a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan “sonnets”: №116

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 18 lines and an unorthodox rhyme-scheme is like a quartet with 6 members, though reproof is always welcome from anyone who feels so moved.

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ABOVE MY head the fire-cloven skies
resound with hurled bolts of thunder
signs that harrow me with fear and wonder
as lightnings rend the space before my eyes
and cleave the vessel that they first capsize
with its blasted hull to draw me under
the water’s icy hands our fates to sunder
and win me for the depths as Hades’ prize
to bind me up with braided cords of fear
and sink my corpse into the depths of Hell
but o’er the wrath of gods a voice I hear
that rides above the storm like caravel
and makes straight the pathway to my ear
repelling ancient gods as magic spell
“you see me not, yet I am always near”
the voice rings clear and bright like bell
“whatever paths you travel I am here
and all manner of things shall now be well”

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash