Heroic Crown of Sonnets (Another Activity)

[billy]

So this is how we enter: clockworks tick,
they tock; they tell your story in the hall.
The childhood strengths by which he's truly bound. . .

changed the end rhymes on the #ii couplet. (thanks true)

All Our Yesterdays

i.

So this is how we enter clockwork's tick
into a lifetime of fragility.
Come quick, small child! Your heart is but a chick's
small squeaks; your wings are barely feathered. See,
the steel-clawed beast in smock and apron gear
won't harm your molded head. This violent day
will fade. Don't turn to crawl back in from fear
of numbered clocks that beep your heart away—
into cold night, in bed with mother moon,
brief as icicle drips at sunrise—strife
will lift as scrapbook pages turn. So soon
you will grow old! The brevity of life
will strike you grey; yet pictures line the wall,
they talk. They tell your story in the hall.

ii
They talk; they tell your story in the hall.
A wall of photo shoots from nought 'til now
of scratched-knee-summers, or a freezing fall.
Vignettes of crawls and steps; I don't know how
you pulled your chubby frame from floor
and slowly skewed, at first a step: Then two.
To stop the wobbling arse you grabbed the door
then jiggled like a jelly, what a view.
So many times you fell, you will again
but hopefully you'll rise enough to see,
the value of a stumble or the strain
that bends a body, often lays the key.
Inside a man's foundation one can pick
the childhood strengths that guided, brick by brick.

---

the first three lines of the ultimate sonnet will be;

So this is how we enter: clockworks tick,
they tock; they tell your story in the hall.
the childhood strengths that guide him brick by brick.

so make your last line rhyme with hall

[Truerenigma]

billy, did you forget that your last line will be the third line of the final sonnet?

So this is how we enter: clockworks tick,
they tock; they tell your story in the hall.
The childhood strengths by which he's truly bound. . .

Might be able to get creative with the punctuation to make it work, but it doesn't rhyme. I like your sonnet though, and thanks for joining in. Shouldn't be too hard to adjust your couplet.

---

Also, billy, after you get it worked out could you please paste the first three lines of the final sonnet above your post, and include your punctuation, so that the rest of us can see your vision for it? (It doesn't have to be punctuated the same way that I did it above.)

If you need help brainstorming, suggestions, or anything else, just let me know. I'll be around. . .

Thanks again.

[billy]

who's next unless someone thinks i need to edit

---

the first three lines of the ultimate sonnet will be;

So this is how we enter: clockworks tick,
they tock; they tell your story in the hall.
The childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick.

so make you last line rhyme with hall

---

All Our Yesterdays

i.

So this is how we enter clockwork's tick
into a lifetime of fragility.
Come quick, small child! Your heart is but a chick's
small squeaks; your wings are barely feathered. See,
the steel-clawed beast in smock and apron gear
won't harm your molded head. This violent day
will fade. Don't turn to crawl back in from fear
of numbered clocks that beep your heart away—
into cold night, in bed with mother moon,
brief as icicle drips at sunrise—strife
will lift as scrapbook pages turn. So soon
you will grow old! The brevity of life
will strike you grey; yet pictures line the wall,
they talk. They tell your story in the hall.

ii
They talk; they tell your story in the hall.
A wall of photo shoots from nought 'til now
of scratched-knee-summers, or a freezing fall.
Vignettes of crawls and steps; I don't know how
you pulled your chubby frame from floor
and slowly skewed, at first a step: Then two.
To stop the wobbling arse you grabbed the door
then jiggled like a jelly, what a view.
So many times you fell, you will again
but hopefully you'll rise enough to see,
the value of a stumble or the strain
that bends a body, often lays the key.
Inside a man's foundation one can pick
the childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick.

---

[Truerenigma]

Thanks, billy. we're ready for the next sonnet now.

Use billy's last line as your first line:

The childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick

[just mercedes]

the childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick
into a cloistered world of selfish greed
so quickly does the ego learn his trick
of choosing want with small regard for need
then anger fuels your unresponsive mood
and tantrums win when met with weak resolve
so ev’rything you ask for, clothes or food
are sentences for crimes you can’t absolve
the lies they tell you just to grow you up
imprinted with their out-of-fashion pains
like too-sweet soda from a paper cup
that doesn’t slake your thirst, but leaves faint stains
with all the futile lines writ on a wall;
a human finger moves us after all

[Truerenigma]

Hi mercedes. Did you know that your last line needs to rhyme with hall? or were you going for a slant rhyme here?

