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. Also, I should acknowledge that the formal aspect of this “Petrarchan sonnet” is liberally conceived so it’s unnecessary to alert me that at “Petrarchan sonnet” with 15 lines is like a quartet with 5 members, though criticism and rebuke is always welcome from anyone who feels so moved.
THE LEAVES of amber huddle on the trees, they hold and clutch their boughs with earnest hand as breath of Winter glides about the land, and tremble when they face the northern breeze that sends its chill alike in winds and lees, broadcast like a stern, austere command that comes upon me even where I stand as orchards touched by frost, makes sweet my pleas all I’m asking is a little more time to love each other while we’re still alive the Sun is gold and Autumn in its prime ere many days the Winter will arrive and bells of churches toll their evening chime angels reap and gather to their golden hive and perfect love will come our souls to shrive