#Spenserian

[caedmonofwhitby]

from The Eve of St Agnes by John Keats, 1819

[holespoles]

Calendar. Now May 1st, May Day. 'May comes, carried by twins and led by Kupid,' goes the customary Spenserian verse. 'When the fairest maiden on earth scatters flowers, all creatures laugh and murmur and dance. The young should dance and the old should reminisce.

暦。さて五月一日、メイデイ。「五月は双子に担がれ、クピドに先導されてやってくる」と恒例のスペンサーの一節であります。地上で一番美しい乙女が花を撒くとすべての生き物は笑いさざめき、踊りだすとのこと。若者は踊るべし、老人は回想すべし、と。

[definegodliness]

The wind hailed

Through slender tendrils rustle sighs of yore As Tempest's shoulders crumble in the sky, Perhaps this scream resounded long before, Yet, caged, a cry escapes to wane and die; Turned faintest whisper, now, that I may try To prick up both my ears and face the wind To hear its hymn, and, so, be answered why My heart, as sudden, and by needle pinned, Assails my throat in forlorn sorrow, twinned As kin, reflected — no, yet more: the same! Veraciously the same! — as if Luck grinned; Its teeth of star-glint roaring forth one name That makes me privy, more than mortal man, And I but mouth the answer:

"Marianne."

--- 23-1-2024, M.A. Tempels ©

[alixanderkrex]

Found some free Spenserian help if anyone else wanted to learn it!

[jaina-chaosweaver-of-fate]

Chasing the prey through the woods, Never quite catching her bloody scars, Forever but unending no matter the moods, No victory into these unending wars,

From wilds to civilizations dregs in bars, Finding her nursing trauma in her drinks, Following through from Venus to Mars, From vision gone in the time between blinks,

Racing through the Solar Links, Round the system do we chase, Rails that lead to new hi-jinks, Resting just before her face,

Garuda caught her finally at rest, Married now she's to the best.

[batgovernor]

Using form: Spenserian sonnet: Charles Martin, 'On the Problem of Bears'

Bears are frustrated by their lack of speech, Their claws leave blackboards shrieking for repairs, And that’s why bears are seldom asked to teach And almost never get Distinguished Chairs Unless they come across one unawares Whose rich upholstery they quickly shred. Some of them have been known to have affairs With a man or woman lured into their bed— This often ends up badly with one dead, The…

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing References: For the Poets

A List of: Terminology Part 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ Genres

Forms: Tercet ⚜ Quatrain ⚜ Cinquain ⚜ Sixaine ⚜ Septet

Forms: Ottava Rima ⚜ Spenserian Stanza ⚜ Sonnet

Found Poetry ⚜ Hamartia & Hubris ⚜ Meter ⚜ Mood & Motif

Imagery ⚜ Irony ⚜ Common Metaphors ⚜ Mixed Metaphors

Symbolism ⚜ Theme ⚜ Tone (Examples)

How to Write Poetry ⚜ How to say, "I love you"

Famous Lines

For last year’s words belong to last year’s language, and next year’s words await another voice (T. S. Eliot)

He was my North, my South, my East and West (W. H. Auden)

"Hope" is the thing with feathers (Emily Dickinson)

I wandered lonely as a cloud (William Wordsworth)

She walks in beauty, like the night (Lord Byron)

‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all (Tennyson)

To be or not to be: that is the question (Shakespeare)

Poetry Prompts

Poetry is... ⚜ First Lines ⚜ Last Lines Part 1 2

List Poem ⚜ Persona Poem ⚜ Poetic Map ⚜ Portrait of a Poet

Lemons ⚜ No Words ⚜ Rewrite ⚜ Untitled

Talking to Art ⚜ The Invisible ⚜ The Persona ⚜ The Same Thing

Writing Notes

Emotions ⚜ Fossil Words ⚜ Palindromes ⚜ Writers' Sleep Habits

George Orwell: On Poetry ⚜ Nonsense Poetry

Virginia Woolf: On Words ⚜ Sensory Words ⚜ Terms of Endearment

Symbolisms: Colours Part 1 2 ⚜ Food ⚜ Numbers ⚜ Storms

Writing Resources PDFs

[preraphaelitepaintings]

Madeleine Undressing – Eve of St Agnes

Artist: John Everett Millais (English, 1829–1896)

Date: 1863

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Royal Collection, London, United Kingdom

Description

The Eve of St. Agnes is a Romantic narrative poem of 42 Spenserian stanzas set in the Middle Ages. It was written by John Keats in 1819 and published in 1820. The poem was considered by many of Keats's contemporaries and the succeeding Victorians to be one of his finest and was influential in 19th-century literature.

The title comes from the day (or evening) before the feast of Saint Agnes (or St. Agnes' Eve). St. Agnes, the patron saint of virgins, died a martyr in 4th-century Rome. The eve falls on 20 January; the feast day on the 21st. The divinations referred to by Keats in this poem are referred to by John Aubrey in his Miscellanies (1696) as being associated with St. Agnes' night.

[isiaiowin]

GOetry - Short, Sweet, and Sijo

Welcome to GOetry! A weekly poetry club.

Every Monday, you'll receive a new poetry prompt and have until the following Monday to submit your poetic creations. Come join the fun! Post your finished work under the #GOetry and don't forget to tag me @isiaiowin so I can see your work.

You can also add your work to the AO3 collection here.

Thank you for joining last week's prompt! I loved reading all the Spenserian stanzas! This week, we’re keeping it smaller—and no iambic. 🤣💚

This week’s prompt:

Form: Sijo poetry

Theme: Miracle

What is a Sijo?

Sijo is a Korean poetic form consisting of 44-46 syllables, traditionally structured as a three-line poem with 14-16 syllables per line. Each line features a pause near the middle. Sijo were originally written as songs and often accompanied by music. They typically focused on themes of nature, spirituality, or the metaphysical.

The basic pattern of the syllable count in a sijo is as follows:

Line 1: 3 4 4 4  

Line 2: 3 4 4 4  

Line 3: 3 6 4 3     

Example:

Hwang Chin-I 

I will break the back of this long, midwinter night,

Folding it double, cold beneath my spring quilt,

That I may draw out the night, should my love return.

Have fun! ~Moon💚

@goodomensafterdark

[spockanalia-archive]

Spockanalia #1: Star Drek

By Ruth Berman

Art by Sherna Comerford and Juanita Coulson

by Ruth Berman Reprinted from Pantopon #16 (FAPA) by permission of the author

On the Enterprise, Sulu ran his hands through the space which had been occupied a moment ago. "Captain?" he said. "Mr. Spock?" His panic increased as he counted empty spaces.

Captain James Kirk of the Starship Enterprise glared at the young man asleep in the middle of the room. "Where are we?" he demanded.

The question woke the sleeper. "In a dungeon. Beyond that I don't know. Who are you?"

