.

Construct a convincing paragraph of well-written, coherent prose that also happens to be a properly composed Shakespearean sonnet. This challenge and the below example come from poet James A. Tweedie. 

.

Example

.

First the prose paragraph:

.

I’ve never understood why poets write their verse in artificial metered lines. “Da-DA-Da-DA-Da-DA-Da-DA!” They might as well be speaking gibberish! And rhymes? Who talks like that? Well, maybe rappers do. But no one that I know would ever want to talk that way. Can you imagine who in their right mind would see a friend and saunter over at a party or a play and say something as crazy as, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” No way! As far as I’m concerned, I’d rather die than think, or even worse, to say out loud the words: “I wandered lonely as a cloud.”

.

Here it is rearranged in sonnet form:

.

Doublespeak

I’ve never understood why poets write
Their verse in artificial metered lines.
“Da-DA-Da-DA-Da-DA-Da-DA!” They might
As well be speaking gibberish! And rhymes?

Who talks like that? Well, maybe rappers do.
But no one that I know would ever want
To talk that way. Can you imagine who
In their right mind would see a friend and saunt-

er Over at a party or a play
And say something as crazy as, “Shall I
Compare thee to a summer’s day?” No way!
As far as I’m concerned I’d rather die

Than think, or even worse, to say out loud
The words: “I wandered lonely as a cloud.”

.

 

Post yours in the comments below.

.


NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets.

The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary.


Trending now:

51 Responses

  1. Dayle Olson

    Some poets (very few) manage to be clever and playful at the same time. James Tweedie makes it look infuriatingly easy.

    Reply
  2. C.B Anderson

    Double Jeopardy

    Poetic challenges are not my cup of tea. They tend to make me set aside important projects I’ve been dreaming up to spread my reputation far and wide. And furthermore, I heartily resent the implication that the normal stuff I write, and all the effort I have spent perfecting it, are simply not enough. But now that I have had a chance to think it over, I am rather glad that you have pushed my patience to the very brink and made me reinvest in something new. The worst thing, for a bard alive or dead, is going through eternity unread.

    Double Jeopardy

    Poetic challenges are not my cup
    Of tea. They tend to make me set aside
    Important projects I’ve been dreaming up
    To spread my reputation far and wide.
    And furthermore, I heartily resent
    The implication that the normal stuff
    I write, and all the effort I have spent
    Perfecting it, are simply not enough.
    But now that I have had a chance to think
    It over, I am rather glad that you
    Have pushed my patience to the very brink
    And made me reinvest in something new.
    The worst thing, for a bard alive or dead,
    Is going through eternity unread.

    Reply
    • Edward "Ted" Hayes

      Tres Bien, Monseur Anderson! Your fame now goes further abroad! — Edward “Ted” Hayes

      Reply
    • Rachel Lott

      “The worst thing, for a bard alive or dead,
      is going through eternity unread.”

      Ha, too true! Here’s a temporal glass raised in your honour. There’s at least one fate that won’t befall you!

      Reply
  3. K.S. Anthony

    A COMPLAINT:

    Dear Sir,

    I found your challenge an offense to art, to rhyme, to reason, and to taste: a game for fools with no aesthetic sense and dilettantes whose lives are but a waste.

    I demand to know your motivation and, furthermore, I think it’s fair to ask you give us all some rote supplication and cancel this inane, absurdist task.

    And dare I raise the question of what’s next? Will “epigrams-but-rap” see Wilde spin? Perhaps a villanelle-but-over-text or other ghastly literary sin.

    I hate to enter into these affrays, but here we are.

    Yours truly,

    KSA.

    A COMPLAINT

    Dear Sir, I found your challenge an offense
    To art, to rhyme, to reason, and to taste:
    A game for fools with no aesthetic sense
    And dilettantes whose lives are but a waste.

    I demand to know your motivation
    And, furthermore, I think it’s fair to ask
    You give us all some rote supplication
    And cancel this inane, absurdist task.

    And dare I raise the question of what’s next?
    Will “epigrams-but-rap” see Wilde spin?
    Perhaps a villanelle-but-over-text
    Or other ghastly literary sin.

    I hate to enter into these affrays,
    But here we are. Yours truly, KSA.

    Reply
    • C.B Anderson

      It has always been a matter of turning ordinary language into something special.

      Reply
      • K.S. Anthony

        I’m not sure what you mean by “it” –
        Not being coy or cunning –
        I’ve never cared for language dull or cold.

