For those I haven't told (which may include all you reading, or not), my hope is to write each sonnet and bring it to a readable, enjoyable state. Then, after writing some total number, revisit each one and bring it up to snuff and standard. By this point, I hope to have a better grasp on the workings and tricks of sonnets and rhymes and so on. So when I say "revisit" or some such, I may mean later this week to poke at it or later this month or some such to redo as necessary. It remains to be seen, y'know?
Another thing I hope to incorporate: practice. I want to perform these sonnets (and all my poetry, really) as a sort of dramatic monologue-ness. I have no real basis in or much awareness of poetry slams, rap, spoken word, and so on or their respective presentational styles. I know, I live a sad, sheltered life. So the only real reference point I have in this, the closest to anything, are my experiences acting in high school (primarily Shakespeare) and a brief workshop on bring monologues to life (same director as the Shakespeares, incidentally).
As it is, though, and especially as these poems become more finalized, I hope to take time to really plan out their performance. When to do what with my voice, when to move thus and how to act so, generally slow down and relish each word (versus my usual anxious rushing).
Anyway, sonnet time:
All else stops as he roves the nearby crowd.
His shoulders
Of something swarthy. Yet he does not go
--But comes. All thoughts but wanting disallowed!
He catches my lust, my longing; my gaze, now cowed,
Looks back--still staring now, now nearing. I know
His quarry, wanting his hard-sinewed glow,
Shudders at touch but has eyes unproud.
Would that I could turn to him and have hands
Have lips, have sighs. Would I could taken,
--Be with him or be him. Would that we stood
But a moment magnetic, against spans
Of time and desire--but leaves me shaken,
