Implausibly, I took a friend to Fanfare
Books then nudged him through its doorway.
This was strange, since he wasn't really there.
Still, he kept me company. Morning rays
blessed old bricks then revered a worn wood
floor. My companion targeted photography
so I watched him hunt for what he could
'til art caught my eye, nearly blinded me.
Though I was alone, the moment was shared.
This, the paradox of poets, this bond so rare.
We crave solitude, yet solitude wears
on the very thing that lets words compile.
We met up in poetry. He'd dogged Wilde
while I bagged a thin volume of Baudelaire.
I was actually in this bookstore this morning
It is in a town called Stratford, known for its festival of Shakespearian plays
The above sonnet is a contemporary sonnet
Contemporary sonnets not only do not usually use meter, delve into a variance of rhyme schemes, freely, allow for unusual line breaks, mixed syllable counts; most contemporary sonneteers, however, still use the volta
This is for you, Caleb
I truly experienced this moment at the bookstore this morning
Thank you for your "Peace Blog"