a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan “sonnets”: №146
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.
AT BREAK of day we rise and gather dreams to scatter them and sow in rolling fields the garners of tomorrow with the yields to plenish and to fill until it seems our hearts are bursting at the seams and normal life like oranges sliced and peeled drips with beads of sweetness and are healed those ancient wounds; all hardship love redeems casts out sorrow into Hades, treads down fear but should really I call “love” by that name? whatever to its origin draweth near whatever to its nativity came upon its birth did thus succeed to peer regardless of its age, we say the same is young and when the world and things appear freshly, for the first, they don’t have names