As the farmer held the shears, he told the sheep,
"Be good." He ran the blades against the wool,
and curly clouds were set adrift to sleep
upon the gentle blades of grass below.
He scooped the tufts into a sack, returned
inside his cottage, and began to weave.
He softly took the strands and made a sweater.
He sent it to her. But she returned the gift.
"I'm sorry. I cannot," read the letter
pinned to the breast. Depressed, the wool lost its bliss.
With butcher knife in hand, the farmer sought
and found the sheep. The wool-less sheep lifted
its head and whispered to the man, "Be good."
He slit its throat. "I'm sorry. I cannot."
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i see you got off your formalist high horse and wrote a terza rima sonnet. with this creation are you conceding you are incorrect about Turco? i like the poem but your iambs leave much to be desired. ictus on "the" in the first line? i know youll say syncopation, but i say anapest!
ReplyDeleteSeriously? Negative critique on my prosody from a man whose free verse is rhythmically monotonous? And regarding my opening line, it is NOT syncopation as the word "farmer" is a trochee. Surprisingly, I will agree with you: I open the sonnet with an anapest.
ReplyDeleteI am a formalist, to be sure, but if I must break my meter, I try to do so only on the first two, maybe three, feet.
I appreciate you reading the blog, even if your comment was not-quite correct.