Kirk introduced himself, Lieutenant Uhura, Mr. Spock, and Doctor McCoy.

"How do you do," said the stranger politely. "I'm the Coceytus." He rose and bowed.

The walls were littered with fragmentary murals: here a tournament, there an orgy, or a hunt, or a dance of satyrs, and dozens of bright-colored boats sailing the grey stone rivers between each scene. Dr. McCoy grinned as he found the Coceytus staring up at an orgy in the middle of one wall.

"There's a more imaginative one to your left in the top corner," he said.

The young man smiled at him. "No, I have more a literary interest." He pointed at a neat inscription covering a fat man's rear. The others joined him in trying to decipher it, but it was upside-down, and all any of them got was a mild attack of vertigo.

The Coceytus blinked and rubbed his forehead. Then he rose in the air, cartwheeling as he went, until he stood on the ceiling, his eyes level with the inscription, and his cloak spreading out beneath him like a storm cloud. He let his feet fall and dropped to the floor, where he stood gazing up at the inscription with a bemused expression.

"Well?" said Kirk.

"Well," he said slowly, "it's an ordinary dirty joke, told in the form of a Spenserian stanza. The names of the protagonists are given as Prince Arthur and Queen Gloriana, fairest Tanaquil."

McCoy snorted.

"However," he went on, "there's a phrase that may be the key to a spell to get us out of here: 'elf's or man's or neither's kiss.' It's just stuck in parenthetically, and it doesn't make any sense in context, except, of course, that it rhymes with 'piss.' Lieutenant Uhura, may I kiss you?"

She was silent, dark face impassive, as she unwound his line of thought. "Very well."

He kissed her lips gently, ran to the door, and shoved it. It moved about half an inch and thumped on its lock. The Coceytus rubbed his bruised arm.

"Not very successful," McCoy commented.

"No. Would one of you humans care to try?"

"Are you serious about this?" Kirk asked.

"Oh, yes." He looked at the skeptical faces and laughed. "It's not all that uncommon—you have to remember that magic is science in this world. It's a standard sort of spell."

"All right." Kirk put his arms around Uhura and kissed her firmly.

"Perfectionist," McCoy muttered to himself. "On the other hand, he's probably never kissed her before. Jim doesn't sleep with officers."

One slanting eyebrow slanted higher on Spock's face, and McCoy suddenly remembered the Vulcan's acute hearing. He looked at Spock questioningly. "Your diagnosis is probably correct," Spock said.

"Still locked," the Coceytus announced. "I guess we're stuck. We don't have any elves around."

"What are you?" said Uhura.

"Me? Why, I'm—I suppose it depends on the definition. I was thinking of Spenser's elves—or was it green and yellow creatures sitting on a buttercup I had in mind? Well, that would still leave us needing someone neither elf nor human."

McCoy looked at the ceiling. Uhura looked at her feet, and Kirk looked at Spock. The Coceytus considered all the glances carefully. "I see," he said. "Mr. Spock?"

Spock returned Kirk's glance for a moment, then pulled Uhura to him. McCoy took his gaze off the ceiling.

"Open," the Coceytus said, some moments later.

"Don't I get a turn?" said McCoy plaintively. "Oh, well," he added, "sorry we couldn't find a more Prince Charming sort of neither-nor for you, Uhura."

"Mr. Spock is quite satisfactory," she said calmly as she hurried out the door.

"No accounting for tastes," sighed McCoy, and ran to catch up to them.

They followed the Coceytus down a long corridor, dimly lit by rows of small blue lights set in the floor. The inverted shadows cast up on their faces distorted their looks. Kirk felt as if he was in a pack of monsters and had to fight the impulse to run and get away from the beasts.

The corridor ended, and three narrower corridors branched off from it. They stopped, uncertain which way to go. The Coceytus peered down each one, snuffing the chilly air. The little group pulled together in a cluster at the end of the corridor, hemmed in by a cage on one side and a large roll-top desk at the other. The cage held a stinking creature, something like a small dragon, so far as they could see it. Although it was asleep, they drew away from it and pressed up against the desk. Its surface was hidden by a mass of books, three jars of herbs, a row of quill pens in a stand, a half-written parchment, a plaster bust, and an inkwell full of a golden liquid that gave off a light. It was a faint light, but it seemed sharp after the shadowy blues. The parchment, too, shone gold, and a little pool of gold light was gathering on a furry blotter left beneath the pens.

"Still wet," Spock murmured. "I wonder…"

He reached for the parchment, but the Coceytus whirled, so swiftly that he knocked against Uhura, and caught Spock's arm. "Caref—"

"Master! Master!" yelled the plaster bust. Its voice was high and echoed thinly down the corridors.

Uhura stumbled, and McCoy steadied her. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, "one of those pens pricked me, that's all."

A screaming and clattering rose in the distance from the middle corridor. The thing in the cage snored and sighed and made a whistling sound like water boiling. The Coceytus shrugged and then ran headlong down the right hand corridor. It led them to a flight of winding stairs. There were no banisters, and the stairs were steep, so they used hands as well as feet in their race. Kirk, scrambling up the stairs, felt he had become one of the pack and wondered why he was not baying. A light flickered from the top of the stairs as they circled, and he ordered himself to concentrate on it.

The Coceytus reached the next floor and ran at random to the left. Kirk grabbed him and tugged him to a halt. The others collided with them.

"Look!" said Kirk, trying to pull his arm out of the tangle to point.

"What?" said the Coceytus. "Oh!"

The light was daylight, shining through a small, dirty window set high in the wall. McCoy, shorter than the others, looked at it dubiously.

The Coceytus jumped into the air and tugged at the window, but it stuck fast.

"Smash it," ordered Kirk.

The Coceytus nodded, wrapped his arm in his cloak, and swung. Fresh light streamed in, blinding them.

McCoy reached tentatively for the ledge.

"No need," said the Coceytus. He dropped to the floor, sprang up past the window, carrying Uhura, and shoved her out.

McCoy shivered as he was pulled up, partly from the rush of cool air, partly from the howls coming up the stairs. He fell heavily to the ground, a few feet below, and stood still, until Uhura grabbed him out of the way of Spock's descending feet. Kirk landed next, but the Coceytus, dropping after him, hung choking a foot above the ground, his cloak caught securely in a large blue hand.

Spock and Kirk tugged the cloak free, and the young man fell to his knees. They dragged him up again, and the group pelted across the red and orange flowers, a lawn of yellowed grass, up a hill, and down the hill through a wood. At the foot they came out of the wood to a narrow, dusty road.

"Do we dare follow this?" asked Kirk.

"We can make better time on it," said the Coceytus. "I think we'd better take the risk of being followed."

"All right, let's go," said Kirk.