So this is how we enter: clockworks tick,
they tock; they tell your story in the hall.
The childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick,
they’re waiting here to haunt you, when you’re old.

---

I see that you rhymed your second line with the needed rhyme for the last line. You may have gotten it mixed up. (it is confusing)

We are collaborating on a final sonnet, which will be made up of the first line of each our fourteen other sonnets. Your last line will be the fist line of the next sonnet, which means it is going to be the next line in the ultimate sonnet.

So far we've got:

So this is how we enter: clockworks tick (a)
they tock; they tell your story in the hall. (b)
The childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick (a)



Nice sonnet btw. And thanks for playing.

[Truerenigma]

Jm, are you going to edit your couplet? Or do you want to give someone else a crack at it?

There is no rush of course, if indeed you are planning on revising.

[milo]

who's next unless someone thinks i need to edit

---

the first three lines of the ultimate sonnet will be;

So this is how we enter: clockworks tick,
they tock; they tell your story in the hall.
The childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick.

so make you last line rhyme with hall

---

All Our Yesterdays

i.

So this is how we enter clockwork's tick
into a lifetime of fragility.
Come quick, small child! Your heart is but a chick's
small squeaks; your wings are barely feathered. See,
the steel-clawed beast in smock and apron gear
won't harm your molded head. This violent day
will fade. Don't turn to crawl back in from fear
of numbered clocks that beep your heart away—
into cold night, in bed with mother moon,
brief as icicle drips at sunrise—strife
will lift as scrapbook pages turn. So soon
you will grow old! The brevity of life
will strike you grey; yet pictures line the wall,
they talk. They tell your story in the hall.

ii
They talk; they tell your story in the hall.
A wall of photo shoots from nought 'til now
of scratched-knee-summers, or a freezing fall.
Vignettes of crawls and steps; I don't know how
you pulled your chubby frame from floor
and slowly skewed, at first a step: Then two.
To stop the wobbling arse you grabbed the door
then jiggled like a jelly, what a view.
So many times you fell, you will again
but hopefully you'll rise enough to see,
the value of a stumble or the strain
that bends a body, often lays the key.
Inside a man's foundation one can pick
the childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick.

---

You pulled your chubby frame from floor is a quadraped

[just mercedes]

Jm, are you going to edit your couplet? Or do you want to give someone else a crack at it?

There is no rush of course, if indeed you are planning on revising.

I thought I'd deleted it - a quick write, then I realized I'd got the whole thing wrong according to your rules, and it was such a negative moan anyway. Won't get to it til later today - I shall return!

I wrote a Heroic Crown once, and the first sonnet consisted of the first lines of all the following sonnets.

[Truerenigma]

Jm, are you going to edit your couplet? Or do you want to give someone else a crack at it?

There is no rush of course, if indeed you are planning on revising.

I thought I'd deleted it - a quick write, then I realized I'd got the whole thing wrong according to your rules, and it was such a negative moan anyway. Won't get to it til later today - I shall return!

I wrote a Heroic Crown once, and the first sonnet consisted of the first lines of all the following sonnets.

Ah, I see-- that is essentially the same thing but backwards. This way allows us a bit more collaboration, instead of one person writing a single sonnet which dictates the opening of all the other sonnets.

Thanks again for playing. Looking forward to your return!

---

who's next unless someone thinks i need to edit

---

the first three lines of the ultimate sonnet will be;

So this is how we enter: clockworks tick,
they tock; they tell your story in the hall.
The childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick.

so make you last line rhyme with hall

---

All Our Yesterdays

i.

So this is how we enter clockwork's tick
into a lifetime of fragility.
Come quick, small child! Your heart is but a chick's
small squeaks; your wings are barely feathered. See,
the steel-clawed beast in smock and apron gear
won't harm your molded head. This violent day
will fade. Don't turn to crawl back in from fear
of numbered clocks that beep your heart away—
into cold night, in bed with mother moon,
brief as icicle drips at sunrise—strife
will lift as scrapbook pages turn. So soon
you will grow old! The brevity of life
will strike you grey; yet pictures line the wall,
they talk. They tell your story in the hall.

ii
They talk; they tell your story in the hall.
A wall of photo shoots from nought 'til now
of scratched-knee-summers, or a freezing fall.
Vignettes of crawls and steps; I don't know how
you pulled your chubby frame from floor
and slowly skewed, at first a step: Then two.
To stop the wobbling arse you grabbed the door
then jiggled like a jelly, what a view.
So many times you fell, you will again
but hopefully you'll rise enough to see,
the value of a stumble or the strain
that bends a body, often lays the key.
Inside a man's foundation one can pick
the childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick.

