a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan “sonnets” (90)
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.
WHEN I in lime or in a snare was caught
I asked these crippled wings of hope to fly
to bear my soul aloft into the sky
to send her soaring forth on floods of thought
to find the paradises that she sought
but to my bidding they did not comply
and nothing did it then avail to try
my efforts spent, my soul was left distraught
and then I felt the substance of a will—
a will my own yet which did not belong to me—
pour into me and all my sinews fill
and like a lock turn with familiar key
my crippled wings regained accordant skill
they say that one will come to set us free
from all our trials and sin and misery
the questioned posed, this will said, “I am he”
