Something like a Sonnet

Fly-specked and dusty and perfectly mine
is this space for poetry out of time
where worry troubles not the moted air.
Once over the threshold nary a care
can raise its fleecy bothersome head
demanding attention I’ve already shed
when doffing my coat and winter hat
and lighting a fire, spit-spat.
Done, I assume the writer’s seat
pick up the pen and relish the heat.
Ink on paper, word on tongue
a chant that can be daily sung
to invoke the Muse in all its glory
and contribute one note to the human story.

One thought on “Something like a Sonnet

  1. Is this not a perfect description of the contemplative practice…to step over the threshold and leave all worries outside and open yourself to the Muse?

    Your words spring to life for the ones unable to see with your eyes.

    Mary

    Like

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