Ordinarily I don’t publish so much poetry at Theoria-press, and instead try to provide mostly essays with an odd poem or sonnet occasionally interspersed among them. But the Muse’s visits have outstripped my ability to keep pace with prose pieces so readers who prefer essays should peruse the archives of this site, which are replete with them. This is more-or-less an actual Petrarchan sonnet so it will not be preceded by my usual exculpatory disclaimer about having departed from the paradigmatic form.
AT LAST, how Summer’s verdant slumber-shroud
is lifting, Nature’s secret revelation
a-shining forth in conflagration
bold-proclaimed, in colours loud
vermillion, orange, and golden boughed
exulting in the season peroration
proclaiming Earth’s transfiguration
beneath the drifting Autumn clouds,
and further still, to subtle vapours high
to minds that span the widths of space
to silent stars that sparkle in the Winter sky
in spheres transcending all of time and place
where idle chatter withers up and dies
and eternal choirs sound in silent grace
Beautiful!