We write on water, we poets. Most of
us. Some write on sand, brief calligraphy
for seagulls, shore-birds and the slow inev-
itable tide. A few write to stain the sea,so intense, the color of their ink salts
the words of their inheritors years
beyond their own decline. It’s not their fault
that rules and ideologies emergepoem by innocent poem. Some writers
strive to obscure the mysterious; some try
to reveal the obvious. Some are rhymers;
some are not. Some leap at the chance to fly.In hopes they will endure, some write their odes
on stone. Stone is hard. But even stone erodes.
RWP offered two poems — a sonnet and a free verse. The prompt was to pick the style that appeals least to you and write in that manner about the same theme: the transity of human efforts.
This week’s prompt was to write a sonnet.
I know, it doesn’t scan. I’m open to suggestions.

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