Man, I'm getting dumped on at work, which is ironic, since it doesn't really qualify as work as I don't get paid, and I'm not "at" work at all, since I work from home. How great would it be if everything were properly organized? Probably not all that great.
What Kind of Life
Life imitates art, so they say
But when? When does all the content
settle into lines of measure, stable rhymes,
easy quatrains, a turn halfway through?
To be so lucky! Know each meeting
Ended in fourteen lines,
Hear a couplet and know the relationship
Is over.
Everything done in one hundred
and forty syllables, so neat, so orderly,
Wishful thinking, I suppose. But what kind of
Life - to know the patterns, to see it coming,
To know that at your funeral
two rhyming lines, together, follow you into the ground?
(A man's gotta break from form at some point. It's hard work, all this syllabic intricacy.)
The Weekly Sonnet is exactly what it sounds like. Every week, there'll be a shiny new sonnet for your perusal; some will be traditional, some will be not so much, some will test the boundaries of what exactly a sonnet is. It's a project, an experiment, and a hobby all rolled into one. All materials published on this page are copyrighted to Warmonger Smurf. If you publish any segment of this site without my permission, I will sneak into your house at night and pee on your toothbrush.
1 comment:
Breaking form?!?! Ack--I can't look--
(Actually, I love this one. Breaking the rules and thereby achieving greater concinnity = hot.)
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