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 17 lines is like a quartet with 6 members, though criticism and rebuke is always welcome from anyone who feels so moved.
THE gentle light of dawn begins to creep
through my open window where I lie
while angels’ hands the cords of night untie
and knock upon the portal of my keep
to summon me and rouse my soul from sleep
I make my way out under vaulted sky
imbibe its vasty aspect with my eye
then like a chanticleer upon his heap
I climb onto the housetop facing West
then turn myself and eastern hills survey
that in the mists of morning have been dressed
then I raise my voice for to salute day
I raise a voice not to the ear addressed
but send my clarion to find its way
to sleeping hearts bound in a sleeping breast
may they wake and rise on tides of light today
for this is the day the Lord hath made and blessed
I love that sonnet! Yes! We can arise each morning with gladness that God has made another day for us !!!