For Easter, I thought I’d send you the best use of the word oology in a poem — but I couldn’t find one! Such a poetic word, I’m certain there must be a poem-a-day-worthy oology poem out there in the world somewhere — perhaps you know of one? Please send it to me. Or write it and then send it to me.
In the meantime, the award for best use of lambent in a sonnet goes to Patty Seyburn — who deliciously considers the human condition at the intersection of believing in an afterlife and eating baby animals for dinner.
Enjoy.
Ellen
I butterflied Australian rack of lamb
with shallots, garlic, parsley, butter, wine
(some in the pan, some for the palate).
Although the livestock loved in nursery rhyme
avoided clumps of mint, it served my family
nonetheless. I am no PETA zealot
(leather jacket, handbag, wallet, shoes)
but wonder if the deeds we do pursue
us in the afterlife. Does the fleecy
creature have a tenderable claim?
My lambent mind considers our short lease
on life, the oven hot. Am I to blame?
Who gave thee such a tender voice? asked Blake.
Myself am Hell. I watch the mutton bake.
For the Blake reference, see “The Lamb” (and “The Tyger”). Seyburn’s train of thought then transitions to Satan’s famous line from John Milton’s Paradise Lost — a work that greatly influenced Blake.