a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan “sonnets”: №106
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 and an unorthodox rhyme-scheme is like a quartet with 5 members, though reproof is always welcome from anyone who feels so moved.
BETWEEN thy copper locks thou hast doves’ eyes— mourning doves that fly when evenings fall let larks and ostentatious songbirds call when morning parts the curtain of the skies still you abide until the Moon begins to rise its light upon your Grecian profile falls and then you turn your face to me withal your marble features I at once apprize the beauty that the poet’s pen inspires to forever write your praises with fine words to raise my voice and touch upon the lyre to outface in song the ostentatious birds for they as well to praise you do aspire for ever beauty is by beauty stirred eternal call-response in Nature’s choir
