Some Soppy Sonnets

In my third year at university we were asked to create an iamginary poet, and then write the poem/collection that made this poet famous. I wanted to create an angstful character (im sorry for the terrible cliche) and use lots of references to classical and ancient literature. Here's what I came up with! enjoy :)

Claude Henderson was born to a very rich family. There was not a single point in his childhood where he went without. He was always clever, impressing teachers with his literary skills as far back as primary school. As he began to grow, and the literal silver spoon in his mouth became proverbial, he enjoyed a privileged education at one of England’s most prestigious schools. His father was rarely home, having large interests in gold and oil, but his mother was the typical rich wife, living a life of luxury and expense. But despite her being frequently home, she was effectively absent, a valium addiction destroying her emotions and creating an air of ambivalence in how she felt towards her son.

Claude’s years at university were full of ups and downs, with his sense of self-righteousness and self-entitlement coming in to direct contrast with his popularity for being wealthy and a self-made party boy. He was accepted for a literature and Creative Writing degree at King College London, and it was here that he began his life of debauchery; buying cars, running up bar tabs that equalled most students loans, his frivolous nature bought him many friends, and won him female attention. But these materialistic pleasures were in no way fulfilling and left a hole in his soul that he constantly yearned to fill. He was studying literature, and his one saving grace was his ability to write. It soon became his vice and his one means of escape from the lifestyle he had created for himself, his cocoon in which he could hide and be the teenage boy he had never truly become.

By second year he had ceased to go home, except on the rare occasions when his father requested his attendance, for some particular social event that it would have seemed simply improper for him to miss. Instead he lived in a flat he had bought, a penthouse in London where he studied. Here he was the true socialite, a 21^st century dandy and he entertained his guests through their drunken and drug fuelled stupors with tales and poems he had written.

In his third year he was published, and this was his ultimate downfall. He had written some poems, sonnets, when on a particularly relaxing drug binge, and was told that they were marvellous. His publication was called “Sonnets from the wealth of love”, a play on the fact that despite his wealth and never lacking in anything he desired, it was love he truly valued, and love that he could never truly attain. But this desire for emotion was not sufficient to overcome his nature, he was materialistic, and he was addicted to the life he lived. He was also losing his skill as a poet, only managing to write anything publishable when high or drunk. He began to find the world was too much when he was sober; he could no longer function within society.

Before his graduation Claude committed suicide, a massive overdose containing a cocktail of drugs. His suicide note, whilst never fully disclosed to the press, was lyrical and eloquent, reflecting his ability before he decayed in to a shell of the poet he had been. It was published the year after his death, a testimony to unhappiness and peoples inability to prevent it. Its final line read “The world was not ready for me, and I was not ready for the world”.

“Sonnets from the wealth of love”

Sonnet 1

What should I do if my advances fail

The girl I love is nothing but a stone

What tragic words should my flirting entail

To stop my heart from feeling so alone

My mask do’eth hide my blackened face of woe

Whilst yours, unmasked, do’eth shine a summers day

My pain greater than which Apollo knows

More intricate than old Hermes could say

My love, my lust, return to whence you came,

An angel which to Stella I’d compare

I’m Astrophill, in stars I find the same

A love, a beauty, delicate and rare

Aphrodite, tempt me not

I will not join Paris’ lot

Sonnet 2

Your hands’ soft care no longer mine to feel

As I have painted my own fate

What does my heart now need to heal

Some love that my black core placates

Hermione’s stony countenance you

Reflect with every little cut you make

My scars are yours, oh heal them do

My love is yours to give or take

Fiery passion inside me burns

Scolding the lies that I once told

For deep inside my body yearns

To make that angel mine to hold

Come back to me, you can abide

For you belong here at my side

Sonnet 3

As Ovid’s words my fiery lust reflect

And Sappho from the men doeth women take

Your love does ruthlessly my heart infect

And alters ever decision I make

Your body, lost to me, as paradise

But found again as loves labours are won

I offer all I can, does that suffice

Just speak the words my love, it shall be done

Or am I Icarus, set up to fall

Your burning gaze melting what keeps me whole

I wish that you too could hear Cupids call

For he has to you delivered my soul

There’s just one place that I need you to come

Return with me to loves Elysium

Sonnet 4

I see your beauty, hidden unto you

Your radiance does shine as summers light

An angel, I announce it to be true

Your frown is Persephone’s winter night

Your diamond tears, watery gems, they glide

Your sadness is the whole worlds’ pain to bear

Your beauty unknown, you for ever hide

But all should see a beauty that’s so rare

If Daphne cast away her leaves and bark

Then still your beauty would remain my voice

Exalted beyond gods, the heavens hark

For ever you remain my perfect choice

My words are not enough to show you why

It’s next to me that each night you should lie

Sonnet 5

As your rebukes do break my heart in two

I back away and hide amidst the dark

There in the shadows I reside whilst you

Move on, pain free, bearing no hurt or mark

My tears are yours, my ghostly girl, delight

My Catherine, lost to me forever more

I'm sleepless, standing waiting in the night

For the raven who will tell me of Lenore

I give you my eternity to own

In payment I require nothing much

But could your time be briefly mine to loan

Ill cherish it with such a gentle touch

Sometimes taking a chance will not suffice

But baby this time you should roll the dice

Sonnet 6

“All hope abandon, ye who enter here”

Where only bottomless perdition waits

Evil Baal, Beelzebub watches and leers

My paradise is lost, thus he relates

Might I return to love you once again

A miracle from mount Zion is sent

Or will the muses guide me from this pain

Helicon’s inspiration will be lent

I, simple Seraphim doth your heart need

Its’ virtues and its powers keep me chained

I hear the angels’ warnings but don’t heed

As my lust for dominion can’t be tamed

As my ascension to your love begins

I vow that I will denounce all my sins

Claude’s suicide note

I never could prepare myself for this life; adolescence decayed my emotions rather than nurtured them.

Money is the root of all evil, just as it is the root of all joy, and as the devil whispers to me I sit here, ready to go forth and meet him.

I have done my time and suffered much, but none of you will ever understand my pains.

To be the one that everybody envies, and be the one that everybody hates.

To be the one that everyone exploits, given anything, buying emotion.

The more you have, the more you lose, and I have lost the parts of me that kept me sane.

Even the stillness now shudders in my mind, no longer does the liquid leave the needle with that sense of calm and tranquillity.

The medicine just cannot fix me, and as I lie here, my final voice inky before me, I once again feel the emptiness that comes with my sobriety.

I have my addictions, and they control me. I am owned, and I know that I can only release myself with one final high.

This high will take me, that final velvet curtain sliding across the eyes of the dying, but I don’t want you to be upset. I am ready, I find piece and solace in the knowledge that I will be gone.

Misery is a poison, it is a virus, it is a disease, and it is infectious. So as you live your life avoid people carrying it; for they will infect you.

To all the friends I bought along the way, good luck, you each take a part of me with you.

To all the family I sold, good bye.

The world was not ready for me, and I was not ready for the world.