Sonnet From The Nineteenth of Christmas

A Free Verse Sonnet

You're Crooked

You are

- - 1, 2, 3

your crooked smile makes me

melt like an ice pole in mid July

Sunshine. Or a 

Twister

2, 3,

omniscient?

You know,

all knowing.

You know what I

want and

You're beautiful, too.

3, 4, 5, 6 [fine]

7, 8, 9 [ok, 'nine']

Double Dactyl

Otherwise known as Higgledy Piggledy...

Here's my attempt...

Terrible Journalist

 

Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake,

Jennifer Anniston,

Suddenly visited

Horrible Farringdon

Socially studying

Microbiology

Turning the tables on

Canons of medicine,

Truly increasing her

Marketablility. 

It's all good fun!

Sun On My Hair

This is new today, I wrote it for class to hand in with my portfolio, but it came out really naturally and I enjoyed writing it! So I thought I'd share...

My copy of Watchfiends and Rack Screams

Dog-eared and dirty in the corners,

Sits atop my digital decoder, 

And under a birthday card from my Mo

ther.

Through my window and across my room

Beats the sun on my hair.

That frame, hand made,

The sequins from a pair of old satin

shoes.

The figures, my family,

Although they are not my relatives.

Behind the photographer, and past squinting eyes,

Beats the sun on my hair.

Good day, green tea

Yoga on the lawn, that sound, drifting

Of you plucking the metal strings

And my voice to our

songs.

That day I bought new shoes,

And you said they were lovely.

The smell your freshly laundered clothes

And the sound of the busy Parisians.

The slit in the too-short curtains lets a in tail that licks our covers and our faces, 

and through it,

Beats the sun on my hair.

I would usually not use a rhyming form because I don't really like the restriction, and English is not the best language to rhyme in! But all the same, I've written a Villanelle...

Is this how you wanted me to remember you?

My wasted effort, my heart and my sleeve

Isn't it odd to think we once were two?

To think of all the ways I knew 

that we would fall apart and I would grieve...

Is this how you wanted me to remember you?

It's a dream to recall the motions we went through

It's a dream to reenact the ways you'd leave

Isn't it odd to think we once were two?

All the words you'd say, all the things you'd assume

I do not hate you, but I do not believe 

that this is how you wanted me to remember you.

And then you gave me that certain, sullen cue,

I knew to remove my possessions and myself, retrieve.

Suddenly, it's odd to think we once were two.

I do not know you, although somehow, I do.

And alone, you see the things you see and live the way you live.

Is this how you wanted me to remember you:

To think, isn't it odd to think we, once, were two?