POEM: Sonnet Boom

("Nuns fret not" meets "The Windhover")

The mighty Wordsworth, like Prometheus bound
Who mortal man with fire did illume
Served time so long within his narrow room--
His sonnet's scant, tho' fecund, plot of ground--
That in its very narrowness he found
The tranquil recollection of the womb
Nor ventured out, conditioned to assume
Its walls his rhyme and rhythm must surround.
Thus, surely at his window he'd have stood
In disapproving wonder at the whim-
blown Hopkins, who had gall enough to skim
toward reaches Wordsworth wouldn't if he could:
wrestling wind, loving the freedom, finding it good
and teasing staid stanzas out to soar with him.


(Published in Inklings, Summer, 1994)