If facing the paper, your thought is 'I am an artist', you have no clue what to do. If the concepts of your function are, 'I am a shape maker, an entertainer, an expressive symbol collector'...then you have an explicit road map. Edgar Whitney

Thursday, April 8, 2010

8 April 2010

Sonnet for a Submissive

If poets scream then she will rip her throat
and fume the sky with lines of glassine verse.
Her voice is hoarse. Has she the strength to coat
her tongue in salt glaze fired in the first
impoverished flame? He throws her like a lily
vessel centered on his wheel, he flares
the pinch bowl mouth she offers willingly.
Intaglio incisions on greenware
graze her will. The brine soaked ropes that bind her
burn, brand and lacerate with devotion.
On the kiln shelf she's become a tawdry
relic of a once bright tungsten woman.
Dimness drips a sweaty deprivation,
his hand withdrawn, her final creation.


  1. "and fume the sky with lines of glassine verse": so well spouted. Bravo again. =)

  2. great job. sonnets are hard, but you nailed this. bravo!

  3. Greg, I love that word, glassine. Been wanting to use it for a while.

    Thanks Gerry, that's kind. There's a problem with the rhythm in 'The brine soaked ropes that bind her
    burn off and brand her with his devotion.' That I need to fix. Too tired last night, I'll have to come back to it.

  4. I love the sustained metaphor, and the passion behind it.

  5. You always remind me of Kenneth Slessor. Wonderful.

  6. Must be the bull dust, Miriam :)

  7. Thanks Francis. It needs a bit of tweaking, I'll be coming back and editing here and there.