By Angela M. Kneale
Surreal modern sonnet
March 1999
A pear tree lullaby
tonight I dine on sleepy porridge made
to near perfection in my altered state
by candlelight I walk to microwave
and Seer my ear with (beeper beeper) plate
in hand I look at clock to see it's three
and Dew's upon the ground so scantily
like peacocks' fans my Lashes long are Free
to wander where they please and jauntingly
my porridge tumbles to the ground and Pear
tree Whispers Whispers golden fruit surrounds
those Branches of familiar loving care
to keep this time of lucid dreams abound
like green and blue of peacocks' shiny plume
this lullaby is silently attuned.
