morning glory

With plaintive voice the poet sings her songs,
One morning glory roused to greet the sun,
Untwisting with the light and pushing on
The gloom with clarion diction that belongs

To those with eyes to see.  Imbibe like dregs
of poison, or instead ignore the deep
And downness of the color and perceive
The opening heart.  It isn't choice which begs

To read the signs, not false or flippant cheer,
But some imprinted code on cells, as words
Drive darkness back and back, the voice of bard
And verse come pouring out to find an ear.

One might as well teach the hound to chortle
or coax from guardian shell the turtle.

Liz McFadzean

Another poet that I love, Jeanne Murray Walker, has talked about assigning herself to the rhythmic puzzle of writing sonnets when troubled by the flatness of her own poetic voice. She has been so taken with the form of sonnet that she has written a small volume of them.  Hers are not your grandma’s (or should I say “great-great-great-great grandma’s) sonnets.   They are not Shakespearean.  They submit to the discipline of sonnets, with a contemporary and specific take all her own.  If you are looking for a poet to read, you may find her book “Pilgrim, You Find the Path by Walking” at <paracletepress.com>