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If Bard I Be

The sonnet form's antique and mired in dust,
Why should I strive thus so to write one well?
If bard I be then learn new styles I must.
Will I achieve my goal, who can foretell?
So here I sit again with pen in hand,
Attempting some new quatrains that will rhyme,
Entreating Muse to guide my falt'ring wand.
The formula, so strict, takes lots of time,
But I'll persist 'til fourteen lines are writ,
One final couplet crowning three quatrains,
Persistence now completing this last bit.
There's something 'bout a sonnet tests my brain.
Yet I prevail, these fourteen lines once one,
The prize obtained, this poet's work is done.

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Ilene Bauer

Date: 9/6/2025 1:50:00 PM

i think the bard himself would approve, jim!

Jim Slaughter
Date: 9/7/2025 10:16:00 AM

Many thanks, Ilene.

Lin Lane

Date: 9/6/2025 10:08:00 AM

And very well done it is, Jim. You’ve explained the angst of a poet who may be intimidated by the very word, Sonnet. The form is just rhymes, not something divine. The hand that holds the pen is in full control.

Jim Slaughter
Date: 9/7/2025 10:16:00 AM

Thanks, Lin...I agree...mostly.