a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan “sonnets”: №129

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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HOW EVERYTHING is stamped with seal divine:
you never loved the glass of wine aright
until you love the Sun that shed its light
in vernal floods upon the tender vine
and brought to ripen in the summertime
and plumped the clustered fruits withal bedight
the hands that harvest them and press them tight
enact the ancient art of making wine
you never learned to love aright the Sun
until all Nature’s laws you learn to love
the hands a-working since the World begun
the One who puts on Nature like a glove
and gave to humankind his only Son
and watches o’er this world from above
you must love God to truly learn to love

Photo by Jodie Morgan on Unsplash