Saturday, August 22, 2015


                    You might think my invoking of the Muse
                    Is just another way I have to snooze,
                    Reposing in my half-cocked easy chair,
                    Eyes lowered in a dull, half-lidded stare.

                    Before long, though, a line begins to form
                    Establishing this poem’s metric norm,
                    And shortly afterwards the rhyme scheme’s set,
                    A strict exigency that must be met.

                    A sonnet, by this time, must take a turn
                    As both the poet and the reader learn
                    The covert motive driving on this poem
                    That doesn’t know itself till it comes home,

                         For writing verse promotes discovery
                         As what remained implicit we now see.