ELEGY TO A SADOMASOCHIST PART 2

Contro-Sonnet 61-Is it in thy esteem that the sullen earth should persist?

My salient 

Sonnet 78- So oft have they indur’d the stigma for the smeared eon

And faltered by masking days of treachery  ,gliding in unfair trudge

As every delectable damsel has felt the nugget and nozzle of thy

Manhood,

Contro-Sonnet-87-Let thy tongue be censured,thou zygomatic perfidy of hell,

Thou art too dear to brash,honked  by brash-tide,and in thy ample rave,thou

Knowest thy approximate reckoning ,itself,a ridicule by bile casting ,

The charter of thy tongue ,makest thee filthy and unfair ,a gratest,grating foul play,

Interred on the sands of time ,grinded by bonds of apoplexy,

And in thee ,vicissitude indeterminate trods ;for then  how do I hold thee by thy ranting ilks of arrant boloneys? And for thou o spasmodic ignescence ,wherein is thy remorse ,that thou callest thy remorse as if thou scoldest wield”st one,

Unfair play by unfair roses in thee ,wanton balkanised , this realm of sadistic lour ,circumnavigating and circumventing sullen brood

And so my patent self plum unswerving,becomes turgent ,to smear in the foul play ,to whom ,thou gavest thyself ,thy bilest ,

And where providence art wast misfit , vilest summers entreats carte blanche ,wherein arts and pleas pleads for humanistic arts,are imprisoned for thy vampire s slucker “s mensrea ,and derailed but splendiferous verdict caroused,Thus have I not an arbitrate in vile of vilest brook ,as arbiter ,doth equity contends,in the wields of justice but waxing turgid remorse to spike conscience “s weariness as drowsiness ,out of tart ,

How much more unworthy thyself in thy cause to refute to powwow darkest hours.

Contro-Snnet-88-When shalt we be dispensed,with equity in this guise and censure with equalitarian chaste ,the binocoloured scorn of time ,wieldest upon those ignoble sight ,flippant even on its soil of contest ,shalt I not fight ,to prove thee vacuous, half heartedly ,though art conceived in thy harrowing self,with mine own mundane intuition ,being scultured to twitch thee,upon thy craft,

Can I not set a verdict in both raucous renegade ,that thy shaft ,as grooved,shalt not be too wise than thee,that the infamy of thy direst ebb,that to thyself and thy antagonist,that brawls with disdain,I cherish not doing the vintage madness,a double vantage for me,to ridicule  thy hood at the hours of sarcasm ,scathed with unbridled libels ,So is thy kismet,to both I shall belong,none hyper hagiolgical,none hypo hagiological and none beneath,that  both in thy right ,thyself contends for equity for equity at the gaming table ,a counterpoise will bear that equity ,wherein justice in the open gallery is the ultimate scorecard.

Contro-Sonnet 89- Sewer that by their bootstraps, thou didst mendest not thy spontaneous craft for some biles ,driven mean spirited gall ,riveted by vulgarian fraction, now   let the arbiter wades with the counterpoise .Thou senile of the bough,comment on offense by equity ,that thou upon thy subtlety ,hast fallen beneath smokey earth,that intergrity to assume so,nevertheless ,of thy lameness,showest them early augury to depart from Machiavelli,refrain not from the scolding necessity of haughty hatchwork of youthful sinewy ,to neuter rampaging minace,thou makest thee a gravest offence , and myself ,it turns to castrate thee,thou profane antagonist ,why being acquaintance of derision and uncouth tongue,thy paradise rejoices ,o beloved ,let thy words be scanty ,that thou mayest watches over them and dwell in probity and fairness.regrail thy thatched roof ,verdict is foul play, when thou didst cast the bile,to contest the jungle of profanity ,this scorn to neuter thy self ,drove thy disciples away,thy malediction,not fatter than thyself ,to vitiate this sullen realm,and all vanquished no victor inferred,seeketh no reprieve,neither heave a sigh of relief,nor remorse hastened instantaneously ,to trudge in procession,his beneath, to whom,shall we blame apportioned? Moderate o verdict ,moderate o justice o behold justice is mortgaged in the avalanche and jungle  of arcadian bliss.

