Lunching with the lover of literature
and life at the same sunny table -
He, danish salmon. Me, greek salad.
We, Shakespeare and James Joyce.
Our conversation turns
corners and gamuts.
We are beginning to traverse
a map of lunches.
When we will become real friends
on our journey is not known.
I do know, he's deeper, happier,
reads more than most discoursies,
and I'm on Sonnet Boulevard
due to his suggestion!
Sonnet Two...Seven Days Later
My friend with an interest in wit and form
asked for a sonnet, a luscious lemon souffle,
fresh from the oven, wafting and warm,
made from scratch, bliss of any gourmet.
I tried blank verse, listening to Shakespeare,
reading his sonnets, studying his plays.
Every poem I wrote, antipodal of air,
fell with a thud, the egged dud of my day.
If practice makes perfect, my mode is repeat,
to write a sonnet as grand as a souffle,
fragile, light, scrumptious, tangy and sweet.
I'll write sonnets till they rise every day.
Shakespeare, I love him, he's one of the three,
I would invite to dinner from history.