For when I saw her
a sonnet
I once saw a body, well she once was,
For when I saw her in my library,
She was a lonely ghost, that gave me pause,
The ghost began to speak her sad story.
_________________________
Once upon a time, she loved a bold man,
Trusted him with her soul, spirit, and life,
She drove him wild, the way she moved her fan,
Soon his feelings of jealousy were rife.
_________________________
He could not abide her flirting with men,
So, he made his plans, gathered his poison,
Pages of books, her only friends, were laced
With hemlock, no more would she be wanton.
________________________
I will never forget the ghost I saw,
My library has changed forever more.
About the Creator
Emma Datson
I am 40ish, medically interesting, Australian poet, who is finally using her voice. My superpower is my vocabulary. Dive in and read an eclectic mix of poetry and creative non-fiction, full of love, grief and hope. Light, love
Keep reading
More stories from Emma Datson and writers in Poets and other communities.
Occupying Liminal Spaces
In his groundbreaking work, Man's Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl, an Austrian neurologist, psychologist, and Holocaust survivor, advanced an idea central to his philosophy of freedom and finding meaning and purpose: "Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In this space, it is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom” (Frankl). Like a threshold, that liminal space Frankl describes is the territory of haiku—a betwixt and between world brimming with potential. But in our mad rush towards whatever beckons, we often fail to notice the moments where life undergoes subtle changes amid the noise and commotion of the world.
By Geoffrey Philp 7 days ago in Poets
One Minute to Noon
“OK, guys!” I screech over the macaw-like chatter in my sophomore English class. My students are sharing mementos they accumulated during summer vacation. The assignment is to interview each other and write an expository essay about another student’s treasure: Misty’s coquina shells and sand dollars from Florida, Ruth’s two Navajo pottery mugs from New Mexico, Roxy’s perfume from Paris, Kevin’s chocolate from Hershey Pennsylvania, a picador’s sword from a bullfight in San Fermin Spain, where one of my favorite students, Manny Pérez, ran with the bulls at festival.
By Lacy Loar-Gruenler6 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.