Sonnet 17: Sonnet 0, Tardy

by danetreous

Context — little did I know how far I’d go when I shared this in October 2009. It started as my first sonnet, but was finalized as my seventeenth. Looking back, it’s funny how loose I was with meter and syllable count.


What starts as a trick may yet soon become habit,
since finding an outlet for arts is no cinch,
I’ll arrest your inbox, I’ll grab it and jab it,
and stuff it with letters without but a flinch.
Quotidian basis for writing these beasts,
should prove most sufficient to bellow the fires,
a Muse rising upwards within me, like yeast
that climbs without climbing, its aims always higher.
When with time I’ll stack words, acknowledging blessing
with meaning and mystery, equal in measure
but maintain the sonnet, change only its dressing
(the meter) but never its iambic pleasure.
Who knew that a draft that lingered half-complete
would become the hobby I’ll never delete?