The Coceytus offered his arm to Uhura, and McCoy smiled, wondering how she would react to the archaic courtesy. She accepted the arm. McCoy stared for a moment and dropped back a pace to the other side of the pair. He touched the wrist with the tiny scratch. It was cold. "How does your wrist feel?" he asked.

"Pretty awful," she said.

They were whispering, but Spock heard anyway. ''Lieutenant—" he began.

"My fault, too," the Coceytus interrupted. "Or no one's fault, really. A wizard's castle is just plain dangerous."

McCoy pulled out his diagnostikit and held it to the injured wrist as they walked along. "You keep talking about magic," he remarked, "but…" He paused.

"What is it, Bones?" asked Kirk.

"I can't get a reading."

"That's what happens to precision scientific instruments in a wizard's world," said the Coceytus.

McCoy looked at the diagnostikit again. It was obstinately motionless. He finished his remark: "but you must know what you're talking about, so do you have any ideas on what happened to Uhura? Was the ink poisoned?"

"Not necessarily," the Coceytus answered, "but poisonous, at any rate."

"Then we'll stop as soon as we cross a stream," McCoy said. "Do you think you can go on farther?" he asked Uhura gently. "We could rig something to carry water back in."

"I can manage," she said.

Spock raised his head and ran a few steps ahead of them. "There's a stream not far away," he called back. "I can hear it."

"How far?" said Kirk.

"I'm not sure. It probably crosses the road, but I think it's closer this way." Spock and Kirk pushed open a way through the underbrush that clogged the wood on the side away from the wizard's castle and held it open as the Coceytus and McCoy helped Uhura after them. Several yards later they came to the stream so suddenly that Kirk and Spock both slipped in.

"As long as we're wet anyway…" Kirk said.

Spock nodded and locked hands with him.

"Come on Lieutenant," Kirk said. "You'll have to get wet, Doctor." They carried Uhura over to the farther side, which was higher and not so grown over with brush. A grassy bank sloped up for several feet before the wood began again. McCoy splashed after them, grumbling at the Coceytus, who arced across in a graceful parabola.

"Cheer up," Kirk told him, "this may free us from pursuit."

"Thanks."

Kirk brushed twigs out of his uniform. "Now what, Bones?"

McCoy took out a small surgical knife from his kit. "I wish I had some proper materials with me," he muttered, "but this will have to—Coceytus, are you wearing a sword?"

"Yes." He shrugged back his cloak to reveal it.

"All right. Use it to cut me a bandage off your cloak. About so wide." McCoy gestured to show the width and turned to Uhura. "I'm sorry, this will hurt. Kneel by the stream."

She managed a smile. "You got it wrong, Doctor. You mean: Now this will only hurt a little bit."

He smiled back. "I'll ask you afterwards. Spock, hold her arm steady for me."

Uhura remained silent as he slashed across the scratch, motioned Spock to let go, and thrust her arm into the stream. He held it there some moments, forcing the blood to flow out freely, then bathed the wound and took the arm out. Instantly, the Coceytus bound the strip of cloth over the wound.

"Neat," McCoy said. "You've had training?"

"A little. First-aid procedures, mostly."

"You'd better lie down, Uhura," McCoy said.

Spock helped her down, and she sighed as she sank into the long grass. "You were right, Doctor," she said.

"Of course," he said smugly, and felt the injured arm. It was cool from the water, so he could not tell if it was cold in itself. He scowled at the arm. "I wish I could be sure lancing was any good against venom."

"Aren't you?" Uhura said, startled.

"There's no proper proof for it, medically speaking," McCoy answered. "But, medically speaking, a treatment that perhaps helps, does not damage, and is expected by the patient is a treatment that should be applied."

He glanced at Spock, waiting for the Vulcan to comment, "Most illogical," but Spock was silent, lost in thought. When he spoke it was to the Coceytus. "If you don't know where we are, do you know where we are going?"

Kirk broke in, "You know more about where we are than you admitted back in the castle."

"Well, I guessed more. I still don't know. I don't suppose any of you have read Spenser's epic poem The Faerie Queen ?"

"No," said Uhura and McCoy.

"Yes," said Kirk and Spock. They looked at each other speculatively.

"You surprise me, Mr. Spock," said Kirk.

"I may say the same, Captain," Spock replied.

Kirk smiled. "You'd be surprised what a serious young man will get through who thinks captains are supposed to be well-read."

"And Spock is a walking reference library, we all know that," said McCoy. "Perfectly simple. Go on, Coceytus."

"I think we are either in Spenser's Faery Land or near it. More likely near it."

"Why?" said Kirk.

"Someone in Spenser's world wouldn't know about the Spenserian stanza, unless he was a wizard interested in other worlds. None of the wizards Spenser describes sound as if they'd be much interested in knowledge that isn't immediately useful; they're too busy haring after power—or dames. A mark of a poor wizard."

"That sounds like a professionally righteous indignation," McCoy commented.

The Coceytus grinned. "I'm not in the profession, but I suppose I've absorbed their attitude. No, our wizard has to be someone who is close enough to Spenser's Faery Land to enjoy making fun of it and learned enough to have run across Spenser."

Spock said, "I wonder if we are justified in assuming that 'our wizard' is hostile."

"Well, I generally assume someone is hostile when a stranger comes to his door to ask for hospitality, and he orders his servants to grab the visitor and lock him up.''

"Why were you asking for hospitality?" asked Uhura.

"I got lost during a dragon hunt and fell into another country," he answered. "It's easy to do Back of the Beyond."

"Back of what?"

"Back of the Beyond…let's see…I guess you could call it Fairyland in General. The terrains shift a lot, so if you go near the border of one country Back of the Beyond it's easy to find yourself someplace else you'd never heard of. Why do you think our wizard may be friendly, Mr. Spock?"

"He provided you with the means of escape, or so I should assume."

"The means of…Oh, yes! You and Uhura. Yes, it's a possibility. His dungeon implies a certain piquant sense of humor. But if it's all a joke, I'm not sure I care for his taste in comedy. But as to where, we're going—maybe nowhere. If there's a full moon tonight I may be able to call my people without any help. Otherwise, where we're going is in search of a friendly wonder-worker to help me. If we're in Spenser's world, we could try Lady Cambina. If we're not, I haven't the faintest idea."

Kirk nodded. The whole set-up was ridiculous, but at least it had a modicum of internal consistency. "Uhura, do you feel up to walking again?"

"Yes, Captain," she said.

"Careful, Jim," McCoy interposed, "Uhura is one of those idiots who hate to admit a weakness. I think it's a bad habit she picked up from you and Spock."

"I really do feel well enough," she said, and got to her feet unaided to prove it.

"Good," said Kirk, "then we'll follow the stream to where it meets the road and follow the road till we find someone who can direct us to a wizard."

They set off, Uhura taking Spock's arm, but they had only gone a few steps when a knight came riding into view around the curve of the stream. His horse picked its way daintily along the strip of bank between water and wood. The knight was in full plate armor, neatly jointed.

