Month: Apr 2011
10-14, Part 1 [sonnet]
Some say sonettos throw you in a cage,
imprison you, your back against the wall;
claiming they herald from a bygone age —
a time of courtly love ‘Neanderthal’.
Poetry, they feel, should always run free —
stream of consciousness, never bow the knee
to any structure pre-prepared, rigid,
or written verse is bound to be frigid.
Flaming Tongues [sonnet]
In all my many tangletimes of love,
I never have relinquished all control.
In sensing peril’s pall (as I adjudged),
I never pledged the last ounce of my soul.
God knows I wanted all the tongues of fire
which beckoned me in flames to form a whole.
Yet never would I give what was required;
(I hadn’t met the other magnet pole).
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The Naked Troubadour 