Poetry Thursday — I mean Friday
Lee commented on the last post that parenting is about setting limits and then within those, allowing children to frolic. I like the word “frolic.” It brings up images of children in linen, dancing in poppy fields. (I nearly wrote poopy fields which is not a nice image). Limits and freedom within limits always makes me think of sonnets. I love a good sonnet. What follows is NOT a good sonnet, but I’m supposed to be working so it will have to do. It is a late offering to Poetry Thursday.
A sonnet is a prison. Fourteen lines.
Two sets of an ABBA rhyme scheme –
Wait – what’s that song? You are a dancing queen!
(Ahem. Sorry.) Then CDE two times.
Though “twice” would be more elegant, “two times”
rhymes. And fits the pentameter. Like cream
in coffee, it works. Which supports my theme
That in this form, the right word is what rhymes.Still, without walls, freedom is meaningless.
A wild, desperate flailing in the dark.
A sonnet, like a parent, sets limits
To keep the writer safe from sloppiness.
Like poems, our lives are bound by quote marks.
Between our start and end, choose what word fits.
I went through a brief period of trying to write sonnets. They all turned out to be garbage. But I think you’ve inspired me to give it another try. I’m a dancing queen!
i love that…
i love that poetry
can also be quirky and
sharp…
sarcastic and then suddenly,
a line later…
sweet.
poopy fields…
teehee.
A bit of tenacious frolicing goiing on within the boundaries!
This is brilliant. How do you DO that? How do you write to PENTAMETER, for God’s sake??????
I am impressed. Oh, Stuntmother, you’re the only woman I know who could get away with homeschooling your kids.
I adore you.
Hee Hee . . . poopy fields.