Another guest poem today, from novelist and editor Sue Barnard. It
seemed rather fitting, in view of our current unseasonably warm weather.
A sonnet, in the style of a certain balding Elizabethan playwright ….
THE FIRST DRAFT OF SONNET XVIII
(with profuse apologies to William Shakespeare)
Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
To do so were, methinks, exceeding bold.
Forsooth, 'twould seem as though I wish to say
that thou art unpredictable and cold.
'Tis not just Summer which can men perplex;
Spring, Autumn, Winter can be foul or fair.
When, in the morn, your clothing you select,
you must for all extremities prepare.
Too soon can heat be gripped by icy hand,
and azure skies transformed to darkest grey;
the climate of this green unpleasant land
can furnish all four seasons in one day.
Some people claim they can the clime foresee;
if they speak true, a Dutchman must I be.
Sue Barnard is a British novelist, editor and award-winning poet whose family history is far stranger than any work of fiction. She would write a book about it if she thought anybody would believe her.
Sue speaks French like a Belgian, German like a schoolgirl, and Italian and Portuguese like an Englishwoman abroad. She lives in Cheshire with her extremely patient husband and a large collection of unfinished scribblings.
Author and Editor at Crooked Cat Books and Ocelot Press
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NOVELS: The Ghostly Father Nice Girls Don’t The Unkindest Cut of All Never on Saturday Heathcliff
Finding Nina – coming in 2019
POETRY: Variations on an Apology
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