Reminds me. Did I ever send the promised book honoring my friend The Woodpecker (Bruce Warring)? He produced sonnets at the drop of a hat, most nowhere near as a polished as yours, but relentless in their appearance, and always worth the intriguing pictures it left of the soul who spawned them.
I don’t think you have, but I know of three other gentlemen who have written sonnet cycles and can and could write them at the drop of a hat. One other had a gift for limericks.
Both memorable and witty may I say from my silo in NC. This sonnet radiates a good faith cynicism that ends in a loving volta. I’ve read all your poetry and a trustworthy folk humanism prevails without condition—I could read your work with equal reward after a sex orgy or in my last days of hospice. I feel, moreover, after reading your poetry, an ecology of inclusive image, whatever your politics, and you are probably the only person in Vermont I would trust raising my three neo-confederate sons, all aspiring English majors. May I prepare papers for that contingency?
If my poetry is ever read in the last days of a sex orgy, I’ll know I’ve joined the pantheon of great poets. But yes, prepare the papers, but write contingencies in the event that the world’s great orgy results in our simultaneous and untimely deaths.
PoemShape 
Oh, my. What’s NOT to like?!
Thank YOU!
Reminds me. Did I ever send the promised book honoring my friend The Woodpecker (Bruce Warring)? He produced sonnets at the drop of a hat, most nowhere near as a polished as yours, but relentless in their appearance, and always worth the intriguing pictures it left of the soul who spawned them.
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I don’t think you have, but I know of three other gentlemen who have written sonnet cycles and can and could write them at the drop of a hat. One other had a gift for limericks.
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Both memorable and witty may I say from my silo in NC. This sonnet radiates a good faith cynicism that ends in a loving volta. I’ve read all your poetry and a trustworthy folk humanism prevails without condition—I could read your work with equal reward after a sex orgy or in my last days of hospice. I feel, moreover, after reading your poetry, an ecology of inclusive image, whatever your politics, and you are probably the only person in Vermont I would trust raising my three neo-confederate sons, all aspiring English majors. May I prepare papers for that contingency?
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If my poetry is ever read in the last days of a sex orgy, I’ll know I’ve joined the pantheon of great poets. But yes, prepare the papers, but write contingencies in the event that the world’s great orgy results in our simultaneous and untimely deaths.
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I love the title! Fits the poem perfectly, in my opinion.
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I’m glad that you, especially, like it. :) The irony, of course, is that poet’s muse plucks him like a lute.
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Oh absolutely.
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