Form Fitting

“I will obey the rules, this time.”

Sonnet Number One

Restraint is duly the forsaken course
For feral actions are survivals row
Eat or be eaten simple rules of flow
The unencumbered mind reflects the source
The wild wordsmith will bellow until hoarse
It bucks and kicks, reviles form, writes, defies
Narration due adjudicating eyes
It romps and rants, and resists when trends blow

Corralled, trussed, bridled, broken, brought to post
A wagon full of words, are hitched, then pitched
A nimble cantor invokes Wordsworth’s ghost
Dressages tended, fancy silks are stitched

I jog the sequence once held in disdain
And don the saddle with hopes for acclaim

© Ted Washington 2009