Question Your Grace

What if she doesn't? You should always ask
That question of yourself. Will what you do,
The monumentally impressive task
You set yourself to prove (at least to you)
That you love her, be worth it if she said
That wasn't what she meant at all? Is it
Sufficient in itself? If you're misled,
And her emotions and your own don't fit
Into a single mold, will you still be
Happy you began what you've begun?
If so, then do it, not for feelings she
May not reciprocate when you are done,
But for yourself. If not, why do for her
What neither of you may, in fact, prefer?

Care

Meticulous beyond what I should be,
I creep by inches up into my point.
Caution is the watchword inside me,
And haste would seem distinctly out of joint.
I calmly pause, consider what is known,
Debate internally a while more,
Collect the seeds of doubt that I have sown,
And contemplate each one; I can't ignore
The slightest factor that might have affected
The workings of the problem I perceive,
Nor can I risk one going undetected
And so I think and think, 'til I believe
I've thought it through enough. This is all true
But not in every case: only with you.

Irritations

It always seems to be the little things
Nonfunctioning computers, falling chairs,
A mattress with too many broken springs,
The sort of thing that, while no one cares
Too much about them on their own, will seem
The final straw when other things go wrong.
Large rocks will turn aside the rushing stream
The smaller ones inspire turbulence.
A note off-key within a favorite song,
A light that won't turn off, not matter what,
An explanation that just won't make sense,
Are little inconveniences, but
They gain importance in their context, when
They cause us to go "oh no, not again!"

Traditional

It is not icy blasts that freeze my face,
Nor melting snow that makes me seem to cry.
No cloud contained those liquid drops that trace
Their frigid path, 'til they solidify.
I cannot blame the winter for the chill
That hugs my bones too tightly, nor complain
When feeling frozen, as I know I will,
Of wind that cuts through me. None of my pain
Derives from icicles weighing me down
Or pressing sharply into my poor chest;
No lack of insulation makes me frown,
Nor does a tempest rob me of my rest.
It is your absence that I ought to scold;
Taking yourself away has made me cold.

Age Cannot

I wonder if your loveliness will change
With passing years, and if it does, whether
It will in time make your appearance strange
Or if, with eyes and facing aging together,
You will be, as I think you will, as sweet
As you are now; indeed I might protest
I think you will be more, because the best
Of beauty and maturity will meet
Within you, and therefore improve what seemed
Before you ripened, already ideal
Beyond the ultimate I could have dreamed
And all of it both beautiful and real;
For in all honesty, if I see you
No matter what, I see a lovely view.

On Slant Rhyme

There is one major category of rhyme I have not covered already in this series, and I shall now treat it. That rhyme is slant rhyme, and it falls neatly between the non-rhyme of eye rhyme and true rhyme. That said, it is still difficult to define, because the key point of slant rhyme is that it involves what is almost but not quite actual rhyme. Typically this is done by the change of a single consonant: n for m, b for p and v, and so on. There are technical terms for the types of consonants that work this way, but since the writing of poetry is not the composition of technical treatises, but rather a contingent process of writing words that sound right together, it is most useful to simply use one's mental ear when writing. Vowels can also be switched, although more rarely (and switching both generally results in simply non-rhyme): set and sit (in certain accents) are close enough, for instance.

The use of slant rhyme in sonnets should be minimal, because it is not actual rhyme; but it is still within the bounds of good taste, if I may pretend for a moment to be an arbiter of such. It is particularly useful with words that have no or few true rhymes; you may note that in my last sonnet I used "preserved" and "undisturbed" as slant rhyme, as there are quite few words that are true rhymes with either (they do exist - swerved and curbed, for instance - but they are rare). Slant rhyme should be used only when the word fits so neatly into the sense of the sonnet that the slight hiccup in the rhyme scheme is almost unnoticed (and of course, as with the metrical variations, a slant rhyme may be used for effect too). Too much slant rhyme loses the rhyme scheme and starts looking like unrhymed verse, but in moderation it can significantly free up the poet's ability to make meaning.

Restraint

Beauty unacknowledged by itself
Is as a canvas covered by a sheet,
An untouched sculpture sitting on a shelf,
A sheaf of papers folded in a neat
Pile that sits unread, and yet preserved:
They do not lose their value as they wait,
And yet although they may be undisturbed
There's something sad within their patient state.
Their use would be a blessing, one might think,
To turn unvalued virtue towards the good,
And make at last that beneficial link
Between what has been done and what yet should.
But thinking so imagines that that use
Will not be turned into a sad abuse.

Silence in Court

The hour of quiet has arrested us
So that we cannot move for fear of sound.
We shuffle softly in our seats and thus
The silence that we seek is simply found.
Were we to open up our mouths and speak,
To choose communication, we'd betray
The sense of quiet concord that we seek
And hear instead of words an ass' bray.
I cannot choose, therefore, to speak or not
Because we are communal in the choice;
I wonder what in us silence has wrought
And whether we are worse without a voice.
Despite these doubts, I cannot speak a word,
And if I did, I doubt it would be heard.

Regrettable

There might have been some things I said last night
That I regret. I might as well admit
I am not perfect (though confess I might
Sometimes desire to pretend to it)
And so, in imperfection, I commit,
Occasionally, errors, often slight,
But still existent, and as such things sit
Uneasy on my conscience, it is right
That I admit them, and apologize,
Which, if I may, I will attempt to do
To others whom I might offend, and you,
Whom I am sure I did. Please recognize
I'm capable of better. So I sue
To see some small forgiveness in your eyes.

Perspectival

I can't be bothered to pretend I care
About such minor things. Don't pester me.
I have been places - it's no matter where -
And done such things - don't ask what they could be -
That your small problems fade away from view
As candles in the sunlight. Why should I
Furrow my brow or wrack my brains when you
Declare that such-and-such is wrong? In my
Experience, which is much more than yours,
It hardly signifies, for there are things
Greater than you imagine. Fate ignores
Such minor points as you, and though it stings
It's better you know now. Therefore, depart
I'm not concerned about your little heart.