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Elanthian Sonnets:
Portraits in Verse 

I've found myself recently setting quill to parchment over and over in the form of sonnets.  As they are not particularly appropriate for performance, or much of anything else save private letters, and as I nevertheless wished to share them, I tucked them away here.  As this work is quite personal, I would ask that the viewer not recite it, perform it, or share it through any medium, though I do invite them to send other seekers this way.  I do not even guarantee that these poems will make sense to the casual reader, or to any save the one or ones for whom it was intended.

All of the poems here are my own.  There are none written by other artists, nor will there be any, though some among them are inspired in part by the work of other poets.

While essentially all of these sonnets have been inspired by specific individuals (leading to the description of these poems as portraits), I have sorted them by their first lines rather than by the people to whom they were written.  This is in the interests of not causing the outside of this page to look like a dictionary of which citizens of Elanthia have been on my mind lately.  I make no apologies for this.

If anyone would particularly care to know: a sonnet is a fourteen-line poem in which each line is in iambic pentameter (or, in less complex terms, soft HARD soft HARD soft HARD soft HARD soft HARD.)  Sonnets are supposed to be formed in one octave and one sestet, expresses two successive phase of a single thought, with one of three rhyme schemes:
    -Loenthran (or Petrarcan) sonnet: abbaabba cdcdcd
    -Turamzzyrian (or Miltonic) sonnet: abbaabba cdecde
    -Tilamairean (or Shakespearian) sonnet: ababcdcd efefgg

As you may note, I do not always fall strictly within the forms, particularly the division between octave and sestet.  However, I am as of yet come a novice to this form, and pray that my art shall improve in time.  (Recently, I keep producing verses that are torn between Loenthran and Tilamairean: abbaabba cdcdee.  I'm not sure why.  Time to be more careful.)

If you would wish me to write a sonnet for you or for one beloved of you (or otherwise linked to you with strong emotion), I do indeed write pieces for commission.  Please contact me at this address for more information.


--Tanager Skydancing 


A father wolf lifts up his head to howl....

A halfling asked for me to write a verse...

A hint of sweet perfume upon the air...

A limerick dances through a single thought...

An orchid petal curls across her cheek...

A wisp of cloud across the blue abyss...

Clean air transforms my mouth to barren dust....

Farewell the ashen past, farewell my dream...

From day to day, the shadows slink and fade...

He's gone to walk alone upon the quay...

Her name's become a synonym for charm...

His butterfly delight turns night to day...

House Faendryl!  Have the centuries done you wrong...

I am a minstrel, yet I am no bard...

I know an elf who sometimes thinks of me...

I warned you, sir-- and not without good cause...

If ever lines of poetry I've wrought...

If you shall ever live, and all in pain...

In memory, I commend and I regret...

In onyx and jade, I carve my sonnet's lines...


In solitude, it's easy to be brave...

It's not enough to dance with flashing blades...

Labryinthine, all-consuming, Laethe's snare...

Liabo's dusky moonlight crawls the street...

On bended knee, you offered me your ring...

Remember me still-- if, at close of day...

Remember, when my days and nights are done...

The midnight sun sears through my wilder mind...

The night-struck flame received a flame of day...

The sigils of his Master mark his palms...

The silver starlight touched the budding rose...

The southern wind lifts jasmine in soft hands...

The sun's pale rays caress my emerald eyes...

They offered love upon a silver tray...

They say her love burned brilliant as the sun...

Through broken stone, a thread of scarlet seeps...

To draw fate spinning, wool upon a wheel...

Upon the eve that stilled the hot earth's groans...

When Death's kiss claims a soul, what shall remain?...

What purest song could I craft to entrance...

You say that I am, first, my father's daughter...