Channelling the Muse to Write Sonnets
Fighting form and space and meter
Squeezing letters into shapes
A parcel of emptiness is unsure of itself
But I can see infinitely further
Cut out the fluff
Add in the impossible request of this form and that meter and
those spaces
Use a strict order, a rhythm and a rhyme
They are not me
Freedom is not a solid shape.
A garden, a row of daisies, two plots of ragged soil, just excuses
Spend the time reworking those words written down
Ask the muse to try once again
But lose the form, the space, the meter forthwith
© Catherine Woods 2017
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