A Poem for H.

I walk the night to keep my five wits warm.

I'll start with Roethke's line. I'll make a sonnet

of rhymeless five-beat lines and call it yours,

if you'll accept this paltry, tattered gift.


I'll walk tonight in cold November rain,

and let the raindrops fall unhindered on me.

I'll make a sonnet on the way back home,

pacing its rhythm on the soaked asphalt.


Indoors, dried off, I'll watch through the wee hours;

fueled by coffee, I'll work on my mad poem:

Ophelia's bouquet of thorns and weeds.


Awake till dawn, I'll keep my five wits warm

by poetry's hearth-fire, by the shape and form

of language, by this deathless kindly light.

Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 210 times
Written on 2018-11-27 at 09:26

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Some fine craftsmanship here. Well done.