ASH/HCC: Sonnet Null

Dave Van Domelen dvandom at
Tue Dec 28 13:05:12 PST 2010

                    Sonnet Null

     My lady's eyes are nothing like the day;
     My blood is not as red as her lips' red;
     If snow be white, why then her flesh is gray;
     An opal polished shines not like her head.

     I have seen cities soaring, gray and black,
     But no such towers compare to her thighs;
     In mercy there are few that so find lack
     As in the whispers of my lady's sighs.

     I dread to hear her speak, yet well I know
     The doom she brings is kinder than it seems;
     I grant I never saw a goddess go
     Until my lady gave me these dark dreams.

        And yet, tho' damnation may rive my soul
        I'll ever serve my lady sable's goal.

               *              *              *              *

     "We found this in the cultist's flat," he said.  "An obvious pastiche of
Shakespeare's work."  Detective Jakes looked up and scratched his head.
"Sonnet 130, or so says my clerk."
     "A poem?  That's not really my forte.  I'm more comfortable kicking
their bums," the hero known as Justice had to say.  "Still, it's not often a
clue like this comes."
     "Apotheosis seems to be her aim, if this sonnet is true," pondered the
cop.  "I wonder at the details of her game, and how she plans to come out on
the top."

                  You will find out in ASH's fables fell
                  As we the tale "A Suit of Sables" tell!


Author's Note:

     This is an entry for High Concept Challenge #16, "Epic Poetry," as well
as a teaser for the next arc in ASH!  And now, the original poem ripped off
for the first of this piece's two sonnets:

     Sonnet 130 - William Shakespeare

     My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
     Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
     If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
     If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

     I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
     But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
     And in some perfumes is there more delight
     Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

     I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
     That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
     I grant I never saw a goddess go;
     My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:

        And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
        As any she belied with false compare. 

     Just as Sonnet 130 follows the 4-4-4-2 format rather than the 8-6
format, so too do both sonnets in my vignette.  Iambic pentameter is a pain,
by the way.


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