Sonnet About Itself

 

 

I tap my fingers lightly on the desk
And measure all the syllables I need;
Ideas strip before me in burlesque.
I hope that if I cut them, they won't bleed.
This format has intrigued me for so long,
That now my thoughts in iambs readymade
Arrange themselves in automatic song:
It's no hard work-they're lazing in the shade.
This final stanza of four stalwart lines
Is where the tallest, strongest couplets go,
Like anchors made of lead or kudzu vines,
To ground the verse or tie it with a bow.
Someday perhaps I'll write one just for you;
For now this simple exercise will do.

 

© 2006 Gregor Everitt