a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan “sonnets” (85)

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 16 lines and an unorthodox rhyme-scheme is like a quartet with 5 members, though reproof is always welcome from anyone who feels so moved.

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FROM OUT some hidden bower and green arcade
the croak and rhythm of a saw resounds
the thud of hammers fall in blows and pounds
resounding from that secret forest glade
to be renewed each time they seem to fade
when leaves bud forth, or snow blankets the ground
the work persists and spans the whole year round
and in the end what will this work have made?
when rains descend and seas begin rise
and waters threat to swallow up the land
the god of panic skips across your eyes
as the ocean gulfs the patch on which you stand
your gaze will land upon and then apprize
the wooden ark that I have built by hand
by pairs of creatures peopled, two by two
and I have kept a single space for you

Photo by Janus Clemmensen on Unsplash