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Master Gray
 
A string quartet is seated on the stage,
A poem set to strings is next to play.
I’m also on the podium, downstage,
My sonnet, I’m about to read today.
 
The young composer is one Master Gray,
A skinny youth with blond and tousled hair.
He’s studying his score like he’s to play!
There’s music now, the people start to stare.
 
My gaze meets that of an ethereal Gray,
This ghost stands up and joins me on the stage.
Both he and I are naked as the day.
He melds his body into mine, frottage.
 
Applause! The recitation’s done, hooray!
And there, with knowing smile, sits Master Gray.
 
Copyright © 4 November 2024, Alan John Branford
 
 
A sonnet, in the common English form.
 
This poem was read to the November 2024 meeting of the Friendly Street Poets, Adelaide.
 
(November 2024)
  
 
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Last Update: 14 November 2024