---

You pulled your chubby frame from floor is a quadraped

That line will not change anything the rest of the crown, so it is fine to work on it while we continue. Nice to see you around milo.

wtf is a quadraped...something with 4 legs Huh ohj shitty shity shit shit i see it now Sad i'll fix it)...(done) thanks for the heads up guys

[just mercedes]

I edited - play on!

(The way I wrote the crown, of course, meant the first sonnet was written last. I begin a sestina with the final three lines too. I think there's something wrong with me.

Jm, are you going to edit your couplet? Or do you want to give someone else a crack at it?

There is no rush of course, if indeed you are planning on revising.

I thought I'd deleted it - a quick write, then I realized I'd got the whole thing wrong according to your rules, and it was such a negative moan anyway. Won't get to it til later today - I shall return!

I wrote a Heroic Crown once, and the first sonnet consisted of the first lines of all the following sonnets.

Ah, I see-- that is essentially the same thing but backwards. This way allows us a bit more collaboration, instead of one person writing a single sonnet which dictates the opening of all the other sonnets.

Thanks again for playing. Looking forward to your return!

[Truerenigma]

So this is how we enter: clockwork's tick,
they tock; they tell your story in the hall.
The childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick
(a human finger moves us after all)

All Our Yesterdays

i.

So this is how we enter clockwork's tick
into a lifetime of fragility.
Come quick, small child! Your heart is but a chick's
small squeaks; your wings are barely feathered. See,
the steel-clawed beast in smock and apron gear
won't harm your molded head. This violent day
will fade. Don't turn to crawl back in from fear
of numbered clocks that beep your heart away—
into cold night, in bed with mother moon,
brief as icicle drips at sunrise—strife
will lift as scrapbook pages turn. So soon
you will grow old! The brevity of life
will strike you grey; yet pictures line the wall,
they talk. They tell your story in the hall.

ii.

They talk; they tell your story in the hall.
A wall of photo shoots from nought 'til now
of scratched-knee-summers, or a freezing fall.
Vignettes of crawls and steps; I don't know how
you raised your chubby frame from off the floor
and slowly skewed, at first a step: Then two.
To stop the wobbling arse you grabbed the door
then jiggled like a jelly, what a view.
So many times you fell, you will again
but hopefully you'll rise enough to see,
the value of a stumble or the strain
that bends a body, often lays the key.
Inside a man's foundation one can pick
the childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick.

iii.

the childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick
into a cloistered world of selfish greed
so quickly does the ego learn his trick
of choosing want with small regard for need
then anger fuels your unresponsive mood
and tantrums win when met with weak resolve
so ev’rything you ask for, clothes or food
are sentences for crimes you can’t absolve
the lies they tell you just to grow you up
imprinted with their out-of-fashion pains
like too-sweet soda from a paper cup
that doesn't slake your thirst, but leaves faint stains
with all the futile lines writ on a wall;
a human finger moves us after all

---

We are ready for the next sonnet.

This will be your first line:

a human finger moves us after all

The rhymes have not yet been established for the next stanza, so you may choose any end rhyme you like for your closing couplet. (But please try not to repeat any of the rhymes from the first stanza.)

---

Feedback is much appreciated, and if you guys want to keep working on your sonnets, just let me know, and I'll update the crown accordingly with your edits.

[billy]

can someone step in and help us out with a sonnet please

This will be your first line:

a human finger moves us after all

[ellajam]

edit #1 (tectak, true, billy)


A human finger moves us, after all
the weeks you grew inside your mother's womb,
arriving early with an anxious bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
and triumph on your toes, my abacus,
as monitors and regulators beep
and flash your vital signs. You mildly fuss
then slip back into artificial sleep;
your dreams a mystery of graphing flares.
I trace fine lines on palms, your future: grand
achievements, escapades, sweet love affairs...
your secret strengths read in each tiny hand.
Although our place does not dictate our worth,
we cannot earn the luck or curse of birth.



