Not keen on this one, Insect. The problem I have is that it's immediately
apparent that you're writing a strict form sonnet (though I have a problem
with L12). I'm not sure this has enough fluidity or punch as it stands.
It feels more like a clever exercise and that's not what I want from your
poetry since I remember so many of your thumpingly fine poems (Megaera and
the likes) so well.
bw
christina
>
>>
>> Sunday Times
>>
>>My door-mat's bare: no pages to enjoy.
>>I phone the shop. Last week they blamed the snow
>>but now a girl admits the Sunday boy
>>has let them down. Deliver-less, no show
>>for art reviews, for science updates, wars
>>and peace. No supplements, no insights now
>>on politics across the globe, no scores,
>>no crosswords to squinch tramlines in my brow.
>>
>>I like to think his press-packed cycle veered
>>to church, and he has donned a seraph face
>>and dove-white robe, and is installed, choir-tiered,
>>to pipe Pie Jesu with fervent grace.
>>
>>The world can wait, those tumbling words, that news.
>>I fill my room with Fauré's calm, and muse.
>>
>> grasshopper
>>
>>(NB: Title and Pie Jesu should appear in italics)
>
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