Contra-Sonnet-90-Then cast no bile when thou art pressed ,fewer than none, know the intrigues of the flesh ,to hallucinate,when the shaft ,is a gamist,thy deeds sublime unkemptly infiltrates,empathise,with the youthful comedy of errors,lest thou be caught,thy holly self,I nthe contraption of the guile ,And when this gallow and gaol ,thou hast tame and windy crust overthrown,still never let out thy guard,when the temptress crows to thy unwary shores,for petty slack undo mortal strength to spite blissful ignorance,so shall I by mettle’s fierry be disharmonious,at the very stook of machiavelli’s  time of heinous fury,And other quirky form of bile ,which now seemingly kindles broth to bile,in concomitant,with retarded verve of the watchman.

Contro-Sonnet-91-Naturewit spares some revolution in the heliacal,some revolution in the milky way,some in the terrestrial orbit ,some in the incorporeal traverse,some in the socio-sphere,some in the psychomotive force,though precarious above control,some in the vampire’s hatchery,some in the vulture’s Trojan horses,albeit,cannot undo mortal strength ,and every sinew cast ,that hath its uncanny hedonism,hath its vanity and vanity presses,whereon its graveyard cast,to rest  its eternity ,but with these stints and stunts are not worth the relics of history nor sacred biles to preserve long after thee.In one fell swoop countenance,adorned in mortal wiles,thy counterpoise though, sturdier,hibernating beneath,could crumble ,when thou art sallow,public infirmities atrocious bthan thyself and loftier than thy sheath pretense,to sword over damocle  and breastplate to defend .Thyself crumble ,smeared at thy vampire’s net and having crumble ,all scorns dally to jest .Why art thou like Lydian in the jungle and Adonis in hell and vain direst stared thee inanimity before thy bewitched sands of time?And when thou stringe’t perfidy , thou wade this scorn with the senility of the bough ,behold thou wretched of the nile!When thou stingest not ,cavil those that stirrest at thy fall  and thou didst become a stark machiaveli when with impunity, thou art hatched .

Contro-Sonnet-92-But does thy hilt to stay sedate,in naivety ,surfeit to cavil,for stint of life is assured ,at every consignment of distress?And man , none is spared of distress kits at every fora and romp of vista.A bater trade of livelihood,with that sting hood shall abide in sanctity and groove law of self preservation;then salve thou thy stratagem to warry at a slight outbreak of its immanent wiles;when  with buffet of  sinecure ,biles break even ,and humour hath end.And warry state in thy loin clasp cold feet,misty cheeks like its ilks,creep on thy hilted nerves,flexed than thy voluptuous humour ,that thou didst defend,doth wither sickling vigour to sickle,and to stigma thee,when thou art goof,with poof of pointificate and knowest not the intrigues of time.O what a happy ending,every mortal craves to live and happy to demise,a holly sage.But wiles of art flung ,stained to all nymphs ,a luxate of loafers,grilled with this blot,devoid of laurels,did they  not daisy-kick in vile? This sting stings thee greedily that thou mayest hurl censure at thy flirting and voluptuous cascade of salacity.

Contro-Sonnet-93-How like paradise of pleasure ,doth thy artistic wiles grow,

by that flurious template ,so shall I caution ,so art’s wiles  may seem  hallucinating

At youthful zeal or zest cajoled,thou altered with thy pensive drive ,might with

sensationalism,behived and ambushed to lour ,thy wiles abode in thee,whereon

heart places a ransom ;for there can live no space for caution to rest in this farrago

 of homestead wiles and street laden viles ,for which man is plunged,therefore

mortal knowest not its forte ,wrought in many conscience  sordid soils it trods greedily

splashed epitaph of the grave ,is written in the forlorn years and decrepit age summoned

but bliss in thy ignorance ,speakest thee froth unripe ,to decree thy holistic crust ,that in

thy vanguard ,prima facie doth dwells in hallowed chambers ,whatever perfectionism

suggests arts are prone to ridicule of time,thy  fast hanker and bent looks so dry than I

 previously thoughts ,should nonetheless rigmarole  but hence vamoose ,how like blissful

nesciency’s froth doth thy atrophy ingrains.

Contro-Sonnet-94-How strange companies ignite the power to hurt unguarded,some arts

Treacled with affliction and addiction ,doth adinfinitum renews zealotry for caution,that

Barely  do the things,gregarious chant that flotsams ado, and a  recluse and hermint in its

solitary confinement ,bohemian and mavericks,that thou shouldest fret,and be imbued with

the heavenly moisture,whose graces infinite riches unspared,but if caution in its loom hath no

 loophole,to tread,prior to sullen infection meet, most scrupulous souls,precious jewels and fair

 roses ,prevail,for the grandest deeds ,nor thy wiles a lucerne for ignoble days,and time and space cannot buy foulest loafs ,not distilled by good graces ,cartest away ,the humblest price of freedom ,

far smarter than the rav’st end of a labourer lifetime.

