Saturday, January 30, 2010

Numbers on the ground.

I wanted to kickstart the posts on this website with some personal video footage and I'm working towards it.
But until then - and that's not to say that the current content is of lesser value than the footage - here's a Shakespearean sonnet I wrote awhile back.
I'm also writing another in spondaic pentameter, but it's not finished yet.

For A-.

In times of dreadful sadness rearing up

Which almost always happens nowadays

To beg a drink of water from your cup

Can carry force majeure inside your maze.

When seeds and hairs, despite a constant growth

Are nurtured into states so beauteous

Reminders glare inside my eyes of oaths

I once believed to sound so duteous.

Designing tales free of vicious truth

Absolves my absolutely frail mind

Of crying games, alcohol, and living proof

Persuading heart and soul to break their bind.

Imagination blind, my efforts hold

Predictions bearing weight in worthless gold.

Beauteous and duteous aside, writing sonnets is more enjoyable than I thought it'd be. I'm not inclined towards poetry - it feels like every poem I write can be expanded into something larger, and rightly so in most instances. But sonnets require form, and with form comes concision (in some cases)...and the form that sonnets require make me discover new ideas, I find. It's true.

There's not enough legend behind this sonnet to make it worthwhile to the general public, I know. For now it's only a case of the young man (YOUNG MAN) expressing his feelings through words, which we all know is a cute but fruitless endeavour. Right? Right. This youth just disgusts me (it's time for me to stop writing about this tired subject).