        But when it comes to written wit –
        In turns of phrase or punning –
        My own approach is haughty, daring: bold.

        To alchemy one must commit
        To make the basest stunning;
        Transmuting lead to ordinary gold,

        While writers seek the words that fit
        And other’s mouths are running
        What’s special is whatever’s left untold.

  4. James A. Tweedie

    By the stars, this challenge has already unleashed brilliance! I’m not surprised to find C.B., the master of enjambment, rise to the challenge as cream rises to the top of an unhomogenized bottle of milk, but I am especially pleased to find KSA adding his own clever, cheeky take on the matter at hand. Dare I hope for more of the same on the morrow?

    Reply
    • K.S. Anthony

      I wouldn’t ask a woman’s age
      Or dare to guess her weight,
      Nor would I lend my pen to page
      On matters grave with weight.

      I don’t assume tomorrow’s birth
      Nor that I’ll see its death,
      So, when it comes to morrow’s mirth
      I wouldn’t hold my breath.

      Reply
  5. James A. Tweedie

    I hope that if tomorrow comes
    I’ll be alive to see it.
    But if I’m not, then bless my bums,
    How could I guarantee it?

    But if, by chance, I wake to find
    Tomorrow has me in it,
    I’ll “seize the day” and be inclined
    To savor every minute.

    Reply
    • K.S. Anthony

      If tomorrow doesn’t come
      (For it’s never certain)
      And I should lie cold, still, and numb
      Then I guess it’s curtains.

      Strike the stage, turn out the lights,
      The play is done at last.
      And when the house is dark tonight
      Please leave my role uncast.

      But if Broadway’s lights still glow
      For just a one-night-stand,
      Or maybe just a one-man show
      By popular demand,

      I ask this, O tragic muse
      Of thee, I do implore
      If I’ve another role to choose
      Then I’ll play me. Encore.

      Reply
  6. Cynthia Erlandson

    I so admire poets who can write so fast. I never can keep up. For instance, a piece of news is barely out; this site reports it in a poem. I’ve no chance to catch my breath before a poet rises to oratory: in poetic form and keen satire, one editorializes upon the day’s new story with a storm of words. The queen of this is Jarvis-Bryant. For such a speedy task, I am too slow. I don’t think I am even an aspirant; I am no Bryant, nor am I a Poe. And many here so quickly answer challenges, while I’m still trying to think of rhymes for oranges. (I can’t believe I did that in an hour.) (That’s not part of the sonnet.)

    Reply
    • Cynthia Erlandson

      I so admire poets who can write
      So fast. I never can keep up. For instance,
      A piece of news is barely out; this site
      Reports it in a poem. I’ve no chance
      to catch my breath before a poet rises
      To oratory: in poetic form
      And keen satire, one editorializes
      Upon the day’s new story with a storm
      Of words. The queen of this is Jarvis-Bryant.
      For such a speedy task, I am too slow.
      I don’t think I am even an aspirant;
      I am no Bryant, nor am I a Poe.
      And many here so quickly answer challenges,
      While I’m still trying to think of rhymes for oranges.

      Reply
      • James A. Tweedie

        Thanks, Cynthia. A prose/poem that serves as laudable applause for SJB. I hope it echoes all the way to Texas so she can hear it!

        By the way, it was fun trying to parse your paragraph before the sonnet appeared. You hid it wonderfully!

      • Rachel Lott

        Cynthia, I didn’t even realize your comment was a sonnet until I hit the scanned version. Bravo for working in both SJB and oranges!

  7. Paul Freeman

    Our Solar System (Paragraph)

    Fleet Mercury is closest to the sun, then Venus, our own Earth and red-hued Mars. These four terrestrial planets you could run upon their surfaces, beneath the stars. The Outer Solar System grants a home to four gas giants, past the asteroid belt. Here Jupiter and ring-bound Saturn roam with Uranus and Neptune. Yet there dwelt a ninth, the farthest planet, till its size and orbit had it relegated from the club of ‘Wandering Stars’ by those more wise – thus Pluto lost its planetary aplomb. These depths are where eccentric asteroids fly, and comets which one day may light our sky.

