Got into an argument with Avus. VR says the tendency is hard-wired and I should be ashamed of myself. Somehow an idea spilled out.
Sonnet – A voice transformed
My voice trapped on tape an aeon ago
Emerged down my nose, that vulgar outlet.
Lacking in comfort sound whined high and slow,
Pitched for complaint and brassy bar-chat.
A brake on all hope of sociable gain,
A fig for my thoughts so poorly expressed,
Loving yet loveless, for whining’s disdain,
The warmth of my breast remained unconfessed.
Late comes an option and blazingly right,
My whine takes on notes which others have set,
The words are improved, the rhythm delight,
Impulses gallop without let or fret.
My songs are unheard but, hey, do I care?
Those names! Holy names! That shine in fame’s glare
From my point of view it wasn't an "argument". I was just curious to know how you would have described the manner of speech of an elderly farmer's widow, if you had been there.
ReplyDeleteAvus: Impossible to do since I had to depend on your observations, several of which were subjective.
ReplyDeleteYou two are classic! I liked the poem. Well put.
ReplyDeleteKay Cooke: My verse is rarely lauded. Thanks for that. Sorry for the delayed response: as the most recent post shows I've been away and I didn't want to flag the house's emptiness to burglars.
ReplyDelete