This is a work in progress, a to-be-tinkered-with revision of “Sonnet Song” — yesterday’s post.
There are strange things done in the service of writing a sonnet;
For example, the modern idiom doesn’t quite fit:
Makes you think a pedantic were solemnly working upon it;
For the rhetoric, diction and syntax are trying my wit.
Then there’s the stanza that just won’t behave itself properly;
You’d think it was Gilbert and Sullivan recitative.
I try to take charge and rein in this cantankerous property;
But nothing I try can stop melting my cool by degrees.
Certain fans of free verse will just turn up their noses at scansion:
And rhyming will alienate them and completely bewilder;
But there is a place for the style of the rhymers and rappers
Succinct rhyme and rhythm are earning them plenty of silver.
Before you say a sonnet’s only crap,
Just listen to the brothers doing rap.
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