These men would lock me in an ivory tower,
imprisoning my spirit that would run–
no! fly–as free as yours. Above the clouds
of ignorance you soar on jeweled wings.
Your flaming breath dispels the mists that hide
the shining light of truth from distant crowds.
Your sharp claws shred the purpled might of kings.
Transform me now and take me as your bride.
Unnumbered verses, artless, without measure,
debased, deformed, demeaning each word’s worth,
prospective chart not yielding promised treasure,
unhallowed hollow creed but prompting mirth,
not faith or works (A lisping infant’s curse,
with far more definition, so unhitches
all sense from sound.)—inharmony! or worse—
unruly, pouring forth in fevered pitches,
delude, deluge the world with reigning passion
incensed, in fondness penned by anyone
but, worshipful of idle, awful fashion,
without content. Why will they not have done?
With reason will your feats become the norm
again: true poetry in ideal form.
This week, we talked about sonnets in my HUM 122 class. Also, a couple of weeks ago at a meeting on Renaissance Island I was asked about writing a sonnet for the celebration of Shakespeare’s birthday. Those events reminded me of this sonnet about poetry that I wrote several years ago.