[Jennifer Gordon]

While L1 begins less than iambic, the fascinating array of scenes and fabulous imagery take the reader through the depths of those foul corners where only the damned venture, deliciously tendering one hair-raising vision after another, chilling the plebian blood while haunting with enough to rouse Macbeth's less than savoury aids. Frankly I do love Gail's allusion to Macbeth since this is too richly fitting, also rousing memories of Scot's Ivanhoe and other similar tales.

What thrills the most is the rich injunction of the final couplet, turning the macabre discussion onto reality's plate, hinting none to subtly, leaving me scrambling as the dastardly activities come home to remind us afresh what we do with those charming little new beginnings, hardly aware of our responsibilities.

As a metaphor I can barely begin scoping the possibilities, but it likewise plays out too beautifully as we are wont to pervert novices sans a second thought, or perhaps it is more that they are too readily the prey of ill's heinous claws.

A Shakespearean which begs placement in the ring for its fabulous dark visions sweetly sketched, while if I may dare to nit-pick, I think a bit larger difference in the end-rhyming between quatrains and even the couplet, or is this another half Spenserian prize?

Not the greatest sonnet, since L's 1, 8, 9, and 13 are all too trochaic, or correct me, and the end-rhyming leaves a tad to be desired, but having seen the judges said something different was afoot at this contest's inception and the call for permutations too loudly clear, I am sufficiently thankful this is a fair sonnet in its own right, those invocations its most charming feature.

Thanks for sharing, I enjoyed it!

ttfn,
Jenny