Sonnet song for a ballet master –10/15 imagined.

Sonnets seethe, don’t they — beneath the controlled lines, iambic mutations and syllabic marches, sonnets roil as chaos contained in 14 lines.  Shakespeare, of course, reigns as the master, but many others delight me/depress me with the power of their feeling — Edna St. Vincent Millay’s are favorites, and whom I (pathetically) try to imitate here.

Below, my own most recent sonnet.  Forgive my ineptitude, Edna, and take only as my homage to a wondrous poetic form.  My rave for the sonnet.

Sonnet on 10/ 15

If you should ask me, one day, eyes cast down

if we might meet – I’ll let my eyes fall too

and trap the unsaid reasons that may sound

for no, to let my stumbled yes pass through.

You will pretend you can not hear my heart

skip twice, applauding thunder at your words.

Nodding, trading smiles we’ll move apart,

disguising our anticipation towards

what time, what place, what moment –overdue —

where we shall meet. Do not assume I want

your body pressed to mine; although I do,

I know how quickly bravo fades, hope taunts

then disappears in shadows, as we go

alone, onto the empty stage of souls.

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