Wednesday, February 05, 2020


A look back over my browsing history, one might come to the conclusion that I'm well on the path to an unhealthy obsession with sex.

It's a homework task for my creative writing degree course - (that's what they all say!)

Step one involved brainstorming words about sex. Thinking about sex? It was enough to have me blushng!  I needed fourteen words - words that I could see incorporated in a sonnet.

Step two required me to write a sonnet about death. I'm not sure that just because there are fourteen lines that it makes it a sonnet. The task did not demand iambic pentameter or a rhyming scheme, although there was a change of direction, a volta, or turn, needed somewhere.

It turned out fine in the end. Marrying sex with death certainly stretched my creativity.
Touch lingers though you are gone
Whispers trace what was, but is no more
Tasting sorrow on my tongue, I
Tremble in a world grown hostile. I
Need something of you and
Stroke memories into fresh vitality
Pulse slows to sleeping as seasons
Merge – then and now and will be
Heart pauses, stops, restarts as a new
Rhythm supplants the old
Delight seems an impossible notion yet
Curves a quiet promise and
Presses a changing pattern inside
Filling a darkness with persistent light

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