InSoWriMo: the First

Here's REALLY hoping they get better as the month goes on, but the week is slipping by and I was desperate, so here you go.

Ode to the Morning Routine Around Here

Shall I compare thee—“two girls want to eat!”

Cereal flakes, buttered waffles or toast?

Milk first, the kettle filled, Sesame Street

Cued on the laptop—the one you like most.

Batter my heart three—“scrambled eggs and cheese!”

Where is the frying pan? Still in the sink—

Crusted with last night’s leftovers and grease

By the bananas beginning to stink.

I caught this morning—“the milk on the floor

Needs to be wiped! But I didn’t mean it!

Just an accident—I’ll do it no more.

Especially if you make me
clean it.”

Writing a sonnet in the morning is

Not easy when you’re waiting on two kids.

Now, where's yours?

15 responses to “InSoWriMo: the First

  1. Brava! This reminds me of some of Marilyn Hacker’s poems.

  2. Well, anyhow it’s baldly honest. It sucks for the reasons illustrated within it!

  3. Brava! (Mine will never emerge: the sonnet form eludes me. As does most poetry, alas.)

  4. Oops — meant to say, as a composer, not a reader. Poetry delights readers-me. [Maybe prose forms elude me, too. Sigh.]

  5. I havent let it stop me, obviously!

  6. Well done! I can’t handle novel in a month. Not even several sonnets in a month. But for the past few days I have been aiming to complete a sentence in a week. So far so good. Not looking to “aim high” right now in my life: I’m happy just to “make do.” LOL

  7. Though mine’s not complete, I shouldn’t complain; but being a high school English teacher, I must: YOUR SONNET IS INCOMPLETE!!! THERE IS NO RHYMING COUPLET!!!! To not have a rhyming couplet is a crime against the form — it’s like watching a movie, where before resolving the conflict, the main character is run over by a bus, followed by the rolling of credits.

  8. i’ll work on a sonnet tomorrow; this is from my partner julie, who is a little bit of an idiot savant when it comes to sonnet writing. I think she dreams in iambic pentameter:
    A “dona nobis pacem” frame of mind
    eludes me and the world this time of year:
    no peace on earth, no tranquil hope may find
    free lodging absent stealth companion’s fear.
    The bleak midwinter challenges my mood,
    A dilatory penchant for stiff drink,
    The promise of vast stores of festive food,
    I cannot draw a breath nor even think
    About the 40 thousand items on my list
    of absolutely musts and shoulds and mights
    …How is a girl to stave off being pissed
    About responsibilities’ mad flights
    through quantum realms of things still left undone?
    I fear the race is o’er before ‘tis run.

  9. so, i sat down to do this tonight, and while i was thinking about it, i received a copy of a sermon by my friend and pastor, michael caine, which i had requested because i wanted to reread it for something i’m going to be writing on my blog. since i was thinking about his sermon anyway, i decided to rewrite it as a sonnet. the sermon was titled “people matter.”
    Syrophoenician woman, like a dog
    you wait for crumbs of bread to heal your child.
    You break convention, touch the man, agog,
    insist that no one should be spurned, reviled.
    In you Jesus confronts the demon fear:
    of woman, gentile, unclean foreigner.
    Not just the food he shared beside the pier
    is clean, but also now the soul in her
    your child. Her soul, your courage magnifies
    the Lord, expands his heart and shows him now
    what love can make us see through clearer eyes,
    and hearts can strive to make their solemn vow:
    with no exceptions, never, now nor then,
    all People Matter. Lord we say amen!

  10. Awesome!
    Were going to have to put together a little book of all of them.

  11. Here’s mine, inspired (or “inspired”) by some of the collects of Advent:
    It’s now in the time of this mortal life
    We have to struggle on our coats and shoes
    And exit into works of darkness: strife
    And howling wind and economic blues.
    It’s mid-December. Stacks of grading frown
    And coffee isn’t good enough, and chicks
    Who last week seemed so happy now are down
    In muteness no false cheer of mine can trick.
    So light the candles. Maranatha. Come.
    Bright living armor shields us all from harm.
    The promise of a baby strikes us dumb;
    Let us be first to hold you in our arms.
    Defense against the darkness hides your face.
    Make us defenseless, humble. Give us grace.

  12. My God!, Marta and Jenny, those are phenomenal! I thought I was working on a good sonnet, but apparently I’ve been away from the poetry circle too long. Hopefully, you both can teach me how to write in iambic pentameter AND modern phrasing . . . I keep sounding like John Donne.

  13. Patrick, there’s not much wrong with sounding like John Donne!

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