I am set a sail upon this passage
my canvases full billowed, taut and tight,
swift breath compelling me on my voyage
as I fly along with no land in sight.
Bright, sun-water gems explode at my prow
and jauntily, I, on this roiling sea,
chant loud my gladsome sailor’s song to plow
true on my compass in ev’ry degree.
O do not deny me this lusty wind
which sets me free to stand this course unfurled,
for like all true lovers I am destined
to seek the unknown limits of this world.
Fix me you ever-changing, changeless sea,
heart-a-throb, I sail, straight into thy lee!
Writing sonnets is hard stuff. The structure is tight: fourteen lines of iambic pentameter, patterned rhyming, ending with a rhyming couplet. But while the rhyming is hard, the iambic pentameter is harder and saying something meaningful is the hardest.
Thank you for reading In ev’ry degree. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
© 2013 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. This poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © 2013 by John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com.