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.



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