Music Writing   Art  Photography Poetry Causes Health Games and Videos

Music Art Poetry Fiction Writing Photography Games Diabetes Fibromyalgia Autism Veterans History Jazz Rock New Music Dance New writers Free music Broadway love pain life quotes Popular music The Arts Native Americans cyber bullying Human struggles Humor Cancer Memorials Christian poetry Spanish Italian poetry fiction storytelling dance art photography cancer domestic abuse veterans mythology memorials love life health games

Something for everyone to enjoy

SUSAN JOHNSTON OWEN-JAZZ  /  SITE OWNER/MUSICIAN, WRITER,ARTIST, ELEMENTARY AND SPECIAL EDUCATION TEACHER (RETIRED)

PLEASE-SPREAD THE WORD ABOUT THIS SITE

 SEARCH IN THE BLUE BOXES BELOW OR LOOK AT THE TABLE OF CONTENTS IN THE 2ND BOX

THE SONNET

THE SONNET

Sonnet

A Sonnet is a poem consisting of 14 lines (iambic pentameter) with a particular rhyming scheme:Examples of a rhyming scheme:

 #1) abab cdcd efef gg

#2) abba cddc effe gg

#3) abba abba cdcd cd 

 A Shakespearean (English) sonnet has three quatrains and a couplet, and rhymes abab cdcd efef gg.

 


 

FAMOUS

 


Sonnet 79   Men call you fair, and you do credit it, For that yourself you daily such do see: But the true fair, that is the gentle wit And virtuous mind, is much more praised of me. For all the rest, however fair it be, Shall turn to naught and lose that glorious hue: But only that is permanent and free From frail corruption that doth flesh ensue, That is true beauty; that doth argue you To be divine and born of heavenly seed; Derived from that fair spirit, from whom all true And perfect beauty did at first proceed: He only fair, and what he fair hath made: All other fair, like flowers, untimely fade. -Edmund Spencer  

 

Sonnet 43   How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sigh For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun abd candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints--I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. -Elizabeth Barrett Browning


 

Broken

Why is her heart broken and torn?

This is the time in her life to have joy.

When did this love become so worn?

Who treats a heart like a silly toy?


How did their life get so sad?

Was it bitterness that stole their content?

Is this forever or just for the moment?

Will things turn around making life glad?


Confusion has broken the trust between.

Each thought hurts more than the last.

Their ending has yet to be seen,

Will they leave this betrayal in the past?


Through the years they have survived it all,

will this be the blow to cause the final fall?

sjo/jazz ©


 

 

DREAM

There is no other I love more than you

my heart flutters at the thought of your kiss.

Our time is too seldom, each touch is  new,

once again knowing it was you I’d miss.

 

Tangle me in your caress, stroke my hair,

cover me with passion make me scream.

Will you love me forever will you dare,

my heart’s desire is it just a dream?

 

When will the time be we will never part,

watching the clock as our day never comes,

is this love forever caught in my soul?

Gather me now my heart’s beating like drums.

 

You are my life which I’ll always adore,

like doves on the wing I feel our love soar.

Susan Johnston Owen ©

Art created by S.J. Owen with stock by these

 generous DA artists

 

 

Thanks to the generous providers of stock. Coral tree free to use png agua png Blingy Candle Holder png stock misc png Candle 4 Gothic Veil.. The Gate  The background stock was amazingly well done.muscles 340109   Other accents are mine and cut by me. PSE13.


 

SONNETS BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

I (Sonnet 1)

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

II (Sonnet 2)

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

 

III (Sonnet 3)

Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb,
Of his self-love to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.

IV (Sonnet 4)

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free:
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thy self alone,
Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive:
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which, used, lives th' executor to be.

V (Sonnet 5)

Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
Sap checked with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where:
Then were not summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was:
But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,
Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.


VI (Sonnet 6)

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure ere it be self-kill'd.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thy self to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee:
Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

 

VII (Sonnet 7)

Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract, and look another way:
So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon:
Unlook'd, on diest unless thou get a son.

 

VIII (Sonnet 8)

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Resembling sire and child and happy mother,
Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee: 'Thou single wilt prove none.

IX (Sonnet 9)

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou consum'st thy self in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
The world will wail thee like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep
By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind:
Look! what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused the user so destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murd'rous shame commits.

 

X (Sonnet 10)

For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thy self art so unprovident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many,
But that thou none lov'st is most evident:
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate,
That 'gainst thy self thou stick'st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
O! change thy thought, that I may change my mind:
Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:
Make thee another self for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

XI (Sonnet 11)

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st,
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st,
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest,
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase;
Without this folly, age, and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
Look, whom she best endow'd, she gave thee more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.

 

XII (Sonnet 12)

When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls, all silvered o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

XIII (Sonnet 13)

O! that you were your self; but, love you are
No longer yours, than you your self here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give:
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination; then you were
Yourself again, after yourself's decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold,
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
O! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know,
You had a father: let your son say so.

XIV (Sonnet 14)

Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And constant stars in them I read such art
As 'Truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself, to store thou wouldst convert';
Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
'Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.'

XV (Sonnet 15)

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night,
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

 

ART-TUMBLR DEVIANT ART OR CLICK THIS LINK TO FIND MORE INFORMATION ON THE ARTISTS

http://www.smashingmagazine.com/2009/12/09/50-beautiful-watercolor-paintings/


ENTERTAINMENT ONLY

NO SALES ON SITE

PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO SHARE AND LIKE; THANKS

 

 

 



I could tell you that art plays a large part in making our lives infinitely rich. Imagine, just for a minute, a world without art! (You may think "So what?" but please consider the impact that lack of graphics would have on your favorite video game.) Art stim     ulates different parts of our brains to make us laugh or incite us to riot, with a whole gamut of emotions in between. Art gives us a way to be creative and express ourselves. For some people, art is the entire reason they get out of bed in the morning. You could say "Art is something that makes us more thoughtful and well-rounded humans."

On the other hand, art is such a large part of our everyday lives that we may hardly even stop to think about it. Look at the desk or table where you are, right this minute. Someone designed that. It is art. Your shoes are art. Your coffee cup is art. All functional design, well done, (hopefully is aesthetically pleasing to our eyes."

http://arthistory.about.com/cs/reference/f/what_is_art.htm

TTO

T

 

Map

TO SEE MORE OF THE SITE PLEASE CLICK