Last week was one of those. Today starts a new one, & we'll be hoping for better things; & we get to start it out with Original Poetry Sunday. My offering today is one of the 1996 sonnets, written on this date thirteen years ago (as has been pointed out this is not "new original poetry Sunday," a good thing for me).
Please check out these other participants (based on previous weeks):
Amazing Voyages of the Turtle
Poetikat Invisible Keepsakes
Secret Poems from the Times Literary Supplement
Yes is Red
I'd also like to point you to an original poem posted last Sunday on the very interesting luthier site, WhiteSalmonGuitar. I'm sorry to have missed Craig's offering until later last week, & would like to give it a shout out here. The actual poem post is at this link, but do give a look over the site; the luthier craft is a fascinating topic, & Mr Wilson presents it in an engaging way.
& finally: I know others have given this a more timely boost, but in case you've missed it, please do yourself a favor & check out TotalFeckingEejit's post about his "hippo on a motorcycle" garden sculpture here. It's just the sort of garden art we love around these parts. & I've just noticed that Mr Eejit has posted a poem on Original Poetry Sunday, at least in lots of places in the world; please check that out here.
Enjoy - & I'll even be here to answer comments! Sorry to have been so incommunicado.
UPDATE: I found another poem that most certainly deserves a mention on a blog that frequently posts poetry, & which I invariably find intriguing & thought-provoking. That would be Dave King's Pics & Poems. Mr King's solstice poem (which he terms a "rough draft" & I term a darned good rough draft) is here.
A deuce of hearts misplaced in the arms of a
VT forsythia bush the other blossoms of course a
sort of raincoat yellow & the heart inside the coat’s
sort of sputtering like a buckwheat pancake on a
griddle in a Mojave truck stop in the middle of 100 miles of
yucca & borax & bleak fortune cookie sticking their
paper tongues out like so many 5¢ Chinatown
postcards Marlowe’s penning return address un-
known tho it could be the North Pole for that matter
someplace he couldn’t escape from like a snapshot mis-
placed long ago in a bungalow run aground long after the
Mendelssohn wedding recessional shed white yellow
blue pink scads of umblicial blossoms scattering ev-
eryplace as tho the mailbox had blown up at last
© John Hayes 1996-2009