CONTRO-Sonnet-95-How so much dignified doth binges with no  price for self esteem,which like a gangrene ,tacky in the frangible psyche,doth weaned mortal guise ,with the apparition of lassitudinous flight ! O what potion ,an unfair roses doth sewer beneath compare ,doth thou with ingenious lewd engross!That mutilate of personage ,that outlives a livelihood,whereon guiles speak foul of thee posthumously cannot dissuade but in kindle of eulogy ;blinking thy post mortem self ,with the infamy of the days of youth,O what a foible of moles have numbed each  vice nomenclature ,which for their stain  ,unmasks thy person’s personage,where moles’ imprisonment ,doth uncovers every boggy swamps ,And all thy wiles are turned against workers of iniquity ,that only fairer eyes can see!Beware but trade caveat ,with caution ,the hardest precision by glorious bay ,doth unleashes rotund tutelage .

Contro-Sonnet-96-By faults,mortal strength is known,by its wobble ,mendest passion thronged ,the true identity of art is then laid bare,and to evade beguiling sport ,graces in thy hand,graces in thy feet ,in the temperate charm of achiles heel,thou art  by molasses pedagogical ,to mend thy lost pride ,froth over sinking sand, thou makest an identity ,even the scoundrels ,pay thee a homage,to  slay fallacy from thy realm and for thyself to be known and dignified with diadem,mortal goon must mend in earnest ,even for flimsies,irredeemable,never vacillate to mend,how merry to mends might thy heels be castrated and vulpine smeary,if like a tear ,it could by its open wound sore deeply ,still mend,how many mends ,mightiest thou so earnestly  treat for thy perfect self,thou would use the finicky of thy acatalectic  state  ,but thou shouldest mince and evade,I love erudite men that  are learned by their faults ,and art in constant repair,mine is thy  good reproof to censure thee of thy seemingly unflawed foibles.

Contro-Sonnet-97-Mortal faults could not be patched but mended ,and could not be mended unless arts as you were there ,from thee censured pleasure returns ,and self esteem that thou trainest ,safeguarded,what inklings have I felt,what days of treachery,it bringeth,what grooves irredeemable, thronged ubiquity! And yet thy cloy,behold stern for the broad hearted ,the teething pang ,the harrowings on every front,bearing the python’s potion,wanton crust of slack like lepers emaciated gaunt caged on a spot,immobilized in a lifelong strangle,and estranged from mortal engross of gregarious chants,yet this avalanche blanked grill,seemed a throe,to the voluptuous,but optimism of  benediction fabled and nugatory,And thou o sloth ,wriggled from thy fate,as gilded dawn ambushed,or if thou salve tis with  mendest moult,a good cheer for the brightest day,that left thee out of the lurk of treachery.

Contro-Sonnet-98-

Note-A contro-Sonnet is an irregular pattern of not a fixed 14 line poems

With any of its several fixed  formal patterns of lines ending or rythmes .It could be 15 line

Till 20 line poems ,with irregular patterns of versification .

Contro-Sonnet-99-Fair roses on thorny soil nimble and every chide on a foible ,

Mendest Achilles so soonest,

When perforated by kindle remorse,to sheath nor steal penitence away,

When didst thou apprehend, remorse holistic personage ,which on thy

genteel  vouchsafe,

For flighty passion  doth dwells ,in my foible’s  trauma ,thou art too erudite ,

The thrust I cherished,to mend thy heels ,

And bud of thy grief rots away ,which had stolen thy prime youth ,then the

fair roses return,

As blushing shame departs ,another salvo of tempest begone  and  thy

Exemplary as thy vista , mimicked across the board ,and to fault runs,

If thou canst not mend ,for the theft steals the soul away ,and a bottomless

Waif,art thou be ,in the burning sun and in the blackest moon ,more foibles

Art thy nature endorsed ,enveloped mortal heels ,sticky as thy cavernous self ,

Yet  mendest loops,that I could see,but fatal or lethal ,that it had stolen thy

artless ease.

Contro-Sonnet 100-When thou art no more, a muse to the youth ,with dissident vigor,

Thou nimblest thine with thy perfidy  and flagitious mensrea,to speak fanfare

O the unknown days ,could not thy sullen banks avert.?

What art thou become a muse or a ruse that thou cringest,so tardier ,to pour

plaudits ,on that tacky velvet ,that smears thee of all thy delight ?

