Author: Pamela Sumners
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A CRITIQUE OF SONNETS
Shakespeare, you’re your own jester, or a poor counselor. Love bends constantly, or it snaps like sugar in the canebrake, bows each day in these marshy thickets domesticated by decree, springing tensile, erasing from memory all the stray words, slights to that fragile and faulty soldered daily repair that improves each day the grievances it…
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American Laureate
I want to be the poet-in-residence at Mall of America oh yeswhere I’d ululate, scream, chest-thump and rant and chantand assemble everyone into drumming circles where we shriekabout our angry vaginas hanging by a thread and The Patriarchywielding an equally angry sword of Damocles over our headsand rhyme and order are prosecuted as political crimes.…