Sonnet II from Stupid Sonnets
Her granite-black streets soaked
mist abound at every gutter
floating above sidewalks, boots and cloaks,
coffee brews and voices mutter.
Gothic shadows wake from dreams
of European romances and Rioja wine,
oak-tree hems and tram-track seams,
regular rhythms and sporadic rhyme.
Lime and lemongrass emanate from little Bourke lanes,
beats and riffs pulse underground
through dark hours the warmth remains
she holds my hand and walks me ’round.
She holds my heart, delivers her poetry
and inspires mine – Melbourne, my obsidian city.
Obsidian muttering thoughts
Darkening, cloak my playful mood
These streets on which I careless, sought
To feed a soul, a body, food
Sustaining all these rueful days
Of remaining sameness installed
With care in the will to engage
In simplest routines recalled
Time’s severely said remonstrance
Echoing true where motionless
A preeminent permanence
Defines life’s boundaries unless
Change becomes a potent token
And by change the chain is broken.
April 7, 2011 at 12:23 am
Oh no. You did not just outsonnet me on my own sonnet entry!
April 7, 2011 at 3:45 am
You mean to say that my sonnet is actually more stupid than yours? Please. That simply cannot be. I am honored and humbled, fellow crazy poet.
April 7, 2011 at 9:57 am