The raw wind curses past my frozen feet
As I tread through the damp ash of cold sludge
Whispers of adventure tempting but sweet
Towards my fate I continue to trudge
Frosted ice on round pebbles meets the sea
Slick moss matted with snow covering rocks
I brush my hand on the lime green algae
Waves glide to my ankles, soaking my socks
Rugged lava fields spitting rusted lies
My aching fingers sifting fine black sand
Grey clouds striding across the war torn skies
Lightning rumbling and quaking poor Iceland
But still, with treacherous beauty of sin
Tectonic plates parting but close within
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Author:
LP2187 (
Online) - Published: January 12th, 2025 04:24
- Comment from author about the poem: My first sonnet based on the bridge between continents which has been stuck in my mind ever since I went to Reykjavík, but of course it doesn’t sound nice when spoken in iambic pentameter so technically it’s wrong.
- Category: Nature
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
Online)
Comments6
It's wonderful to have a first go and see it posted up. Of course we continue to grow and develop as we go on in this journey of writing. Enjoy it and be happy in this first victory. The next sonnet is just around the corner! 🕊️👍
Thank you very much for your kind words!
You are welcome 👍🕊️
It paints many pictures as you read it, i know nothing about the terminology you have used in the authors comments, but i really enjoyed the read.
I don't know either because that's what my brother told me but thank you very much.
You are very welcome
Oh, I dunno about those iambic thingys anyway. I wouldn't recognise one if I met one in the street! lol.
Ha, Shakespeare screws me up be it sonnets or romeo and juliet. Thanks for the laugh Orchi!
Doh! I never get much further than the weird names old Shakey gives to people!
For some reason I almost wish Shakespeare didn’t exist but that’s a bit mean and being nicer was my resolution
Superb work.
Thank you
very beautiful
Thank you!
Iambic pentametre isn't your forté presently, but if you will yield to the sonnet's strictures, to the bars of this form's "gilded cage" as Wordsworth termed it, you'll discover the metre isn't so ugly after all. How fun! I'm so very happy to have the pleasure of reading your first sonnet!!! Very lovely. If you want my editing advice I'll give it, otherwise I'll leave it in it's infant beauty. Charmingly rendered with excellent imagery, a haunting poignancy and teasing intrigue, it's very lovely. Thank you so much for sharing.
Thank you very much for your advice, I'll probably try another sonnet after I understand the metre then! Did you know you inspired me to write this though?
I think I happened across a note from you to someone on here about it, but I'm uncertain. And I'm very glad you both tried your hand at this "most exquisite" form of poetry, and even more that you intend to continue further in it. I've never yet seen an English sonneteer who truly liked submitting to iambic pentametre, excepting maybe yours truly, but what I chanced to discover in writing at least one new sonnet daily for a whole year [and incidentally a leap year at that!], was that you actually can feel comfortable in this form and enjoy the strictures. Just remember to enjoy the process and that it's i/AMB[ic] pentametre.
Thank you for your thoughtful response, you are very inspiring. I’ll try take your advice but I dunno if I want to write more sonnets... I don't like them but I guess it means nothing if I don't try. But thanks for your support.
You're more than welcome.
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