Sonnet of a Sort, for Our Times
by Richard Zaner



When to the usual man in the street the lyric
Irony of couches and cars is distant
As the comedy of know and be; the trenchant
Thunder of a field of wheat but satiric
Nonsense of sheer plodding feet; and the tragedy
Of a child’s tears but fruit for therapy:

Ah, then’s the time for singing’s celebration.
When singing’s at an end, and mystery’s gestation
Seems vanished by the winds of puerile doctrine;
When the workings of a madman are locked in
Keyless phrases and the touches of a lover
But public coin for books behind whose covers

Is the sense that sex is only groin,
Then singing must capture this in poem,
Leave nothing out; compose for all the folk;
And, grinning, disclose the ancient joke.





x

Copyright 2017 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.