"Well," said Kirk, "he looks like one of Spenser's knights."

"Yes," agreed Spock, "although I don't recall a description of a shield like that."

"Azure, a sphere argent," said the Coceytus. "I don't either."

The knight pushed up the bevor of his helmet with one hand and lowered his lance with the other in a flowing, easy motion which, Kirk suspected, took great strength. The face revealed was fair and conventionally handsome—he looked a little like Kirk, except that his features were set in a grave expression.

"Looks like Jim when he has to order other people into danger," McCoy thought to himself, and suppressed a smile.

The Coceytus stepped forward. "Good…" He paused and glanced uncertainly at the sun. "Good day, sir knight."

"Good day, youngling. Are you all Paynims?"

"All?" The Coceytus blinked. "None of us are."

"Your lady is, or should be. I have never seen a Christian with so black a Saracen's hide."

Uhura stared at him and decided the words were meant to be insulting. She rummaged through her memory for the few When-Knighthood-Was-in-Flower stories she had read and said coldly, "Sir, a knight is, or should be, courteous."

"I pray your pardon, lady." The knight raised his lance, and set it back in its holder, then dismounted and knelt before Uhura. "I have ridden far today, and my heart is burdened. I did not understand that the ladies of this land could look and…and dress so strangely."

He managed not to stare at her bare legs, left free by her uniform. Uhura, visualizing herself in a long dress with a flowing train, suddenly realized what an arousing sight a woman's ankle must be in his world and said gravely, "Your error is forgiven, sir."

Spock raised an eyebrow at the deep solemnity of her tone, and she nearly broke up. But she swallowed hard and managed not to laugh. Fortunately, the Coceytus distracted the knight's attention. "Then you are not a native to this country, sir?" he said.

"No, I am Adamantus of Faery Land."

Kirk and Spock exchanged congratulatory glances.

"And I serve Queen Gloriana—and my heart's lady, Constance." Sir Adamantus looked around "What is this country's name?" he asked.

"Alas, Sir Adamantus, we are strangers to it," said the Coceytus. "We had hoped you could tell us." He went on to introduce the group, tacking a knighthood onto Kirk and calling McCoy "Surgeon McCoy."

McCoy suspected that a few extra syllables were slurred into the word, so that Sir Adamantus would hear it as Chirurgeon.

Sir Adamantus bowed to them, and a few moments of embarrassing silence followed. The knight looked uncomfortable, as if wishing they would all go away. At last he said cautiously, "What make you, traveling so near an enchanter's castle?"

"We just escaped from it," said Kirk. "He had us locked up."

"Truly?" said Adamantus eagerly, "then I need not hide my thoughts. Now let me see…the third oak, Lady Cambina said, and the fifth stone. Here is the third oak." He glanced at a large tree at the edge of the wood and turned to the stream. "One…two…" He stopped and wrinkled his eyebrows. "Think you a pebble is a stone?"

"Yes," said Spock.

"No," said the Coceytus, "not for a spell."

"I am no vile sorcerer!" Sir Adamantus exclaimed, turning on him.

"I can see that," said the Coceytus, ''but something of sorcery concerns you."

The knight nodded and finished his count. He drew his sword and took as deep a breath as his armor allowed, then stooped and rolled aside the fifth stone at the stream's edge. A fox sprang out of the hole. The sword flashed blue in the sunlight and chopped off its head. A duck flew squawking out of the bloodless carcass. Sir Adamantus grabbed it and wrung its neck. An egg dropped out of it into the stream. Adamantus snatched the egg, leaning so far in that he nearly toppled over, and Kirk had to pull him back.

"Thank you, Sir James," he said, and rose slowly, holding the egg in both hands. "Now I hold the enchanter's heart, and he must do my will—if I can get to him."

"Oh?" said the Coceytus. "May we know your will?"

"I seek the Lady Constance, stol'n from me by the Titan's daughter, Mutability. I know only that she hid her nowhere in Faery Land. It is my hope that this enchanter can show me the road that leads to my love."

"Sir Adamantus, perhaps we can assist each other," said Kirk. "We were going to go looking for a friendly wizard…"

"You would have looked long!" said Adamantus. "Sir James, know you not that all men of magic are evil? The essence of magic is deceit. So say all wise men, and I know it to be true, for, look you, what is magic but the shifting of appearances, and the changing of true substance to false? A thing which my lady could never abide."

"She will have to," suggested the Coceytus, "if magic is the only way for you to rescue her."

The knight looked with horror at the egg in his hands. "True—and I am already stained with sorcerous dealing. How shall I face my lady?" He turned to his horse and fumbled in his saddlebag with one hand, drawing out at last a sort of canvas sack, which he proceeded to draw over his shield.

"What are you doing?" asked McCoy.

"I cannot bear my lady's moon, the emblem of constancy, on my shield while the taint of magic is upon me."

"But I thought the moon was the emblem of inconstancy," said McCoy.

Kirk and Spock made "shut up" gestures at him. "Not in the Spenserian universe, Doctor," whispered Spock.

Kirk drew his imaginary knighthood around him and held Adamantus' hand from fastening the cover. "Sir Adamantus," he said, "it may be you mistake the matter." He pulled the cover off. "Behold your moon—always in the full upon your shield. But in the unchanging heavens she waxes and wanes in her appointed course. Surely the changes of magic, rightly used, can be as regular?"

Kirk paused to kick the Coceytus, who was grinning in frank appreciation of the Platonic sophistries, and went on, "Would your lady disdain to meet the Lady Cambina?"

"I do not know," said Adamantus. "It may be as you say."

The Coceytus slid smoothly into the attack. "You have lost your love, Sir Adamantus, and we have lost ourselves. If we help you win your way to the enchanter, will you ask him to help me call my people as well as help you find Lady Constance?"

"Yes," said Adamantus, and repeated it with more conviction, "yes, and gladly. If I do this thing at all I must do it with some hope of success, and I will freely tell you that it puzzled me much to consider how I should pass the enchanter's guards and protect myself without losing the egg. Sir James, will you do me the honor of wearing my sword? For I see yours is lost."

"I would be honored," said Kirk, accepting the sword. It was heavier than it looked, and he felt like a fool as he tried to find some way of holding it that would not result in his tripping the moment he took a step. Sulu, an enthusiastic fencer, had managed to persuade them all to learn the rudiments of fencing, but Kirk had never gone beyond, preferring to study more generally useful forms of in-fighting. He wished that he had accepted more of Sulu's tutelage, although he was not sure that it would have helped him at all with the monster, heavier than a saber, which he now held.

"Lady," said Adamantus, "will you please to ride?"

"Thank you," said Uhura uncertainly, and started towards the horse. The Coceytus steered her to the left side and helped her mount.

