Yesterday I lay down in grasses green,
touching the footsteps of long ago todays,
silent they left trace, a guide between
exposed and hidden worlds, small inlays

under my hand a flutter spread, awake,
it seemed to call, and they came from near
and afar, protected, to undertake
no small business in their hemisphere,

but such a sham shelter they lay under,
makeshift at best, leading the false, foolish
are they, trusting in that hushed languor
my grace and goodwill they overembellish

a storm comes forth, high pitched and keening,
inside silence, mourn not their mute drowning.

43 thoughts on “Sonnet”

        1. It is. I find that having to work within specifics, and having to make sure that every word has a purpose [my wonderful poetry tutor taught me that…that in a poem…all words have to earn their place or leave] helps.

          You should check him out – Tim Upperton

          Seriously…the man is a genius.


    1. Thanks Sylvia. I think it still needs some work. Goodness writing in iambic pentameter is more difficult than I remembered. That is why I have avoided sonnet writing. Makes me appreciate those who do it well.


  1. I don’t begin to pretend that I get poetry, except for my silly, child’s play that I dabble in. If everyone says this is fabulous, and knowing you overflow with talent, I’ll believe each and every one of them. I did, however, try to google some info to see if it would help me. IT DOES NOT! :-(
    But maybe there is something here that will give you some insight (if you really think you need to make some changes) And maybe not, what do I know? :-D


There are two things I know for certain. One: Bert and Ernie are gay. Two: I want to hear your opinion.

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