Of course there’s poetry about a nose
but so far I have read no nasal prose.
However, one must not forget the ear,
which tempts the senses with what one can hear.
Celestial sounds and music of the spheres
bear no enchantment with no ears to hear.
Though truly, hearing ears bring happy bliss:
a kind remark or smacking of a kiss.
When you are sad, kind ears hear happy songs.
Ears hear and recognize the ones you long.
Ears brighten days with all there is to hear.
Hear here how ears hear puns, right ear.
Perhaps ears look a little strange and crude,
but hearing stays though ears may be removed!
News.
365 Sonnets is completed! While there be no more new posts, feel free to read the sonnets and comment! :)
You can read my new poetry at Some Turbid Night: http://someturbidnight.blogspot.ca/ :)
Sunday, March 30, 2008
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The Sonnets.
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2008
(321)
- ► January 2008 (31)
- ► February 2008 (29)
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▼
March 2008
(31)
- Sonnet LXI
- Sonnet LXII
- Sonnet LXIII
- Sonnet LXIV
- Sonnet LXV
- Sonnet LXVI
- Sonnet LXVII
- Sonnet LXVIII
- Sonnet LXIX
- Sonnet LXX
- Sonnet LXXI
- Sonnet LXXII
- Sonnet LXXIII
- Sonnet LXXIV
- Sonnet LXXV
- Sonnet LXXVI
- Sonnet LXXVII
- Sonnet LXXVIII
- Sonnet LXXIX
- Sonnet LXXX
- Sonnet LXXXI
- Sonnet LXXXII
- Sonnet LXXXIII
- Sonnet LXXXIV
- Sonnet LXXXV
- Sonnet LXXXVI
- Sonnet LXXXVII
- Sonnet LXXXVIII
- Sonnet LXXXIX
- Sonnet XC
- Sonnet XCI
- ► April 2008 (30)
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2009
(14)
- ► August 2009 (6)
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2010
(16)
- ► January 2010 (2)
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2011
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This seemingly random sonnet is a response to this anonymous one about a nose, published in 1840 in the Irish Penny Journal:
ReplyDeleteSonnet about a Nose
'Tis very odd that poets should suppose
There is no poetry about a nose,
When plain as is the nose upon your face,
A noseless face would lack poetic grace.
Noses have sympathy: a lover knows
Noses are always touched when lips are kissing:
And who would care to kiss where nose was missing?
Why, what would be the fragrance of a rose,
And where would be our mortal means of telling
Whether a vile or wholesome odour flows
Around us, if we owned no sense of smelling?
I know a nose, a nose no other knows,
'Neath starry eyes, o'er ruby lips it grows;
Beauty is in its form and music in its blows.