They went silently back to the road, back to the hill, through the wood to the hilltop, and down across the wizard's garden. Uhura looked in the broken window and peered carefully to both sides. "It's—" she began, and then remembered how the Coceytus had hovered in the air to read the inscription. So she craned her neck for a careful look upwards before leaning down from the horse to tell the others, "It's safe."

"Go ahead," said Kirk, "we'll follow."

The horse protested softly as she stepped to the saddle and into the hall through the window, but its master stroked it and held it steady. One after another the rest mounted the horse and scrambled into the castle, Adamantus last of all.

Something small squeaked on the right and dashed gibbering around a corner before they could see what it was. Kirk and the Coceytus looked at each other. Holding their swords ready, they stepped out in front of the rest and walked towards the corner.

Sir Adamantus forgot he had no sword and moved up beside them, grinding his teeth in frustration when Spock pulled him back. He glared at the egg in his hands and muttered "Sorcery!"

They reached the corner, turned it, and stopped. Two large, blue trolls stood blocking their way with drawn swords.

"En garde!" yelled Kirk, and feinted to the right, cursing the sword's weight which slowed him down as he went under the troll's parry and thrust at its breast. But the thrust almost went home. The troll had to jump back a pace to avoid it.

Kirk thrust again, half seeing out of one eye that the Coceytus, his cloak whirled around his left arm as a shield, was driving the other troll slowly back. Kirk wondered if his fencing stance was wrong. The Coceytus, facing his opponent directly, instead of turning his body sideways, thrust and slashed and darted to one side or another at his ease, while Kirk moved rigidly straight ahead, his thighs aching with the unaccustomed strain of the crab-like steps. But still his troll gave ground before his thrusts, and still he parried its strokes successfully.

Kirk gasped as the troll's sword jabbed his arm. He paused for a moment at the hot sting, but the wound was slight, and he was able to thrust once more. Even in that thrust he was wondering why the troll looked so upset, but it was his last stroke.

Spock announced loudly from behind him, "This is no battle."

The Coceytus beat his opponent's sword upwards, stepped back, and lowered his sword.

"You say true, Master Spock," said Adamantus, wonderingly.

Kirk let his arm fall.

The trolls stared at each other in consternation.

"Wizard!" yelled the Coceytus, "What's your game?"

A tall form stepped into the doorway. "To get you into this room. As you seem to have discovered my little device, I shall simply invite you in. If you'll step aside, I'll send your escort away."

The Coceytus stepped back to one side, shielding Adamantus.

The trolls looked miserable.

"You have done well," the wizard reassured them, "but now go and rest."

They stomped down the corridor and around the corner. Their footsteps echoed all the way to the staircase. The wizard shouted after them, "Find the glazier and tell him to fix the window, while you're at it," then stepped out of the doorway.

"Now what do we do?" said Kirk.

"Go on, I guess," said the Coceytus.

The room they came into was warmer than the corridor had been, for a large fire was lit and trying hard to take the chill off the stones. The wizard, a cadaverous man dressed in black, stood leaning against the mantelpiece. If he had stood upright he would have been taller than any of them, even Sir Adamantus. As it was, the Coceytus and McCoy looked like two small boys, and the others felt uncomfortably shrunken.

"Welcome, madam and gentlemen," said the wizard. "Won't you sit down?"

After a moment the Coceytus held a chair for Uhura and sat down next to her. "We thank you, lord of the house," he said.

McCoy followed suit and said meditatively, "Well, it seems you're not a wicked wizard after all."

"Wicked," the wizard repeated. "That is a curious word you humans use."

"Not just humans," interrupted the Coceytus.

The wizard paid no attention. "As I understand it," he went on, "it describes one who puts his own interests above those of others. Yes, of course I am wicked. However, I find it to my interest to grant your wishes."

"You must, vile enchanter, for I hold your heart."

"Yes, Sir Adamantus, precisely. My name, by the way, is Threngil. I prefer it to 'lord of the house' or…other titles."

His guests were all seated now, except Adamantus. The knight shook his head and sat down. Threngil arched his back once against the fire's warmth, then drew up a chair and sat down, too. "Tell me, Mr. Spock," he said, "how did you discover my stratagem?"

"Captain Kirk is not a skilled swordsman. The Coceytus obviously is, if I may judge by speed and appearance of ease. Yet each was driving his opponent back at the same pace. The discrepancy could not reasonably be due to chance."

"Thank you," said Threngil. "Now your wounds should be seen to." He rose, and Kirk pressed back into his chair, shrinking away from him. The wizard smiled bitterly and held out his hands to the ceiling. A quantity of white bandages fell into them. "Here," he said to McCoy, "but remember to change them when you return to your…spaceship. They will turn into cobwebs."

McCoy glanced at the Coceytus, who nodded. So McCoy bound up Kirk's wounds, and, after a moment's hesitation, put a fresh bandage on Uhura's arm.

Meanwhile Threngil went on, "Would you like some food or drink?"

"Master Threngil!" Adamantus burst out, but then stopped.

"We would, thank you," said the Coceytus.

Threngil clapped his hands and told the goblin who ran to the door to bring wine, fruit, and meat. "You are quite correct, Sir Adamantus," he remarked. "I enjoy your torment. But, aside from that, your companions are hungry. The Coceytus, for example, has eaten nothing for some twelve hours. You must forgive me," he said, turning to the Coceytus, "but I expected Sir Adamantus to arrive this morning. When he didn't I forgot to wake you for breakfast."

"You expected me?"

"Yes," said the wizard, "what kept you?"

"An old man was trying to get in his harvest, and his son was ill." Adamantus looked ashamed. "It is not work fit for a knight, but they needed help."

"You mortals have such inconsistent ideals," murmured Threngil. "I sometimes wonder how you ever disentangle them. However, you are here now. My intention, you see, was to send my servants to capture you before you reached the stream."

"But how did you know I was—"

"It is not so easy to sneak up on a wizard's heart as you suppose. One feels these things. And one has equipment to substantiate one's feeling." Threngil nodded at a crystal ball on the mantelpiece. "As it turned out, the Coceytus occupied the dungeon meant for you. And, as I inadvertently provided him with the means of escape, he escaped just when I should have sent my guards out to meet you, and they spent so much time chasing him that they missed you. A pity—such an ingenious plan."

"Why didn't you just hide your heart someplace else?" said McCoy.

"I cannot touch it. That is the penalty for security. I could have sent my servants, if they were fit to be trusted, but they are not."

"Are you?" said Adamantus suddenly.

"It all depends. For example, I am perfectly trustworthy as long as you hold my heart. I would be more comfortable, I may say, if you held it a little less tightly."

Adamantus relaxed his grip, after a suspicious glance, and Threngil slumped down in his chair. "Thank you," he said, straightening up again, "that is better. And here is your food. Excellent."

