For this post I decided to revisit some writing work from college. The following is a sonnet I wrote for a creative writing course that covered fiction, poetry, and playwriting. Poetry is not my strong suit and I don’t enjoy reading or writing it. The segment of that course that focused on poetry is the only training I’ve had in the subject. I fumbled through it and, in the end, my professor agreed that poetry isn't my forte. That said, I think any writer can benefit from studying poetry. Studying and writing poetry, sonnets in particular, for that course taught me an important lesson in structure and simplicity. If I remember correctly this was the only poem I wrote that received positive feedback from my professor and reading it not only reminds me of those lessons, it also makes me smile.
A crystal sea of fresh water stretches
endlessly. Rumbling waves tumble one
over another; their tongues making etches
in the cool compact grains on shore. The sun
majestically warms her subjects who flip from
back to front like pancakes on a griddle.
Then they will swarm these small town streets like bums.
They’ll eat. They’ll shop. They’ll drink. They’ll dance. Little
by little, though, they will disappear. Behind
them they will leave only scraps of summer;
grains of sand mingling with snow drops. Kind
signs that read “Closed for Winter.” A shrinking number
of subjects stroll the streets. An icy zephyr
roars off the water, moving things like feathers.
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