The case of the missing sonnet unfolds,
layers of intrigue, yet to be revealed.
One: the sonneteer vehemently upholds,
that crucial evidence has been concealed.
Two: he claims the sonnet (to date his best)
was finished and the draft had gone to print;
and three: as aggrieved plaintiff, he’d suggest
the weight of evidence does more than hint
that the crime was payback, a vendetta,
a deliberate and well executed
act of retribution; every letter,
every word, in every way disputed.
. Why take possession of what causes grief?
. Such a transgression, it beggars belief!
© Tim Grace, 29 September 2011
To the reader: In November 2011, I’d got home from work after midnight. Left the car (work-chattels included) in the driveway. As chance would have it a cat-burglar took a shine to this opportunity and tried his luck. Through good fortune, he (I’ve assumed his gender) became the proud owner of my laptop, but obviously had no appreciation of poetry so left my notebook dishevelled on the back-seat. Thankful, I conducted an audit of my sonnets and so began the case of the missing sonnet … beggars belief!!
To the poet: In the days of ditties, it didn’t matter much that one poem overlapped with others; the unfinished pile just grew like topsy. The occasional stand alone snippet stood its ground – mellowed – most have yellowed with age. Sonnets are different; they’re monogamous – jealous and demanding. While drafting a sonnet I never begin another. Occasionally I’ll jot down a note that has potential, but devotion to the moment is my discipline.