    Our Solar System (Sonnet)

    Fleet Mercury is closest to the sun,
    then Venus, our own Earth and red-hued Mars.
    These four terrestrial planets you could run
    upon their surfaces, beneath the stars.
    The Outer Solar System grants a home
    to four gas giants, past the asteroid belt.
    Here Jupiter and ring-bound Saturn roam
    with Uranus and Neptune. Yet there dwelt
    a ninth, the farthest planet, till its size
    and orbit had it relegated from
    the club of ‘Wandering Stars’ by those more wise –
    thus Pluto lost its planetary aplomb.
    These depths are where eccentric asteroids fly,
    and comets which one day may light our sky.

    Reply
    • James A. Tweedie

      Wow! Nice one, Paul. Fitting 8/9 planets, comets and asteroids into a 14-line poem is clever indeed. The paragraph reads as close to prose as any so far.

      I particularly liked this prosaic gem:

      Yet there dwelt a ninth, the farthest planet, till its size and orbit had it relegated from the club of ‘Wandering Stars’ by those more wise.

      Carl Sagan couldn’t have said it better.

      Reply
      • Paul Freeman

        Thanks for the kind comments, James. I may try incorporating this type of poem-prose writing, both analysis and as a writing exercise, in my teaching in the future. It was challenging in a good and manageable way.

        I’ve always been interested in Astronomy, studied aspects of it at university, and have since a boy found Pluto’s position amongst the planets dubious.

        Carl Sagan! I still miss him, especially at a time like this, when a space exploration milestone is coming to fruition.

  8. Mia

    Well I don’t know how well it fulfils the challenge but this is an improved version of a ‘poem’ I posted for the ekphrastic poetry challenge. Now I am really pleased with the improvement. Thank you all, I guess I am learning from the best teachers!

    Once the hearth of the welcoming home, set with a surround of solid grey stone, its heaving heart, a magnet for young and old, gifting all with wondrous life and warmth. Many a tale it must have heard this hearth as it warmed contented occupants that sat, chatting and laughing at each other’s jokes, whilst sitting snug, warming their hands and toes but now it sits behind a forlorn, grey screen, hidden from view, dingy, dark and left unlit
    Its aspect, cold, unfriendly and morose, a brooding, empty sepulchre of stone, for now the occupants fix their gaze above, to a beaming screen devoid of heat and heart.

    Once the hearth of the welcoming home,
    Set with a surround of solid grey stone,
    Its heaving heart, a magnet for young and old,
    Gifting all with wondrous life and warmth.

    Many a tale it must have heard this hearth
    As it warmed contented occupants that sat,
    Chatting and laughing at each other’s jokes,
    Whilst sitting snug, warming their hands and toes!

    But now it sits behind a forlorn, grey screen
    Hidden from view, dingy, dark and left unlit
    Its aspect, cold, unfriendly and morose
    A brooding, empty sepulchre of stone,

    For now the occupants fix their gaze above,
    To a beaming screen devoid of heat and heart.

    Reply
  9. James A. Tweedie

    Mia, This is a marvelous poem that invokes a rich vision of the past that surrounds us, especially when we ponder things (hearths) and places where our forebears lived and loved and warmed their hands at the hearth on a winter’s night.

    The form is that of a sonnet, with three four-line stanzas followed by a two-line couplet.

    There is, of course, no rhyme as one would ordinarily expect, especially in a Shakespearean sonnet which is the hoped-for form in this particular challenge. But this is okay since there is such a thing as blank verse sonnets.

    Your lines are near to being pentameter with roughly five beats per line, but not as consistent as it should be in a more polished, formal sonnet with every other beat being a strong one, beginning with a weak beat (that is what iambic pentameter means, an “iamb” being a weak beat.

    I encourage you to keep at it and, if you want to try your hand at going all the way you might want to read essay on “How to write a sonnet” located here: https://classicalpoets.org/2015/12/02/how-to-write-a-sonnet/

    Thanks for adding your poem to the mix today! I look forward to more.

    Reply
    • Mia

      Thank you, your encouragement is really, really appreciated.
      The link is very helpful too. So is the challenge, I don’t know why it works
      but it does!
      Happy Thanksgiving Day tomorrow

      Reply
  10. Mike Bryant

    The pool is cool and shaded from the sun… and floating there with you in morning time or afternoon is so much more than fun, I’d even say it borders on sublime. But, more than that, the vacant timelessness, the weightlessness, the nothingness that plays upon our blissful, stray subconsciousness, sets free poetic premises for days. Immortalizing mornings and our thoughts is nothing more than putting pen to page. We get together then connect the dots and place those notes and notions on the stage. And when each word plays out it’s written part… the tapestry becomes a work of art.

