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Tuesday, January 13, 2004 |
Many thanks to the blogger whose name I don't know at the marvelously varied Wood s Lot, that Fool in the Forest George Wallace, and Michael Blowhard of 2Blowhards for their links to and kind words about this sonnet madness (sonnetarium indeed). And check out Slate's week-long diary from poet August Kleinzahler, much discussed a month or so ago on the New Poetry mailing list.
10:17:30 PM 
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This one's a rewrite of an old free verse poem. I'm not sure it's an improvement.
Some Stranger
3 beers before he'd tell me what he did,
And I just laughed. An angel? Cherub, right?
He lost those rosy cheeks—May God forbid
You meet their kind. You'd wither in that light.
When I heard that the booth got smaller quick.
It made me wonder if beer was all he'd had—
So pale! I asked him was he feeling sick.
He shook himself. He grinned, Not near as bad
As some will feel. Now that was really weird.
I played it safe and asked about his work—
Not bad to live forever, be revered,
Unless you're guardian to some wise-ass jerk…
You got it, pal. He drained his mug and stood.
I'm damned if I know how to do you good.
10:00:36 PM
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
2006 Michael Snider.
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