Sonnets have been with us since the 13th century. Invented by Giacomo da Lentino in the Sicilian city of Palermo. One of several court poets, he devised a format that soon spread to the mainland and around the Western world. It is a form of verse that has retained its beauty and favour over the centuries. Petrarch’s name is still evoked with his established pattern, though Shakespeare’s versions are probably most well-known and followed. The key to all sonnets is in having fourteen lines though rhyme schemes may differ as per Petrarch or Shakespeare. Of course, sonnets have ebbed and flowed over the centuries; relaxed in design and schema as well as favour, but have always retained a pleasurable constraint for poets and readers alike. Sonnets do seem to be riding a positive wave currently and Tim Taylor provides classic proof.
The Dark
Some fear the dark, or what it may conceal.
They paint on its blank canvas every kind
of horror; almost none of them are real.
I see things differently. In night I find
a welcome haven. Daylight fills a town
with hubbub. Darkness does not make us blind
but opens eyes and ears to sights and sound
unnoticed in the chaos of the day:
the calls of birds, no longer drowned
by traffic; light that would be bleached away
by sunshine, in the dark is magnified:
moonlight on water, stars, the Milky Way.
The dark is more than that: a place to hide,
a thick cloak I can fold myself inside.
Winter Hills
The hills look naked in this winter light.
There are no trees, no flowers; even grass
is thin like old men’s hair. The birds took flight
some weeks ago for warmer lands, en masse.
The ground itself is scarred with peaty sores.
The sheep that might have come here in the spring
have long ago deserted these cold moors,
a wilderness devoid of anything
that might give comfort to human or beast.
I’ve seen enough. I should be going now
and yet, the kindly clouds are keen to help, at least
– they do the only thing that they know how.
I leave, but glad to see before I go
the hills clothed in the glory that is snow.
Tim Taylor lives in Meltham, West Yorkshire, but is a frequent visitor to Letchworth and the workshop group, Poetry ID. His poems have appeared in various magazines (e.g. Acumen, Orbis, Pennine Platform) and anthologies. His first collection Sea Without a Shore was published in 2019 and Life Times in 2022, both by Maytree Press. He has also published two novels. For more information: https://timwordsblog.wordpress.com
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