    Poolosophy

    The pool is cool and shaded from the sun
    And floating there with you in morning time
    Or afternoon is so much more than fun,
    I’d even say it borders on sublime.

    But, more than that, the vacant timelessness,
    The weightlessness, the nothingness that plays
    Upon our blissful, stray subconsciousness,
    Sets free poetic premises for days.

    Immortalizing mornings and our thoughts
    Is nothing more than putting pen to page.
    We get together then connect the dots
    And place those notes and notions on the stage.

    And when each word plays out it’s written part
    The tapestry becomes a work of art.

    Reply
    • James A. Tweedie

      Mike,

      “The pool is cool.” I like that opening for reasons you may not have intended! But, regardless, that shady, cool spot where poetry is conceived, inspired, workshopped, composed, edited and produced sounds like one of the most congenial workplaces EVER! Now we all know how and why you and Susan produce such wonderful stuff. No doubt you have marvelous tans to go with it!
      Bravo on creating such a fun prose/sonnet with a fine couplet as a closing bonus.

      Reply
  11. Joseph S. Salemi

    Shaving Directions

    Before you shave you give your face a scrub with soapy water that’s just hot enough to set your skin a-tingle. Then you rub a creamy unguent in — the perfect stuff to make a beard grow soft and oil-smooth. One minute to spread lather does the trick. That’s the preparation that will soothe the razor’s stroke, and help avoid a nick. Always shave twice, with a different blade. Lather again, but this time not so thickly. Pull your skin tight; make sure you don’t abrade your tender flesh, and never shave too quickly. Once done, you wash and towel-dry your face until your skin’s as taut as any drum. Put all the shaving things back in their place and finish with some splashes of bay rum.

    Shaving Directions

    Before you shave you give your face a scrub
    With soapy water that’s just hot enough
    To set your skin a-tingle. Then you rub
    A creamy unguent in — the perfect stuff
    To make a beard grow soft and oil-smooth.
    One minute to spread lather does the trick.
    That’s the preparation that will soothe
    The razor’s stroke, and help avoid a nick.
    Always shave twice, with a different blade.
    Lather again, but this time not so thickly.
    Pull your skin tight; make sure you don’t abrade
    Your tender flesh, and never shave too quickly.
    Once done, you wash and towel-dry your face
    Until your skin’s as taut as any drum.
    Put all the shaving things back in their place
    And finish with some splashes of bay rum.

    (I had to use the 16-line sonnet form of George Meredith)

    Reply
    • James A. Tweedie

      Joeseph, There is more than enough enjambment in your sonnet to tie a cat’s tail into knots–the perfect way to create illusory prose without giving the game away. I’m afraid that I do my shaving in the shower with bar soap and a safety razor. But those splashes of bay rum at the end are tempting enough to give it a try! The dark side of the rum is the sting it would give if you were to “abrade Your tender flesh!” Just the thought of the sting would be enough to not “shave too quickly.” Great advice.

      Reply
  12. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    Dear James and Cynthia, I was busy cooking for Thanksgiving, but when Mike read me the challenge and your comments… I had to stop! Poetry will always come before candied yams!! 🙂

    The Swan Song of Avon

    I feel a magic challenge on the breeze. It skims the cyber seas to scribes enthralled by swells of sorcery. Those words that tease the ears of poets utterly appalled by dares that rob all jocund summer days (compared to truth and beauty here on earth) of rhyme and rhythm. Lilting, bardic ways are damned just like the dodo. Shakespeare’s worth has gone the route of Shylock’s morbid pound of flesh. How could a vapid spill of prose excite a lovelorn heart that craves the sound of sonnets bursting with a red, red rose? Words never smell as sweet if they are tossed in rhymeless lines where paradise is lost.

    The Swan Song of Avon

    I feel a magic challenge on the breeze.
    It skims the cyber seas to scribes enthralled
    By swells of sorcery. Those words that tease
    The ears of poets utterly appalled
    By dares that rob all jocund summer days
    (Compared to truth and beauty here on earth)
    Of rhyme and rhythm. Lilting, bardic ways
    Are damned just like the dodo. Shakespeare’s worth
    Has gone the route of Shylock’s morbid pound
    Of flesh. How could a vapid spill of prose
    Excite a lovelorn heart that craves the sound
    Of sonnets bursting with a red, red rose?
    Words never smell as sweet if they are tossed
    In rhymeless lines where paradise is lost.