Original

A human finger moves us. After all
the weeks you grew inside your mother's womb,
arriving early with an anxious bawl,
I count the possibilities of doom
and triumph on your toes, my abacus
as monitors and regulators beep
and flash your vital signs. You turn and fuss,
then slip back into artificial sleep,
your dreams a mystery of graphing flares.
I trace your palms and tell your future, grand
achievements, escapades and love affairs,
your secret strengths held in your tiny hand.
Although we strive to justify our worth,
we cannot earn the luck or curse of birth.

Critique welcome.

[Truerenigma]

So this is how we enter: clockworks tick,
they tock; they tell your story in the hall.
The childhood strength that guides you, brick by brick,
a human finger, moves us after all
we cannot earn. The luck or curse of birth ...

All Our Yesterdays

i.

So this is how we enter clockwork's tick
into a lifetime of fragility.
Come quick, small child! Your heart is but a chick's
small squeaks; your wings are barely feathered. See,
the steel-clawed beast in smock and apron gear
won't harm your molded head. This violent day
will fade. Don't turn to crawl back in from fear
of numbered clocks that beep your heart away—
into cold night, in bed with mother moon,
brief as icicle drips at sunrise—strife
will lift as scrapbook pages turn. So soon
you will grow old! The brevity of life
will strike you grey; yet pictures line the wall,
they talk. They tell your story in the hall.

ii.

They talk; they tell your story in the hall.
A wall of photo shoots from nought 'til now
of scratched-knee-summers, or a freezing fall.
Vignettes of crawls and steps; I don't know how
you raised your chubby frame from off the floor
and slowly skewed, at first a step: Then two.
To stop the wobbling arse you grabbed the door
then jiggled like a jelly, what a view.
So many times you fell, you will again
but hopefully you'll rise enough to see,
the value of a stumble or the strain
that bends a body, often lays the key.
Inside a man's foundation one can pick
the childhood strength that guides you brick by brick.

iii.

the childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick
into a cloistered world of selfish greed
so quickly does the ego learn his trick
of choosing want with small regard for need
then anger fuels your unresponsive mood
and tantrums win when met with weak resolve
so ev’rything you ask for, clothes or food
are sentences for crimes you can’t absolve
the lies they tell you just to grow you up
imprinted with their out-of-fashion pains
like too-sweet soda from a paper cup
that doesn't slake your thirst, but leaves faint stains
with all the futile lines writ on a wall;
a human finger moves us after all

iv.

A human finger moves us. After all
the weeks you grew inside your mother's womb,
arriving early with an anxious bawl,
I count the possibilities of doom
and triumph on your toes, my abacus,
as monitors and regulators beep
and flash your vital signs. You turn and fuss,
then slip back into artificial sleep,
your dreams a mystery of graphing flares.
I trace your palms and tell your future, grand
achievements, escapades and love affairs,
your secret strengths held in your tiny hand.
Although we strive to justify our worth,
we cannot earn the luck or curse of birth.

---

I've marked a small edit I made to billy's couplet for grammatical sense in the final sonnet. If any of the rest you fellow collaborators (or any viewing crits) have any suggestion to improve the individual and/or final sonnet(s) please fell free to jump in and discuss them.

---

In the meantime, we can keep adding sonnets.

The next sonnet opens with this line:

we cannot earn the luck or curse of birth

This is a rather complex endeavor, and all of this (poem) is open to critique, suggestion, and discussion. We can edit the thing together as we go. Hopefully, when we finish, and then maybe do some a bit of revising, we will end up with something we can all love and enjoy.

Only ten more sonnets to go!

Thanks again to all of those that have already contributed. If 48 hours (from now) pass without an addition from a fifth member I am going to allow double dipping.

Personally, enjoy the sonnets we've received thus far, and find the project very interesting, I can't wait to see where it takes us.

[billy]

hi true good catch, can it be

the childhood strengths that guides you brick by brick.

instead please as i meant to use strengths and not strength

[Truerenigma]

hi true good catch, can it be

the childhood strengths that guides you brick by brick.

instead please as i meant to use strengths and not strength

yeah, that's what it was originally (but guide, not guides. strengths that guides doesn't make sense). i was only making a suggestion, to agree with finger. we can leave it how it was, but i'm not sure what to do with the ultimate sonnet. what do you think?

