Sonnet of the flesh
for "The Sonnet of Shadows" challenge #2
We found her where the moss had made its bed,
bones shimmering, bared by the autumn rain;
wild flowers twined about her ribs and head,
every root beneath was drunk on a crimson stain.
.
I touched this beauty — cold, yet sweet with pain,
her flesh, once warm, now feast for worms to take,
the woods embraced the silence of her vein,
but life, oh this ol' mistress, never made a mistake.
.
Why, oh why do I feel this piercing ache?
She's none but a deer, breath withdrawn,
her ruin blooms, stirs the forest—me, awake,
I grieve the unknown that now is gone.
.
Oh death, your beauty is born from decay,
she sleeps, yet lovelier than words could say.
I wanted to write something for "The Sonnet of Shadows" challenge that’s equal parts beautiful and grotesque. A sonnet where decay becomes a metaphor for love and beauty — both the fleeting, sensual nature of it, and its persistence even beyond ruin.
I decided to go with the Spencerian sonnet again, with the rhyme scheme of abab bcbcb cdcd ee. Which I don't know how much I nailed because my mind goes blank whenever I try to find rhyming words. (Don't even think of expecting a iambic pentameter from me in English... It wasn't mentioned in the prompt anyway...)
The idea to write about it came when the other day we passed by a corpse of a deer that was hit by a car, and just left there by the road. It reminded me of one of my favorite poems, The Carcass by Baudelaire. Just as with my other entry — The Grapes of Putrescence.
I find plenty of decaying animal corpses in the forest, among other odd things, and I always find them somewhat disgusting yet captivating. I always feel sad for a lost life and shed some tears for all of them.
Death can be heart wrenching, but I still find something beautiful in the circle of life, no matter what stage.
I never liked sonnets because most of what we read at school were cheesy, all about love but after doing some research I figured people wrote all kinds of creepy, dark and disturbing sonnets. So why not give a try?
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Comments (15)
This is beautiful! Very glad I stumbled across your page! Wonderful work xo
Your sonnet strikes a remarkable balance between the grotesque and the beautiful. The imagery of decay intertwined with reverence for life evokes a haunting, almost sacred mood that lingers long after reading.
Stunning work Imola!
First class poetry here great work 🦋🦋🦋
I love how you left what was decaying into question until 10th line. This is well written! 💜
Very impressive.
You are an amazing poet. Very deep, how you interconnected decay to shadow
Imola, you are such an outstanding writer. This is so deep and yet magical. The thoughts and themes in this sonnet are layered and dimensional. There’s a lot of depth in what you’re saying here!
This is stunning, equal parts haunting and beautiful, just like you intended. I haven’t been brave enough to try a sonnet myself yet, but reading yours makes me want to give it a go someday.
Imola, your sonnet is beautiful. I love this: "I grieve the unknown that now is gone." And... "piercing ache."
Breath withdrawn, that was a brilliant way to say that she's dead. Loved your poem so much!
😲🤯 how? How do you do it. Let's say we go back to summer for a second. (I've probably said this before, but it's an anology that never fails me) The heat is hitting our skin, but then it rains. Fast forward to autumn. Cold satisfying little kisses on our arms. THAT is the way this feels when I am reading it, but in the brain, the tingling of rhyme loving and buttery smooth lines. Theres such ease in each line. I could not find a single hiccup. Each time I thought it couldn't get any better it did. Every root drunk on a crimson stain. Oh my word 😲 I could tell that when you started you felt like you could not stop. I could be very wrong. I will risk asking if you wrote this in one sitting. It must be one of those piece where you felt like all the lines aligned. 'Her ruin blooms' a true poet you are. 🤗❤️
In my opinion you nailed it. Good job.
I too find beauty in the grotesque as well-nicely penned
I felt every word and I believe your poem honours that poor deer. This was nicely done, Imola ❤️