I wrote a Petrarchan Sonnet in Iambic pentameter about writing poetry as part of an application for volunteer work at a writing center. It is below. I am now a volunteer there.
They say it's difficult to write a rhyme
That meter's ticking like a metronome
And one's organic voice is now a drone
How can a writer feel in marking time?
In freeform I respect a blob of nouns
But I don't know which ones I should display
I might just throw a dart at what to say
But no, it lands on one I can't pronounce
I know! I'll pick up my guitar and sing!
Then words will have to come out to the beats
And I'll pretend I had them all along
Well, shoot, guitar's one thing I didn't bring
But in my heart there's one line that repeats:
"Write from myself, and then those words belong."
Wreturning to Writing,
Art
No comments:
Post a Comment