One More Sonnet

Category: literature

  • A Fallen Thought

    A Fallen Thought

    I have swept the path of last Summer’s leaves;
    it’s late April, so prepare the parade.
    Salute the fallen; sombre Autumn heaves
    a sigh; recalls the cover of green shade.
    Now, on my shoulder rests a golden leaf.
    What am I to do? Brush it to the ground?
    How do I interpret this small motif:
    as commemorative fall; from tree unbound?
    Between my shoulder and the ground there’s space,
    just enough space, to think about good cause.
    There’s time, just enough time, to put in place
    a thought… a moment for reflective pause.
    . In fluttering leaves there’s a story told,
    . it’s a narrative, that turns green to gold.

    © Tim Grace, 23 April 2012

    To the reader: In temperate Australia, the autumnal month of April is adorned with commemorative symbolism. The imagery includes bravery and mateship woven into wreathes of green and gold. As the leaves of Summer flutter softly to the ground, there’s a sombre passage of reflection; space and time to remember the fallen before winter turns the foliage to mush. Those who fought for peace, now rest in peace… lest we forget.

    To the poet: A nice sonnet that turns a small personal incident into something more socially significant; and that’s the point of poetry. Through the obvious we discover truth; between gaps we discover opportunity; from now we interpret the moment – but only if we take notice. As poets, we need to observe what is and isn’t happening; for between these occurrences speaks possibility… through the poet’s eye we imagine the universe.

     

    A Fallen Thought
    A Fallen Thought
    Picture Sources:
    1. http://youtu.be/E56YcMbnCO4
    2. http://youtu.be/eY3ASysJfCQ

     

  • Angling

    Angling

    All I did was drop a line, nothing more
    than simply give you cause to contemplate.
    It was not my chin that dropped, not my jaw
    that took umbrage; not me who bit the bait.
    You could have let it go, let it dangle.
    Instead, you gave it a tug, you tested
    the line; turned what was slack into tangle.
    It was you who floundered, then protested.
    Nonetheless, you did nothing to resist
    it’s ascorbic tang; and so, there you hang,
    dangling from a string of words, a long list
    of ponderings that promulgated pang.
    . What lures fish from the safety of rocks?
    . It’s the slightly plausible paradox.

    © Tim Grace, 21 January 2012

    To the reader: It doesn’t take much to create a fuss over a line of words. Retracting that string of thought is difficult; it gets snagged so easily. On a good day a contentious thought might be openly aired; on a bad day it becomes a most enticing deep-water bait. As it sinks a small school of fish nibbles its edges; but then, along comes a shark with far bigger intentions. Discretion being the better part of valour decrees the warranted loss of hook, line and sinker… one should never angle for a fight.

    To the poet: This sonnet did follow an argument over the previous sonnet regarding silos. Why two people would choose to angrily debate the virtues of a silo I don’t know. Nonetheless, it spawned a good piece of purgative poetry. The poem has some satisfying sub-elements that I enjoyed merging into its deeper layers of construction; for later in depth analysis.

     

    angling Angling
    Picture Source: http://youtu.be/rG1xOUIykhY