Venus delights, then forgets; Charon awaits – the river Acheron flows forever … (amor para las amores)

Lo Siento Senor Dore ...
Lo Siento Senor Dore …

This was just a fun little sonnet I wrote using classical rules (a true Italian Sonnet); it’s a response to a nice little love poem written by a blogger I follow. You can find her love poem here: Souldier Girl … Skyscrapers … 

Pero yo soy un cinico; me recuerdo a todo y no tengo amor para las amores … yo soy tu abuelo enojado!

(But I’m a cynic … I remember everything, I have no love for lovers … I’m your angry grandfather!)

I’ll also add a cute sonnet by Wordsworth.

Charon esta Preparada …

Flicks of light upon the moonlit ceiling play upon the lover’s head

Swaying canvas, open mouthed gasps, beige and pink and flowing musky air

Rubens brush defined the stroke of breast and beauty bare

Upheaval upon heavy sighs; smoke and wax, the player’s mouth’s are fed

Moist and savory – palette drenched and statues caste with clashing red

Cupid laughs and bares a cheek, his mother Venus smiles a bit, her ginger hair

Runs down her glowing thigh and navel, she feasts upon a pear

Its juices crown, accumulate, between the perfect crevices within her smiles bed


But Venus bores as she’s prone; she leaves the tangled mess as she wipes her chin

A new visage – a flowing beard! – forlorn ribcage and pallid skin betray …

Now Charon’s oar flays the passion from their tepid skin!

The damning turn and ebb and flow; the lover’s cry and sway

Across the river Acheron, Underneath his languished pin

Wax and light and heat renew, down the maelstrom they descend.

-by Michael Todd; April 8, 2015

For Fun:

By Sir Philip Sydney

“Sonnet LXXI”

Who will in fairest book of Nature know

How Virtue may best lodged in Beauty be,

Let him but learn of Love to read in thee,

Stella, those fair lines, which true goodness show.

There shall he find all vices’ overthrow,

Not by rude force, but sweetest sovereignty

Of reason, from whose light those night-birds fly;

That inward sun in thine eyes shineth so.

And not content to be Perfection’s heir

Thyself, dost strive all minds that way to move,

Who mark in thee what is in thee most fair.

So while thy beauty draws the heart to love,

As fast thy Virtue bends that love to good.

“But, ah,” Desire still cries, “give me some food.”


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