All of us who know Joseph Harker and read his work are impressed. Floored. Gobsmacked. Delighted. Pick a positive adjective and it fits, including “horny”! His pen name fascinates me; I believe “Harker” must come from Mary Shelley, which pleases me no end. I love her work. Much of Joseph’s work could translate into other times, and so my poem reflects how I imagine him, having never seen him.

I had promised J. a poem for his birthday BUT then that manhole cover was put on top of my head and gravity, oy, gravity… in other words, depression set in and I was unable to write. I wrote this BEFORE the depression. THAT’S how depressed I was; I didn’t even post it.

This form might be a snowball or an etheree, except I believe those are based on syllables, not words.  So this may be an Amyball or an etherbarlow, I’m not sure.  (Viv will tell me!)  So, without further adieu, may I present the inimitable…

Joseph Harker (belated birthday present)


Mister Harker

No other wordsmith

can cast his spell

Weaving phrases like spun glass

Each syllable carefully and lovingly considered

Attention to form, his style, so graceful

It takes a kind heart to create art

I can see him, slouched at his rolltop desk

Quill, inkwell, and parchment in place; he conjures a sonnet

© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

(Also on my poetic hearthstone, Poets United)