We've had the round robin SF tale, and the round robin fantasy one, what about a round robin sonnet cycle?

Simple enough rules:

1) One sonnet at a time;
2) must involve fantasy of SF motifs;
3) must follow on from the one immediatelt preceding.

I'm sure we've enough here to give it a crack!

*Author of Strange Gardens [www.lulu.com]


*Editor of Calenture: a Journal of Studies in Speculative Verse [calenture.fcpages.com]

*Visit my homepage: [voleboy.freewebpages.org]

>We've had the round robin SF tale, and the round robin fantasy one,
>what about a round robin sonnet cycle?
>
>Simple enough rules:
>
>1) One sonnet at a time;
>2) must involve fantasy of SF motifs;
>3) must follow on from the one immediatelt preceding.
>
>I'm sure we've enough here to give it a crack!

Okay, here's a vague enough one I've got sitting around doing nothing; would it work as a starter sonnet?

Cheers,

Jim Java

* * *

Neither time nor space will deign to hide me,
Shoulders pressed against the withers of the world;
The hellborn reeks blood in haste to take me --
His eyes are black, and his black banner's unfurled.
The stars reflect his fleshless ebon grin,
With eyes or sockets gouged amid the spaces:
The breadth of void denies the hell within
That man alone endures within its traces.
I thought the universe to be inert --
Indifferent to the meager plights of men --
So I blasphemed ascription for some hurt,
And learned the cosmos hates within its ken.
If in dying death's to me allowed,
Death shall rack me, for the Universe is proud.

Opus 1862

Still the stars may be, mocking brightly, grinning
inanely--Death's their due--dwarf or a hole,
it matters not. For the cosmos hates, soul
sold unto the demon entropy, winning

cooling skies and freezing stars, and the dust
supplanting all. For Death, Death is a jester
despairing, a bright soul whose death infests her
family with chest-cracking despair. Lust

is as vain as life, dies with time and turning
tide--come and be damned, my boy! Here's the bony
dice--throw and be damned! We lay on the stony
ground, and dream all's well, that Hell's not returning,

but Death--demon, daimon, dragon--remains
Charon upon the wan river of its drains.

17/05/05


*Author of Strange Gardens [www.lulu.com]


*Editor of Calenture: a Journal of Studies in Speculative Verse [calenture.fcpages.com]

*Visit my homepage: [voleboy.freewebpages.org]