Life

As mentioned above, here's a sonnet I wrote in imitation of the early 16th century poet, Sir Thomas Wyatt's "They flee from me." I post Wyatt's original first and my meager updated version below it. Comments are welcome, but keep in mind it was written in a jovial spirit. Of course I also welcome any discussion about the original Wyatt, which is a great poem.

The Original:

THEY flee from me, that sometime did me
seek,
With naked foot stalking within my
chamber :
Once have I seen them gentle, tame, and meek,
That now are wild, and do not once remember,
That sometime they have put themselves in danger
To take bread at my hand ; and now they range
Busily seeking in continual change.
Thanked be Fortune, it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better ; but once especial,
In thin array, after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown did from her shoulders fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small,
And therewithal sweetly did me kiss,
And softly said, ' Dear heart, how like you this ?'
It was no dream ; for I lay broad awaking :
But all is turn'd now through my gentleness,
Into a bitter fashion of forsaking ;
And I have leave to go of her goodness ;
And she also to use new fangleness.
But since that I unkindly so am served :
How like you this, what hath she now deserved ?

~Sir Thomas Wyatt


My Pale Imitation:

“Women used to eat out of my hand,” he said.
They fawned on me and when I said ‘Baby,
You’re looking fine,’ I knew we’d get to bed,
Even as they hid their eyes and told me ‘maybe,’
Yeah, now they’ve all forgotten they were mine.
You can’t trust women. But I’ve done O.K.
A thousand times, especially one time
When she wore that flimsy, flirty, dress one warm day
And she let the straps slip off her shoulders
And held me in her soft, small arms and kissed
Me with her sweet, small lips and, even bolder,
Kissed again saying, ‘Baby, how do you like this?’
And now she’s kindly given me my space to find
Herself another man. Hope he is just as “kind.”

~Ms. Petrarch's Love