Today's prompt is to write a curtal sonnet, a shorter version of the traditional form with a 6-line stanza, 4-line stanza then a half a line ending.
As for the iambic pentameter particular to sonnets - so far I have gotten through a degree in English literature, not to mention my writing career, without being on intimate terms with it - and don't intend to start now. Let the words fall where they may!
As for the iambic pentameter particular to sonnets - so far I have gotten through a degree in English literature, not to mention my writing career, without being on intimate terms with it - and don't intend to start now. Let the words fall where they may!
In Absentia
Your absence has become a presence.
Not a lack or an ache, but an ever-there
malady, a surplus of shadow on days, a bruise
that won't go away, a bank account cancelled
still charging by the day, a blank canvas
centerpiece hung in the main room of my life.
It's there unawares, in a tethered stare, a hole
time falls into. Behind every word I write
it hovers as a ghostly agenda, a goon with a gun
demanding to remember an answer I forgot.
A nothing that has become everything.
No comments:
Post a Comment