Saturday, October 19, 2013


     November’s the right month for Nemerov,
     the letters of his name subsumed within
     it’s name.  That’s when I send some sonnets off
     to his contest I yearly aim to win.

     Though once I took a seminar with him
     on writing verse, and he approved my skill
     more than the others, I hope the interim
     of decades since has raised me higher still.

     I’ve lately won two other contests, but
     no other honor than a Nemerov
     will demonstrate at last I’ve made the cut
     and end the scorn of those inclined to scoff.

          The time I give to writing poetry
          may be remembered by posterity.