Expend’st thou thy art on some frivolities,groping the dark ,to scorn waifs in

 thy vicinage ,

Let muse binds thee that you may be erudite and let it binds thee and redeem

thy soul.

Insalubrious yore ,so bubbly learnt ;clamour tingle to thy fret ,that doth thy frets

lay ,

And gives thy intent and ,both craft and volition ,hence rises from the misty ruse .

My graven yarn unleashed,

If craft be any wriggle ,there enclosed ,if any idol,be it satire or ridicule as time s

 Furious fury ,   recompense thee   ,

Greedily repays ,it repays ,with the conscience of the mower  and the eyelids of

 paroxysm  ,

Give my retinue ,chaste ,stronger than  time ‘s indebted pawnbrokerage  repays

So that thou providential craft,prevent’st Sword of the Damocles ”

Voluptuous  grandmaster ,thrashed at its rudderless bank ,oozed to belch his catharsis

Contro-Sonnet -101-“ O vagrant psychotic,when shalt thou be erudite ,even in thy

neurotic sorehead ,

To abstinence fathom from smeared personage and rescind thy marrow from the

 gladiators of mendacity?

O thou twin folkores of kismet ,in my vestige trails repel;and so doth thou not renege

And herein relinquish my postulate,

Make me more retreat to endear my crust and refute remorse entreaties,that ‘time’s

Marbled arrow is on your side?’

Time’s fury spares no rod to spare none ,verdicts to lay ,but precedence is precedence,

If not hounded ,with prejudice and umbrage ,

That he wills to cavil constrain’d thee that thou be stiff necked ? implore not salacity in

 thy grovel and reproof binges in thy  hazy vein ,

To ferry thee peonies as freedom  and thou a legato of self esteem ,that much gloriously

Outlive thy ephemeral days ,

And be eulogized by unforeseen garlands peradventure  posthumously and yonder days

Not yet born ,

Then ,if that be thy pledge , then do thy earnest twinges , and let the muse bind thee,to

Thy esoteric oath and arcane earth ,

To make fair roses of rudderless banks out of consternation of sullen earth jaundiced .

Contro-Sonnet -102-Mine trauma ,aggravated ,though more empirical by its kindle.

I  care not a hoot ,though aggrandized ,at my senility ;that empiricism is ignited by foibles ,

Whose commonwealth public corpus ,doth extract customs and folklores , o my crust was

 Antediluvian,but in the meantime,was weaned ,to lay it to heart ,with thee my calf ;not the

Pang is less objectionable and inscrutable now than when the painstaking  improvised bruises ,

Did sting my foible,but that flamiferous stigmatization smears my senile bough ,and sweet sense

 ,grown in its shrubs ,tames my piety ,therefore emulate my path,

I ,fret away from primrose hold my tranquility,and be not with hazy cloud,kick up the daisy.

Contro- Sonnet-103-Alass,what muse from ruse,my crust exude forth that thou mayest gape

 open time at thy disposal ,dispenses justice,

Self esteem  steep’st inflect thee ,with sweet  antecedence than its rave of ephemeral hedonism,

O cavil me not as it were with he ,if no one can alter antecedence,look in thine mirror and behold visages  undissimilar ,with divergent bearings ,that blunt gait as each path goeth divergate crucible,

This tacky lines unspared undo disgrace and grace;Were it not for foibles ,then striving to  mend antecedence and moult ,To lush and smite the spite that was well goofed before or smear even the senile bough ,that before now was sloshed?

For no other mangled veins do I get and my tendons spare ,than the repugnance of thy heel to moult ,and dolt to spare ,

And farthest much more,than in thy sullen earth pedagogy –reprooved,your own discreet-wit  showers thee.when perception greases visage.

Contro-Sonnet-104-Behold,unfair roses ,senile bough ,strikes in earnest  and twinges at a furlough ,

Such seems your folly still and methinks fair girth never can be fathomed at moult,triple volition at moult,have from the furnace stook triple fiasco,triple moults feeds rudderless bank,such  dainty ,thy verdicts smacks lusty pale benumbed,in vaunt of callous accompaniment,have I witnessed   to tarnish latitude of  impeccable homage ,uncouth moores burning in furnace fires ,

Since Vicious stealth, startled satire ,springs tempestuous perverts,which yet ardous arcane poofs,

Ah yet doth lust ,hinterlands ,in backward gaits,wrought  like a lepers street fatigue ,hath potion