Threngil poured himself some wine and took a pear and some meat, tasted each, nodded his approval, and sent the goblin on to serve the others. Kirk wondered if the wizard was eating only to prove to his guests that they were not being poisoned, and decided that he probably was. With or without poison, the food was good and the wine excellent.

McCoy sipped his wine and carefully tasted it, enjoying both the light-bodied rosé and Spock's look of disapproval. "You really ought to try it, Spock," he said.

"Give up, Doctor," said Uhura, "you'll never change him."

"A teetotaller?" said Threngil. "Dear me, how interesting. And he sent the goblin back to bring Spock some water. "Now, Sir Adamantus," he said, "my plan originally was to take you prisoner, because I thought I could not fulfill your demands. I know where the Lady Constance is, but I cannot get there."

"Where?" said Adamantus eagerly.

"On the Moon."

"That's impossible," said McCoy. "She couldn't live there—or is she there but not alive?"

"Master Leech, do not say it," begged Adamantus.

"She is alive," said Threngil. He added to the doctor, "You know and I know that the moon is an airless rock, but in Queen Gloriana's realm they do not know it—and, I believe, it is not so in their sky. I changed my plan, however, when the Coceytus arrived, for I found in his mind an image he calls a spaceship. I took him prisoner and set about trying to transport a spaceship here for him to fly—"

"You could have asked me."

"Would you have agreed?"

"Oh—probably."

"I preferred the certainty. I worked through the night and, indeed, found a spaceship. But my attempt to bring the whole ship here, as you see, foundered." He gestured at the four from the Enterprise.

"Look here," said Kirk, "one man alone couldn't operate my ship."

"Indeed?" said Threngil. "Then it is fortunate that you have already promised Sir Adamantus your assistance."

McCoy touched his diagnostikit. "The Enterprise won't operate Back of the Beyond, will it?" he said.

"Normally, no," said the Coceytus. "However, things could be arranged." He rose. "May I?"

Threngil nodded, and the Coceytus took the crystal ball off the mantelpiece and sat down with it. He stroked it with his right hand, never taking his finger-tips off it, and crooned a spell over it softly.

A cloud of color grew up in the crystal—shapeless, so far as Kirk could see, but the Coceytus spoke to it happily.

"Hello, Father…Yes, I'm in trouble again…No, I'd like to be transported to a ship called the Enterprise. I've got four members of its crew here with me…No, six of us all together. Sir Adamantus of Spenser's Faery…Just a moment." Ho turned to Kirk. "Where is the Enterprise now?"

Kirk gave him the co-ordinates, wondering what, if anything, they would mean to the young jack-of-all-trades. He rattled them off to the crystal ball and went on, "And then, can you transport the Enterprise to the Spenserian world with enough of its own space to leave it operable? …Thanks—oh, anywhere between the Moon's orbit and Mercury's will do. Can you keep in touch with me through all that? …Right. Bye."

"Between the Moon and Mercury?" said Kirk.

The Coceytus nodded.

"A Ptolemaic universe, sir," said Spock.

"I should have known," said Kirk ruefully. "It's described in the Mutability Cantos. That reminds me of something." He stared into his glass of wine as the lines came back to him. "Cynthia lives in her palace on the Moon. Couldn't she send Lady Constance back to Earth? Why hasn't she done something to help her?"

"Because Mutability put a spell of silence on the lady's lips and told Cynthia that the parents of the speechless maiden begged her to take the girl under her protection. Not a very good lie, but she left before anyone could challenge it."

"A spell of silence," mused the Coceytus. "Do you know what can break it?"

"Threngil let his head fall back and nearly choked on howls of rusty laughter. "What would, you guess, Coceytus?" he gasped at last, "what would you guess?"

The Coceytus raised his eyebrows. "True love's kiss?"

"Exactly!"

"You wizards seem to like kisses in spells," remarked McCoy.

"Mutability is no wizard," said Threngil. "I like kisses in spells because they provide the maximum embarrassment for the participants—hence, the maximum amusement for me. But lovers feel no embarrassment at kissing. True love's kiss is not only unimaginative but dull. Still, what can you expect from a Titan's daughter?"

The Coceytus stood up. "We'll be off in a minute," he said. The others rose, except Threngil and Adamantus. "You'd better stand up," he told the knight, and turned to the wizard. "Thank you for your unusual hospitality. I've enjoyed myself, I think, in a way, on the whole."

"I'm delighted to hear it," answered Threngil. "Sir Adamantus, tell me, do you insist on dragging my heart all over the universe, or will you consider my part played and leave it behind so that I can spell it back into hiding?"

Adamantus looked at the wizard for a moment and set the egg down carefully. "Farewell, Master Threngil," he said.

"Farewell."

The Coceytus looked at the egg. "Why not put it back where it belongs?"

Haze closed around them as the wizard answered, "That is a—" Their ears popped at the slight difference in air-pressure between Threngil's castle and the bridge of the Enterprise.

"Captain!" said Sulu, jumping out of the captain's chair, ''Where've you been the last five minutes?"

"Five minutes?" said Kirk.

"Yes, and who's that?" asked Sulu. "And that?" he added, a moment later. Adamantus' armor was so spectacularly out of place that the Coceytus was at first invisible.

Kirk looked around at the familiar chairs and panels. His arm hurt, and he could feel a little blood oozing out of the cut. A bit of wadded-up cobweb fell from his sleeve to the floor. "I'm not sure I know the answers to any of your questions, Mr. Sulu, but these gentlemen are called Sir Adamantus and the Coceytus."

Sulu started over to his own seat, but Kirk stopped him. "Keep command, Mr. Sulu. We're going down to the sick-bay for a few minutes."

While McCoy cleansed and bound Uhura's wound properly, Kirk said, "The five minutes' absence is your doing, Coceytus?"

"Yes. My father's, rather."

"How long do we have till the next shift?"

"A few minutes—longer than it took him to get ready to get us here. It's a more complicated movement."

"I appreciate that," Kirk said dryly.

"How does that feel, Uhura?" asked McCoy.

"Not bad. I don't feel shaky all over now."

"Good. Your turn, Jim." He set to work on Kirk's arm.

"Uhura," said Kirk, "you're relieved from duty, if you want to be. You, too, Spock. We've all had a—well—a disquieting time."

"I'd rather not, sir," Uhura said. "At least, not till after we've seen the Ptolemaic Moon."

"Understandable," said Kirk. "Same with you, Spock?"

"Yes, Captain."

McCoy grinned. "Can't I be relieved from duty so I can come hang around the bridge for the fun?"

"Yes, if you're done tying ribbons on me."

"Done, Captain."

"All right." Kirk looked around at his little company. Grass, dirt, and water competed for precedence in staining, and his own uniform had a small patch of dried blood in addition to everything else. "I'll see you on the bridge, when we've changed. Sir Adamantus, Coceytus, would you like to borrow fresh clothes?"

"Better not," said the Coceytus. "We'll be out of here pretty quickly."

