A Century of Sonnets...Life in the Fast Lane: Sonnet 3

Who Should Pay for Your Road Rage?

How funny he should pay for your mistake:

The one you made when you were playing chase;

while in pursuit of fair, for anger’s sake,

your madness left an imprint on his face.

A fine or two, and you were free to go;

the damages, for him, remain intact,

and daily he’s reminded of the blow

he suffered from your STUPID careless act.

No matter how he tries to make things right,

insanity’s his daily food for thought:

The nightmares aren’t exclusive to the night.

Yet with a check, your sanity’s been bought!

I doubt that you’d remember him at all

while learning such a lesson standing tall.

A Shakespearean sonnet

~dedicated to my belovéd~

2/11/10

Oh, To Ever Understand Thou Poetry Terms

O Poetry, poetry, wherefore art thou complex?
Tis but thy terms that are my enemy:
Thou art thyself, though not prosody.
What's prosody? It is nor hand nor foot,
Nor arm nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O be some other term!
What's in a poem? That which we call prosody
By any other name would smell as sweet;

Ugh...thee enjambment of brain cells
Thy meter of rhythm, no sense of closure
So poetry would, were it not poetry call'd,
Retain that dear insight which it oweth.

A twist [From Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, 1594]
J. DeBellis 8/31/09