a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan “sonnets”: №126

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.

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IT’S NOT YOUR maple hair or rose-white skin
or cheeks of gentle peach like morning skies
that glint as image in your laurel eyes
it’s not your chiseled nose or Grecian chin
your ivory teeth like sheep, each one with twin
that shame a sculptor seeking to revise
your comely features that my eye apprise
of the unseen fountain that lies within
a welling spring that over-runs in signs
as Paradise’s rivers outward flow
with sap and nectar nourishing the vine
and so brings forth wherever that it goes
new fruits of loveliness and Heaven’s wine
for in this umbral world, one thing I know
God dwells in love and beauty here below

Photo by Suda Guan on Unsplash