Sonnet #4

For NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo 2016 – Day 23 (to prompt)
A little late maybe but just in time (it’s now 23h30 here in South Africa)
The prompt is a challenge to write a sonnet (see below).


I came across you on that cold, cold night,
So graceful, bold, yet something so not right.
It seemed as if your heart was on your sleeve,
Yet reaching out, it moved, began to cleave.
Enigma fast and strong yet oh so bright,
You carry in your soul a certain light,
Attracted, like a moth unto a flame,
I walked in close as you called out my name,
Then fell into your trap, the spiders web,
And felt the power within me start to ebb.
I really was a sight then to behold,
I fumbled for myself and tried to hold,
And as I stepped so close within your grasp
The sight I thought your heart was but a clasp.


© Copyright Robin McShane


The Prompt: “Today, I challenge you to write a sonnet. Traditionally, sonnets are 14-line poems, with ten syllables per line, written in iambs (i.e., with a meter in which an unstressed syllable is followed by one stressed syllable, and so on). There are several traditional rhyme schemes, including the Petrarchan, Spenserian, and Shakespearean sonnets. But beyond the strictures of form, sonnets usually pose a question of a sort, explore the ideas raised by the question, and then come to a conclusion. In a way, they are essays written in verse! This means you can write a “sonnet” that doesn’t have meet all of the traditional formal elements, but still functions as a mini-essay of a sort. The main point is to keep your poem tight, not rangy, and to use the shorter confines of the form to fuel the poem’s energy. As Wordsworth put it, in a very formal sonnet indeed, “Nuns fret not at their convent’s narrow room.” Happy writing!”


Creative…Or Not?

facts - morguefile

I am drowning in words of disarray
Creatively sorting through my day
Yet so much happens through eyes a-double
Am I certain I’m creative…or just in trouble?


© Copyright 2015 Robin McShane

The Day It Changed – NaPoWriMo Day 20

Then came the day that took it all away,
The life I had, the dreams, the future,
Trashed in moments of pain and cloud and more pain.
Despair became the enemy,
Reasons sought to keep the beast at bay.

Many sat and judged,
Many saw, they say,
Their truth in what they thought was real,
Their perception of their way.

Gates stand open
Pathways to follow,
Choices to make.

Nothing will ever be the same again,
Now there is nothing to hold onto,
No box to keep intact,
Only now there is joy in change,
As each moment becomes alive
With the possibilities that lie
In a Universe of opportunity.
We are blessed, loved and supported
Almost beyond belief
And definitely beyond our understanding.

The experience that crushes our minds
Can free our souls
If we choose so…

Minstrel Paths – NaPoWriMo Day 10

Then wand’ring minstrels came to me,
Fleet of foot and fancy free,
Took my breath, my life, my way,
Stole my lady far that day.

Sang and danced and all made merry,
Drank the wine and drained the sherry,
Delved beneath my steadfast way,
Shook foundations, made pillars sway.

Long held beliefs toppled through their sieve,
Ways of living disrupt they did,
Held me down, yet let me go,
Wrapped me in their way, their show.

Freed me from my lifelong chains,
Took the binds and cut the reins,
Freedom burst upon my soul,
All light and love and Go! Go! Go!

So moving with them at their pace,
Accepting that there is no race,
Flowing with the streams of light,
Into moments shining bright.

Finding new paths opening up,
Meandering trails with buttercup,
All leading home with choices rife,
Returning us to the source of life.

Collecting all experience gathered,
Refining essence, purity balanced,
Light and love surrounding all,
Please release your perceptions tall.

Step into the new found day,
Different, each, their special way,
To take us home, our tales to tell,
In one big swirl our history gel.


T’was Sunday morning on the farm,
The cows had all been milked,
The pigs lay softly snorting,
The fences all rebuilt.

Chickens were a-clucking,
Dogs barking away,
Rain had started falling,
On this quiet, special day.

The breakfast table groaned
With a hearty meal to come,
Coffee sat a-brewing
As the farmer thought him done.

But dark clouds now came rolling in,
Threatening their stay,
The painter’s brush so wide and cruel
Would paint them all away.

The brush it swung so fast and true,
For the painter another role,
And the farmer and his merry bunch
Thought that they were in control.

How sad to think we live our lives
In the illusion that they’re real,
Until another comes along
And all the skins unpeel.

Our canvass fades before us,
What we thought was ours for keeps,
Then simply disappears,
Into the ether seeps.

© Copyright March 2014 Rob McShane
All rights reserved