53. Chydedd Fer Sonnet

I have to say, the Chydedd Fer Sonnet is an interesting form to work with. I’ve always found rhyming couplets difficult to do, but it really isn’t. Or maybe the subject I wrote around made it easier. Either way, it is a form worth trying.

A Chydedd Fer Sonnet is composed of 7 couplets, a total of 14 lines, with a rhyme scheme of AABBCCDDEEFFGG. This type of sonnet is usually written in octometer (eight syllables per line), though, according to some, it isn’t supposed to be metered.

(Also, I meant for this to be form 53; that’s why I skipped 52.)



The heart has traveled many roads;
The poet, written many odes.
And love remains a world away,
Yet closer still day after day.
He dreams to hold his lover’s hand;
Bend, kneel, and grope when come demand.
How droll, that he now dreams again
Of future, without seeking when;
To love one he has never met—
And love he does without regret.
The poet gives himself a shove;
The poet writes again for love.
The poet writes to ease the strain.
He waits and writes without disdain.


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7 thoughts on “53. Chydedd Fer Sonnet

  1. It’s easy–well, relatively so–to slap together something with the “correct” end rhyme and declare it a sonnet. Fortunately, this does not fall into the category of such slipshod work; the meter is brisk and tight, there are no clumsy word choices shoe-horned in for the purpose of the rhyme, and the narrative flow is strong. This is awfully impressive work.

  2. Very nice!

    Love this line: “Bend, kneel, and grope when come demand.”

    And this section:
    “To love one he has never met—
    And love he does without regret.
    The poet gives himself a shove;
    The poet writes again for love.”

    Great rhyme!

  3. I love the sonnet form and love to write within its gentle restraints. Can’t wait to try this and make it sing like yours, with sense, with love, and without a singsong effect. I like his dream unfulfilled, and “How droll, that he now dreams again / Of future, without seeking when” and all the content of his poetry to come from that dream. And we poets/readers/lovers judge just how true the result is–not to the poet, but as a mirror to ourselves. Such is poetic truth. Well done.

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