I come to El Toboso for Aldonza
not to tilt at her but only speak

Interesting. That could lead to a he said/she said kind of crown.

Your use of 'tilt' - perfect.

Like that idea. Could do something fun/chaotic with voices in 7th.

Your use of 'tilt' nagged me for hours.

Ended up writing this bit of modern sonnet-tering in haste to get it off my mind. 

i choose
economy
to let my
images
settle themselves
between your ears—
no baggage-
stanzas
of fill
to tilt
your eyes
towards time.

more often distorts
what was found.

I come to El Toboso for Aldonza
not to tilt at her but only speak
about economy to let my images
settle themselves between her ears.
Those baggage stanzas filled to tilt
our eyes towards time most often
just distort the found and weaken
struts originally sound.

Say, will we be going for that clean edge look?

Let's view cleanedge as one arrow in the quiver. The idea of a hundred lines like that has a monstrous feel to me, though maybe we will write a monster, who knows? Probably best to just take it as it comes, I think. I also like the skinny style of "i choose/economy".

Bit of advice: don't view it as a hundred lines; take it one sonnet at a time.

I'm going to play with Aldonza a bit.

Oh, everyone wants to play with Aldonza a bit!

I come to El Toboso for Aldonza
not to tilt at her but only speak
about economy to let my images
settle themselves between her ears.
Those baggage stanzas filled to tilt
our eyes towards time most often
just distort the found and weaken
struts originally sound. Is my dream
impossible? Is it the blind wish of a
fool who nutures the unseen?

I come to El Toboso for Aldonza
not to tilt at her but only speak
about economy to let my images
settle themselves between her ears.
Those baggage stanzas filled to tilt
our eyes towards time most often
just distort the found and weaken
struts originally sound. Is my dream
impossible? Is it the blind wish of a
fool who nutures the unseen?
Consider El Toboso, its Alhambra
the church of San Antonio Abad.
He battled phantom girls and pig's feet;
his church looks like a depot for wheat.

His church looks like a depot for wheat,
exactly what la Mancha's economy
feeds its waifs--wheat with fried beans,
on holy days, morcilla, blood sausage.

This practice is fun. I just threw a monkey wrench at you!! Maggie


I come to El Toboso for Aldonza
not to tilt at her but only speak
about economy to let my images
settle themselves between her ears.
Those baggage stanzas filled to tilt
our eyes towards time most often
just distort the found and weaken
struts originally sound. Is my dream
impossible? Is it the blind wish of a
fool who nutures the unseen?
Consider El Toboso, its Alhambra
the church of San Antonio Abad.
He battled phantom girls and pig's feet;
his church looks like a depot for wheat.

His church looks like a depot for wheat,
exactly what la Mancha's economy
feeds its waifs--wheat with fried beans,
on holy days, morcilla, blood sausage;
all rich fare in candlelight but the holy
days are too few and too far between.
Reality recedes to bone, the judgement
of shadows and the benedictions of the
priest. How lucky is the flea who thrives
beneath the wool of a man who cannot
feel its bite, who sees but does not see
each moment as it comes to know him.
Write the next sonnet to the couplet, Tom;
Purchase a ticket for the dog? Why not.

Write the next sonnet to the couplet Tom?
Purchase a ticket for the dog why not?
Easier said than done, Maldonza!
Yo soy hombre de pocas palabras,
as I have a thousand times, and who
are you calling 'my dog' if you don't
mind my asking? My 'bitch'?
Are you not weary yet of insults,
those embroideries of rape and hit
that call the kettling vultures here,
and here, to swell their bellies
and their feathers with hitchhiking fleas?
No one  talks trash about my Panza;
Otherwise, yes, we are flying Lufthansa.

[Two can play at that game, Maggie! My curveball to your monkeywrench!]





 
 

Ok, Quick draw, you're a line short!!!! Too funny!!!!!!

I come to El Toboso for Aldonza
not to tilt at her but only speak
about economy to let my images
settle themselves between her ears.
Those baggage stanzas filled to tilt
our eyes towards time most often
just distort the found and weaken
struts originally sound. Is my dream
impossible? Is it the blind wish of a
fool who nutures the unseen?
Consider El Toboso, its Alhambra
the church of San Antonio Abad.
He battled phantom girls and pig's feet;
his church looks like a depot for wheat.

His church looks like a depot for wheat,
exactly what la Mancha's economy
feeds its waifs--wheat with fried beans,
on holy days, morcilla, blood sausage;
all rich fare in candlelight but the holy
days are too few and too far between.
Reality recedes to bone, the judgement
of shadows and the benedictions of the
priest. How lucky is the flea who thrives
beneath the wool of a man who cannot
feel its bite, who sees but does not see
each moment as it comes to know him.
Write the next sonnet to the couplet, Tom;
Purchase a ticket for the dog? Why not.

Write the next sonnet to the couplet Tom?
Purchase a ticket for the dog why not?
Easier said than done, Maldonza!
Yo soy hombre de pocas palabras,
as I have a thousand times, and who
are you calling 'my dog' if you don't
mind my asking? My 'bitch'?
Are you not weary yet of insults,
those embroideries of rape and hit
that call kettling vultures here,
and here, to swell their bellies
and their feathers with hitchhiking fleas?
Nobody talks trash to my Panza;
Otherwise, yes, we are flying Lufthansa.
 

Ok, Quick draw, you're a line short!!!! Too funny!!!!!!

I come to El Toboso for Aldonza
not to tilt at her but only speak
about economy to let my images
settle themselves between her ears.
Those baggage stanzas filled to tilt
our eyes towards time most often
just distort the found and weaken
struts originally sound. Is my dream
impossible? Is it the blind wish of a
fool who nutures the unseen?
Consider El Toboso, its Alhambra
the church of San Antonio Abad.
He battled phantom girls and pig's feet;
his church looks like a depot for wheat.

His church looks like a depot for wheat,
exactly what la Mancha's economy
feeds its waifs--wheat with fried beans,
on holy days, morcilla, blood sausage;
all rich fare in candlelight but the holy
days are too few and too far between.
Reality recedes to bone, the judgement
of shadows and the benedictions of the
priest. How lucky is the flea who thrives
beneath the wool of a man who cannot
feel its bite, who sees but does not see
each moment as it comes to know him.
Write the next sonnet to the couplet, Tom;
Purchase a ticket for the dog? Why not.

Write the next sonnet to the couplet Tom?
Purchase a ticket for the dog why not?
Easier said than done, Maldonza!
Yo soy hombre de pocas palabras,
as I have a thousand times, and who
are you calling 'my dog' if you don't
mind my asking? My 'bitch'?
Are you not weary yet of insults,
those embroideries of rape and hit
that call kettling vultures here,
and here, to swell their bellies
and their feathers with hitchhiking fleas?
No one  talks trash about my Panza!
Otherwise, yes, we are flying Lufthansa.
Do not make me put 15 lines in this stanza.

hilarious.