Share it Please
the passing athletes to come in and sit
with me. The door- that means "I cannot write"-
is why, each day, alone, I read. They hit
so hard, you'd think they have no fear, but no!
Like hoarding rodents stash and cache their grub,
their blatant need for help, they will not show.
A genie, I can't grant until they rub.
I wonder, the next time they went to train,
if on the sideline was set up a door,
perhaps it would connect inside their brains
a writing coach could also help them score.
But I am shy; these thoughts don't leave my slate.
The door, still open to invite. I wait.
I wrote this (as you probably guessed) while at work... because sometimes I don't have a whole lot to do. At first, I was convinced writing a sonnet would be a tough task; but actually, it was pretty easy. I'm not saying that what I wrote is any good, but putting together a sonnet while trying to incorporate all of the rules was way less difficult than I anticipated. Unless I totally messed up, which wouldn't be too surprising.
Does anyone have any suggestions for my sonnet? Are there any places the iambic pentameter is off? Do my metaphors make sense?
I'm always embarrassed to tell people I'm an English major. I usually just say I'm pre-law, because I really do plan on going to law school. However, I actually really enjoy some of these more artsy assignments (poetry writing, blogging, etc.) even though I'm not in the least an artsy person.