    Reply
      • James A. Tweedie

        Susan, As usual, a little inner rhyme and enough allusions to Shakespeare to shake the proverbial stick at. But the pièce de resistance is the sly reference to Milton at the end. Bravo!

        My only quibble is that I would give the priority to the candied yams!

        Happy Thanksgiving and I hope this challenge hasn’t caused too my damage to the meal prep.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Thank you, Cynthia, James, and Josh. James your fine example was an inspiration. Cynthia, the speed with which you rose to James’s challenge with poetic flair, finesse, and humor (the nod to the orange challenge made me laugh) is thoroughly impressive. And Josh, your heart-touching take on this challenge is a triumph. In fact, I’ve enjoyed everyone’s interpretation of the challenge… the beauty of being on this site.

      Reply
  13. Joshua C. Frank

    Here’s mine, based on a true story from a letter to the editor of Seattle Catholic from 2002. Stay tuned for a poem on this same theme.

    The No-Life Algorithm

    The priest gave papers teaching birth control through tracking monthly cycles, maddening us with calendars and charts and stickers, full of codes far more complex than C++! Thank God we’ve never tracked the monthly rhythm; the papers, shredded up, we’ve never missed. For, had we learned the no-life algorithm, which of our seven children would exist?

    Would it be Mary, Peter, Anne, or John, or Paul, Elizabeth, or Catherine whose souls would never even have a dawn because I thought in this there was no sin? Yet, all I know is this: I’d rather give my life than not allow my kids to live.

    Poet’s notes:
    The Catholic Church forbids artificial contraception, but allows “natural family planning” in grave circumstances.

    C++: (pronounced “see-plus-plus”) a computer programming language, criticized for its complexity even by some notable programmers

    Here’s the sonnet version:

    The No-Life Algorithm

    The priest gave papers teaching birth control
    Through tracking monthly cycles, maddening us
    With calendars and charts and stickers, full
    Of codes far more complex than C++!
    Thank God we’ve never tracked the monthly rhythm;
    The papers, shredded up, we’ve never missed.
    For, had we learned the no-life algorithm,
    Which of our seven children would exist?

    Would it be Mary, Peter, Anne, or John,
    Or Paul, Elizabeth, or Catherine
    Whose souls would never even have a dawn
    Because I thought in this there was no sin?
    Yet, all I know is this: I’d rather give
    My life than not allow my kids to live.

    Reply
  14. BDW

    From
    by I. E. Sbace Weruld

    Atop a pillar of bright, blazing fire, Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Mike Collins, rose slowly at the first burst, then higher and higher on th’ ignited, launched engines. When all propellants were used up, first stage was separated from the Saturn 5 and fell into th’ Atlantic O—downrange. Next followed second stage and third t’ arrive at orbital velocity. It took about twelve minutes from blastoff to get here—there! and then, according to the book, they checked if all systems were ready, set, and go. They headed to the moon to see
    if they could land. The rest is history.

    From

    Atop a pillar of bright, blazing fire,
    Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Mike Collins,
    rose slowly at the first burst, then higher
    and higher on th’ ignited, launched engines.
    When all propellants were used up, first stage
    was separated from the Saturn 5
    and fell into th’ Atlantic O—downrange.
    Next followed second stage and third t’ arrive
    at orbital velocity. It took
    about twelve minutes from blastoff to get
    here—there! and then, according to the book,
    they checked if all systems were ready, set,
    and go. They headed to the moon to see
    if they could land. The rest is history.

    Mr. I. E. Sbace Weruld is a poet of astronomy and space, Neil Armstrong (1930-2012), Buzz Aldrin (1930- ), and Mike Collins (1930-2021) PostModernist American astronauts.

    Reply
    • James A. Tweedie

      Fun—and very you. Good to know you are still around. Hope to see and hear more from you. We are, after all, practically next-door neighbors.

      Reply
    • Paul Freeman

      Watched ‘First Man’ a couple of days ago. Your description of the launch is just as thrilling as that part of the movie – and it was thrilling!

      Reply
      • BDW

        My first interest in prosepoetry, came from following the pure poetry of French Realist Stéphane Mallarmé (1842-1898) and French Modernist Paul Valéry (1871-1945). Striving from those early years of writing poetry (the late 1960s and early 1970s) to the present to make my poetry more prosaic and my prose more poetic, I now understand, though it was present in th’ American PostModernist Zeitgeist, this impulse has been going on for centuries in various cultures, not least significant—at all—in Japanese literature, exempli gratia, Murasaki Shikibu (c. 978 – c. 1014) and Matsuo Bashō (1644-1694).

