a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan “sonnets” (18)
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 especially liberally conceived so it’s unnecessary to alert me that at “Petrarchan sonnet” with 20 lines is like a quartet with 6 members, though criticism and rebuke is always welcome from anyone who feels so moved.
IN graven silence sounds a whisper faint
the rush and flutter of returning thought
that unbidden goes and comes unsought
upon an empty pool to skip and feint
full-forgetfulness briefly to acquaint
with a vision that at once is overwrought
by oblivion to which again it’s brought
where endless darkness is its own constraint
and now you press against this bounded hell
against dark ramparts you blindly grope and
strive, yet to no avail against your shell
but know one day light will split you open
even if your life now seems a prison cell
then your soul will finally find relief
from her present sullen, dreary plight
and you will burst forth like a plant’s first leaf
and on gold-glinting wings you’ll take to flight
and you will leave behind this binding fief
as you rise from here and make for the light
