I could not believe it; it’s my last poetry assignment from Blogging University and I felt like I barely started. I feel slightly betrayed to be honest, because I thought that I will be getting assignments for the entire month of October! These assignments are the only things keeping me active with my blog right now, despite my busy schedule and school. I also feel that my poems do not do justice for all the support I have gained from joining this community of poets. I got lots of likes, comments and even new followers! I am so grateful for you all and thank you so much for your continuous support. I couldn’t have made it this far without all of your encouragement. Who knows, I could’ve given up on poetry pretty early on if I didn’t receive the recognition I did here. You are all wonderful, I salute you!
My last poem assignment this time is an emotional and personal response towards the style of poetry called: sonnets. I find sonnets extremely difficult. Why? Because I am a perfectionist. When writing poetry in a particular method, I must make sure I am following the actual preconditions of what that poetry-style has to be like. For sonnets, it must consist of iambic pentametres in every line and a rhyming pattern of ABAB CDCD EFEF GG (in the case of a Shakespearean sonnet). It limits me greatly, because I have to pay attention not just to the rhyming at the end of the lines, but also at the number of syllables and the stresses and it’s oh so stressful. I couldn’t even squeeze in any of my favourite poetic devices like metaphors and alliteration just because I am so piled up with the rules.
I’ve seen others works before writing my own, and some of them have broken the strict rules of sonnet composition. I don’t want to be like that, but I don’t take pleasure in writing sonnets either. Here is the end result of all of that brain-racking. I’d love to know what you think of this!
Sonnet 0: A Novice’s Attempt
A. A. Kamalov
What joy can sonnets bring to me, my friend?
Such stringencies could never pleasure me.
I must admit this one is hard to pen,
But persevere and focus and I’ll be.
I want to write about the snacks I crave,
Like Belgian waffles served with chocolate sauce.
But how can I express, am I a slave
To metres, iambs, rhymes, my poem’s boss?
Well, Shakespeare never had a problem with
Inserting rhymes so flawlessly like art.
I lack capacity to end this with
True words that actually flow from my heart.
I must proclaim: I am a free-verser!
And sonnets merely for the precursor.