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Tuesday, 2 September 2008

Plain Language

I fear that the embrace we shared back then
has lost its meaning in your mind today.
It's waiting for some other moment when
we're once again together. When I play
with memories in verse, do I disturb
the balance of our delicate regard?
Relationships are precious, and to curb
my muse is only wise. It's not so hard.
But, ah, the things you've given me! They sing,
seductive as the call of distant lands.
My fingers, clumsy with such substance, bring
no talent, but I shuffle with the strands
of silken colour, soft and light as air,
and beg forgiveness for my lingering care.

3 comments:

Lynet said...

I think the thing that amuses me about this sonnet (I shall not call it a poem) is the utter shapelessness of the first eight lines. You barely notice the rhyme and the metre has no backbone (and the new sentence in the fourth line is awful -- but interestingly so).

It goes a bit more standard and lively and colourful in the last six lines, of course.

Eshu said...

I admit I'm a bit of a poetry philistine, but bizarrely I quite like this (despite what you say). Perhaps it's just that I feel it's not going as far over my head as most poetry.

Lynet said...

I'm always glad when people say they like my poems. I don't write them to be liked. I write them to play with words and to express things. So when people say they like them it always feels like an unexpected bonus. Besides, it means you've bothered to read it and have an opinion on it. I'm honoured.

To be honest, I quite like it, too :-)