Just a little something soft after a week of rough and tumble. This is not my natural choice of poem, so if you do not like the result, Mantra is 100% to blame. Well, not entirely. The memory is mine. The sonnet is hers.
It should be absolutely no surprise I completely lack skills which conform to stringent rules and demands such as those which govern the more classic types of poetry. Even those which are predominantly populated with whimsy, as are haiku and limericks, I am cursed with a verbosity which does not mesh within the constraints of rigid meter, word and stanza limits and/or prescription creativity. The short form: I am better at odes.
Every once in a while, I to listen to Mantra gripe about more staid versions of poetry which I am denying her. To alleviate the gritching, I give you an attempt at a sonnet. I hope you like it.
The fireflies look like a meteor shower
Beneath the boughs of the weeping willow.
They circle ’round in twirling eddies
While the half moon above the trees hangs low.
A breeze gently caresses the lemon grass
And chocolate verbena, smelling sweet.
The crisp nighttime air refreshes the skin
In soothing respite from late summer heat.
Tonight, one last dip in the chilly spring
Before we call off the day as complete.
Cares wash away in rippling tumbleweeds,
Falling from minds now orderly and neat.
Bedding down in the thicket, safe and content,
‘Neath fireflies’ lights and darkness intent.
(c) Ann Marie Dwyer 2012