Sunday, April 22, 2012

"A whatsit sphere" [sonnet]

A little bit of poetry I make
a pair of lines (or four or eight or twelve)
five minutes (or some half-hour) I take
within the sea of language for to delve

an idle pastime -- such this has become
perhaps played most when some stray turn of phrase
the lyric lure might tap (as on a drum)
to call forth my tattoo of vapid praise

or (likewise empty) humor or mere thought
for thought I guess is what the art involves
but what is thought? a sort of bubbly naught
a whatsit sphere that bloooms pops & dissolves

into the sea of mind -- thought's mother dark
we play at poetry but for a lark

Written by way of response to a friend's inquiry, "David, writing poetry these days?"