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Sonnet For Minimalists
From a new peony,
my last anthem,
a squirrel in glee
broke the budded stem.
I thought, where is joy
without fresh bloom,
that old heart’s ploy
to mask the tomb?
Then a volunteer
stalk from sour
bird-drop this year
burst in frantic flower.
The world’s perverse,
but it could be worse.
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Happy National Poetry Month !
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I don't know about you, but I have a fondness for poems that subvert and play with the "rules" of poetry. It's hard to have fun with dinosaurs sometimes. They look you over like their next snack or smoosh you with a gigantic, dusty foot.
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