[billy]

great effort jammy (ellajam)

So this is how we enter: clockworks tick,
they tock; they tell your story in the hall.
The childhood strength that guides you, brick by brick,
a human finger, moves us after all
we cannot earn. The luck or curse of birth ...

All Our Yesterdays

i.

So this is how we enter clockwork's tick
into a lifetime of fragility.
Come quick, small child! Your heart is but a chick's
small squeaks; your wings are barely feathered. See,
the steel-clawed beast in smock and apron gear
won't harm your molded head. This violent day
will fade. Don't turn to crawl back in from fear
of numbered clocks that beep your heart away—
into cold night, in bed with mother moon,
brief as icicle drips at sunrise—strife
will lift as scrapbook pages turn. So soon
you will grow old! The brevity of life
will strike you grey; yet pictures line the wall,
they talk. They tell your story in the hall.

ii.

They talk; they tell your story in the hall.
A wall of photo shoots from nought 'til now
of scratched-knee-summers, or a freezing fall.
Vignettes of crawls and steps; I don't know how
you raised your chubby frame from off the floor
and slowly skewed, at first a step: Then two.
To stop the wobbling arse you grabbed the door
then jiggled like a jelly, what a view.
So many times you fell, you will again
but hopefully you'll rise enough to see,
the value of a stumble or the strain
that bends a body, often lays the key.
Inside a man's foundation one can pick
the childhood strength that guides you brick by brick.

iii.

the childhood strengths that guide you brick by brick
into a cloistered world of selfish greed
so quickly does the ego learn his trick
of choosing want with small regard for need
then anger fuels your unresponsive mood
and tantrums win when met with weak resolve
so ev’rything you ask for, clothes or food
are sentences for crimes you can’t absolve
the lies they tell you just to grow you up
imprinted with their out-of-fashion pains
like too-sweet soda from a paper cup
that doesn't slake your thirst, but leaves faint stains
with all the futile lines writ on a wall;
a human finger moves us after all

iv.

A human finger moves us. After all a suggestion would be to make this one sentance as i'm not sure the enjambment works well enough as it is
the weeks you grew inside your mother's womb,
arriving early with an anxious bawl, would a period work better here?
I count the possibilities of doom
and triumph on your toes, my abacus, i like the image of this line, should it be a semi colon after toes because of the shift change
as monitors and regulators beep
and flash your vital signs. You turn and fuss,
then slip back into artificial sleep,
your dreams a mystery of graphing flares.
I trace your palms and tell your future, grand
achievements, escapades and love affairs,
your secret strengths held in your tiny hand.
Although we strive to justify our worth,
we cannot earn the luck or curse of birth.

---

I've marked a small edit I made to billy's couplet for grammatical sense in the final sonnet. If any of the rest you fellow collaborators (or any viewing crits) have any suggestion to improve the individual and/or final sonnet(s) please fell free to jump in and discuss them.

---

In the meantime, we can keep adding sonnets.

The next sonnet opens with this line:

we cannot earn the luck or curse of birth

This is a rather complex endeavor, and all of this (poem) is open to critique, suggestion, and discussion. We can edit the thing together as we go. Hopefully, when we finish, and then maybe do some a bit of revising, we will end up with something we can all love and enjoy.

Only ten more sonnets to go!

Thanks again to all of those that have already contributed. If 48 hours (from now) pass without an addition from a fifth member I am going to allow double dipping.

Personally, enjoy the sonnets we've received thus far, and find the project very interesting, I can't wait to see where it takes us.

[Truerenigma]

So this is how we enter clockworks tick
they talk they tell your story in the hall
The childhood strength that guides you brick by brick
a human finger moves us after all
we cannot earn the luck or curse of birth

[billy]

i'm fine with how you had it, i thought i'd just left the s off leave it as you did it :J:

hi true good catch, can it be

the childhood strengths that guides you brick by brick.

instead please as i meant to use strengths and not strength

yeah, that's what it was originally (but guide, not guides. strengths that guides doesn't make sense). i was only making a suggestion, to agree with finger. we can leave it how it was, but i'm not sure what to do with the ultimate sonnet. what do you think?