A few minutes later they were all gathered on the bridge. Uhura and Kirk were the last. They entered together and found the second navigator and the second communications officer standing by the captain's chair, listening incredulously to a discussion of the advantages of fencing as opposed to sword-fighting with a shield between Sulu and Sir Adamantus. Spock, McCoy, and the Coceytus were listening with less interest, although the Coceytus occasionally threw in remarks, randomly supporting one side or the other.

Spock rose from the captain's chair, in his obtrusively quiet way, and walked to his own when he saw Kirk. Sulu and the navigation and communications officers scurried to theirs. "All in order, Mr. Spock?" said Kirk, ignoring the race to restore order.

"Yes, sir," said Spock.

As Kirk and Uhura took their seats the ship bucked. Kirk clamped his teeth against a cry as his injured arm bumped against the arm of the chair.

"Captain," said Sulu unhappily, "is that Earth I see on the screen, or aren't you sure of that, either?"

"I'm not sure, Mr. Sulu," said Kirk cautiously, "but it's an Earth. We won't be here long. Set a course for the Moon."

"Without crossing the Moon's orbit," added the Coceytus.

"Seriously?" said Sulu.

"Yes," said Kirk.

"Otherwise you'll break the crystal sphere," explained the Coceytus.

Sulu and the second navigator looked at each other and then at the Coceytus. "What crystal sphere?" they said in unison.

"The one the Moon is set in. All the planets are set in them. Their turning is what makes everything rotate around the earth, you know. If you can get a view on your screen at right angles to the plane of the ecliptic you should be able to see the axletree."

"Oh," said Sulu.

"What axletree?" said the second navigator.

"The one that turns the crystal spheres."

"Sir, we can't establish an orbit this way," offered the second navigator.

"Unnecessary," said Kirk. "We just want an approach close enough to beam Sir Adamantus down."

The second navigator subsided with a few muttered remarks about plate armor and space-suits, and he and Sulu set the course.

"Captain," said Uhura, "I'm picking up something."

"Radio?" said Spock incredulously, going to look over her shoulder.

"Yes, but Very Low Frequency. Not more than four kilocycles or so. Just a moment. I think I can make it audible."

Soon she had a sweet humming sound filling the bridge. It was a chord, but the base note was much lower than the rest. They found themselves straining to hear all the notes equally. The blend had a comforting sound. Kirk felt his head fall back, his muscles eased, and the pain left his arm. It occurred to him that he should not be staring slack-jawed at the ceiling, but he was too comfortable to do anything about it. He could just see an upside-down Coceytus running towards Uhura before the young man collapsed languidly out of his field of vision.

"Spock!" the Coceytus called. It was meant to be desperate, but it came out in a yawn, blending with the sweet noise.

Spock moved one hand slowly past Uhura. At last he fell, knocking them both against the panel, where his hand, dragging along the dials, found the main communicator and turned it off.

Kirk snapped his head down and sprang out of his chair. The Coceytus thrust himself off the floor. Spock and Uhura disentangled themselves, murmuring polite apologies. McCoy rubbed his eyes and asked, "What in heaven's name was that?"

"A most apt expletive, Doctor," said Spock. "The music of the spheres, obviously."

"Oh, obviously," agreed Kirk. A slow, joyous smile crept over his face. McCoy glared at him.

"Stop jotting that down in your mental notebook of Spockisms and do something! Sir."

"Spock's done all that's necessary, but I suppose I could escort Sir Adamantus to the transporter room. Sulu, how soon will we be close enough?"

"Five minutes, sir."

"Excellent." Kirk bowed, glancing sideways to see if the Coceytus enjoyed the gesture. He did. "Sir Adamantus, may I show you the way?"

"Lead on, Sir James."

Kirk reappeared by himself shortly. "Uhura," he said, "stand by to notify the transporter room. Sulu, give her the signal directly."

"Yes, sir," they said.

Kirk examined the screen unhappily. "Mr. Spock," he said. "Is there really any life on that Moon?"

Spock checked the sensors. "Affirmative, sir. Quite a large concentration in one spot—I assume it to be the location of Cynthia's palace."

"What are they breathing?" asked Sulu.

"Ether."

"There isn't any such thing," several voices said.

"If you like attenuated, but breathable, air any better, you may call it air. However, it extends beyond the surface of the Moon. It is, in fact, pervasive, except in our immediate vicinity. I prefer to call it ether."

"Quite right," said the Coceytus.

On the screen the Moon grew larger. Already they could see Cynthia's palace of ivory and silver. Slowly the palace grew, and they could see figures running out of the palace to stare at them.

"Now," said Sulu.

"Now," said Uhura to the intercom.

A silver figure appeared on the plain and moved towards the palace. One of the figures in the group ran forward to meet the newcomer. They embraced.

"Now," said the Coceytus to the empty air.

The ship jerked again, and they were back where they had started a few minutes—or hours—ago.

"Goodbye," said the Coceytus, and disappeared.

Spock looked at the empty space and turned to Kirk. "Sir, how will you enter this on the log?"

"Well Mr. Spock…" Kirk said and paused. He smiled sweetly. "That's not your concern."

"No, sir," agreed Spock politely.

"Besides, you'll look it up as soon as the Captain goes off duty," said McCoy.

Spock looked hurt.

Sulu leaned back in his chair and counted faces. The right ones were all there. "I don't suppose, Captain," he remarked, "that you have any sureties now about what happened?"

"Oh, yes," said Kirk, "I have one, Mr. Sulu."

"And that is?''

"It never happened. And, since it never happened, I need not record it in the log. Understood?"

They nodded.

"Mr. Sulu," said Spock thoughtfully.

"Yes?"

"I'd like a few more fencing lessons, if you don't mind."

"So would I," said Kirk.

"Me, too," said McCoy.

"I'd be delighted. How about you, Uhura?" said Sulu.

"No, thanks," she said, rising to go off duty. "I'm going to be too busy the next few days—there's a long poem I want to read, if the ship's library has it."

"It does," said Spock.

Note: With the help and guidance of Open Doors, we digitized the first volume of Spockanalia and imported it to AO3, which you can view here. In order to meet AO3's terms of service, some of the content was edited or removed. The full version of the zine is preserved on this blog. The masterpost is here.

[quordleona03]

How to write a sonnet

It's easy.

First of all, pick your topic. What is your sonnet going to be about?

Next, pick your rhyme scheme. There are four basic sonnet types, of which the two most common are called the Shakespearean and the Petrarchan sonnets. There are also the Miltonic sonnet and the Spenserian sonnet.

You set up the basic idea in the first eight lines, and answer it in the last six.

Shakespearean: ABABCDCDEFEFGG.

Petrarchan: ABBAABBACDCDCD (or the last six lines can be CDECDE or CDEEDC)

Miltonic: ABBAABBA CDECDE. A Miltonic sonnet should have a clear separation between the first eight lines and the last six lines.

Spenserian: ABAB BCBC CDCD EE -the verse pattern is four, four, four, two.

Then, open your rhyming dictionary and your thesaurus. Trust me, you're going to need both. I used to write sonnets with a rhyming dictionary, Roget's Thesaurus, and a couple of other reference books open in front of me, but honestly: RhymeZone is what you need.

A sonnet is written in iambic pentameter. That is, it's ten syllables per line, but also an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable. Thus, if you imagine Hawkeye saying to Trapper,

"Major Hot Lips Margaret Houlihan"

he is speaking in iambic pentameter. Bear this in mind or your sonnet isn't going to work when you read it aloud. But don't worry about this too much: iambic pentameter is so nearly the rhythm of natural speech that unless you are straining the grammar of your sonnet to fit in a rhyme (don't do that) it should come naturally to you.

Having got your sonnet ingredients (topic, rhyme scheme, iambs) and your method (rhyming dictionary / thesaurus) you compose your sonnet.

Thus, if I choose Shakespearean, and my topic is "how to write a sonnet", what I end up with is this:

Writing sonnets: puzzling with feet and rhyme into four basic sonnet forms of which Shakespearean and Petrarchan are prime; Miltonic is sep'rate: Spenser a bitch: Poet, why lock yourself down to the lines, the pentameter beat of sonnet form, when free verse sprawls itself at ease, no spine, jellyfish art that flows with tide and storm? When words our love and rhyme our need, we beat our love and need into the form fourteen we bind ourselves with rhymes and words, we cheat ourselves of meaning, we raise shield and screen, we write poems as liars do and as bards did, as if free verse were jellyfish or squid.

[stesichoreanpalinode]

I don’t think Freddie is an Arthurian character, he belongs in The Faerie Queene (no pun intended) or Orlando Furioso - one of the later chivalric romances where the armour is more glamorous and there is a lot more emphasis on people’s love lives :D

I've been interested in the Arthurian legend recently, so I'd love to know your opinion on this topic. I'm sorry if this bothers you 🥺

Comparing the Queen boys with the Knights of the Round Table, who would they be? (Includes Merlin and Arthur if you like.)

Being all lovers of fantasy I think they could all probably give a much better answer to this question than I could, because I bet they all read the legends and thought about this very question.

It’s not my favourite mythic cycle so I don’t know too much about Arthurian legend but I do know it varies in different versions. Brian of course was born to be a pre-Raphaelite illustration of a scene from Tennyson but is he Merlin, wise weaver of magic, or Lancelot, torn between his sense of chivalry and his passion for a forbidden love? Roger is Sir Bedivere, both the lover of scientific fact in the Monty Python version and the loyal-to-the-end friend of the Morte d’Arthur. Or perhaps the Gawain of the early versions of the story, also loyal but a known lover of women - I could totally see him as the Gawain who matches wits with lady Ragnell. Freddie is another Tennyson/Burne-Jones Arthurian but can certainly do wise magician Merlin but also do-anything-for-love Sir Pelleas and Percival, quester for the Grail. Which leaves John, definitely from the metrical romances or Geoffrey of Monmouth, maybe Gareth, younger knight, or perhaps Yvain, just because of his lion…

What are your own thoughts?

ETA: and *of course*not a bother!

[eyepatchdate]

with that there's only one zine ive written for where i haven't posted the piece. i feel weird about posting the spenserian sonnets i wrote for the medieval fire emblem zine purely because i adhered so strongly to the assignment i dont think anyone who hasn't read the faerie queene would like it

[cloudcountry]

How do you write a sonnet? In as much detail you can give? You seem like you'd know about this kind of thing lol

GAHGSFDHSAG YOURE RIGHT I WOULD KNOW ABOUT THESE THINGS!!!

there are three types of sonnets: the italian sonnet, the shakespearean sonnet, and the spenserian sonnet. i am most familiar with the shakespearean sonnet, i'll tell you about that one!!

shakespearean sonnets have three groups of 4 lines (also known as a quatrain) with a rhyming couplet at the end, with a total of 14 lines.

the lines have a rhyme scene of abab cdcd efef gg and are written in imabic pentameter.

imabic pentameter is hard to explain but uhhh think of a heartbeat!! think of ten beats. that should be one line. the line starts with a short (or unstressed) syllable and alternates between short and long (or stressed) syllables

i'll give you an example since i don't think i explained that well ^^; i'll use shakespeare's 22nd sonnet!!

"My glass shall not persuade me I am old."

try doing the ten heartbeat thing and see if you can pick out the syllables!!

"My glass / shall not / pre-suade / me I / am old."

the my in the first line is the unstressed syllable, and it's followed by the stressed syllable of glass.

i hope that makes sense!! let me know if you have any questions ^^ !!!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

[One of these photos is from the past month in Gaza, the other is from Kibbutz Beeri in the aftermath of October 7th]

I'm tired. Very tired. Very very tired. Very very very tired. I'm tired of reading and thinking and arguing and writing and crying about the war. I'm even tired of being tired of reading and thinking and arguing and writing and crying about the war.

--- It's impossible to escape the repetition compulsion. It's like all of human history on a high-speed loop. Also, the above demonstrates why although I am very good at reading poetry and teaching it (and thinking and arguing and writing and crying about it) I don't write it. Ok, among my absurd and diagnosed pathological capacities to engage in procrastination activities, I've been known to play around with writing Spenserian sonnets as a game, or like a playing with a fidget spinner. (I like their concatenated rhyme scheme. Plus, they aren't nearly as common as Petrarchan or Shakesperean forms, so it's a bit of a contrarian punk rock preference.) And yes, my exhaustion is pushing me all over the place. I should go make a soup. But I've made two in the past five days and I don't have the ingredients I'd want for the next one I want to make. But here is what I've come down to at this moment. Some people see me as a nuance and complexity person. Sometimes to a fault. But I really think all of human history might be solved if we could really instantiate agreement on just one proposition. Just. One. Really. And it isn't even that controversial a proposition. In fact, millions if not billions of people would agree to it, but only in theory, not in practice. Every child and all children of all people and every group of people are sacrosanct. Our first and final duty is to protect and preserve every single child's life that we possibly can. And this is not just a proximate duty in the moment, but a duty that is anticipatory. This means that among the attendant obligations of this duty is the provision of adequate resources for the material and emotional and social sustenance and thriving of each child. This should guide all of our politics. And any political decision or policy that requires its abrogation or transgression or even puts it second to any other exigency is immediately invalid and inadmissible. That's it. We all have an immediate and an overarching duty to all children. Every. Single. One. Yours and mine and ours and theirs. An equal duty to all. What harms any child is anathema. What doesn't benefit all children is an abomination. Failure to act for the benefit of any child and of all children is an abdication of our humanity. Why the hell is this so hard?

[Ori Hanan Weisberg]