        Although the structure of “From” is in the form of an English sonnet with a Miltonic break, as is Mr. Freeman’s “Our Solar System”, which is better as an English sonnet; whereas “From” is better as prose. Much more could be said literarily, however, I would like to note my contentment with his topic. That he brought up a film, in this case “First Man”, seems appropriate, as back in 2008, when I wrote “From”, I watched over and over again that famous launch of 1969. Of course, it is impossible to catch such a complex slice of reality in a poem—but that is the challenge, is it not—of all poetry?

  15. James A. Tweedie

    Bruce, Good to see you around and about. Thanks for the trip down memory lane. We have lived through some history, haven’t we! Hope to hear from you again, soon, neighbor!

    Reply
  16. BDW

    “Good to know you are still around.”

    Although one worries about being too diffuse, like Statius, or that one isn’t breaking new ground, like T. S. Eliot, this has been an interesting year (in poetry, 90,000+ words).

    It’s nice to hear from you, old neighbour:

    My immediate neighbours number in the millions; but in the New Millennium, electrical connections can occur across the World Wide Web. I am reminded of these words from here in the Metroplex in March, 2018.

    “…a humble Presbyter, who ’s been around Pacific ports,
    a master of the woolen fabric, pastoral, of coarse.
    A bit of Aussie grit, no moaning crossing of the bar,
    o, Mr. Toad and Sherlock Holmes have nothing on…your garb.”

    Reply
  17. Roy Eugene Peterson

    A THANK YOU TO SHAKESPEARE

    To the Bard of Avon, we owe a debt. Shakespeare gave to us that great play of yore, the gift of Romeo and Juliet. Hast e’er pathos moved an audience more? A gift from Shakespeare for posterity. No sweet love was ever purer and true; paradigm for a tear-stained tragedy when a Capulet loved a Montagu. Great masterpieces last down the ages that capture the essence of emotion. alluring imagery played on stages portraying scenes the Bard set in motion. The tangled web wistful writers conceive may be akin to those the masters weave.

    A THANK YOU TO SHAKESPEARE

    To the Bard of Avon, we owe a debt.
    Shakespeare gave to us that great play of yore;
    The gift of Romeo and Juliet.
    Hast e’er pathos moved an audience more?
    A gift from Shakespeare for posterity.
    No sweet love was ever purer and true;
    Paradigm for a tear-stained tragedy,
    When a Capulet loved a Montagu.
    Great masterpieces last down the ages
    That capture the essence of emotion.
    Alluring imagery played on stages
    Portraying scenes the Bard set in motion.
    The tangled web wistful writers conceive
    May be akin to those the masters weave.

    Reply
  18. Alena Casey

    You all dash poems off, without a prompt, in rhymed and metered verse or sonnet form, with minimal revising. I could stomp my feet in envy, yes, or silently storm. I hold your wit and confidence in awe, and at first I thought to comment saying so. But as I typed, I stopped and thought, “Aha! Here is my topic. Why not give it a go?” So here I sit, though really I should be preparing for a needed night of sleep–I have four kids. And they most certainly can wear me out. Still, here I sit, deep in the lovely mire of words that feel like home, losing another hour of sleep for a poem.

    You all dash poems off, without a prompt,
    In rhymed and metered verse, or sonnet form
    With minimal revising. I could stomp
    My feet in envy, yes, or silently storm.
    I hold your wit and confidence in awe,
    And at first I thought to comment saying so.
    But as I typed, I stopped and thought, “Aha!
    Here is my topic! Why not give it a go?”
    So here I sit, though really I should be
    Preparing for a needed night of sleep–
    I have four kids. And they most certainly
    Can wear me out. Still, here I sit, deep
    In the lovely mire of words that I call home,
    Losing another hour of sleep for a poem.

    Reply
  19. Mary Gardner

    Dear Mr. Iverson,

    I hope this letter finds you well.
    Concerning your response about our recent post in which we set forth our demands that any pending construction plans shall always be reviewed by our Committee ere they’re on a contract, you acknowledge our office’s shrewdness of requiring a performance bond to bind successful bidders to, in timely manner, finish in accordance with all clauses and attachments.
    Keep in mind we’ll meet all reimbursements true, forthwith; and in good faith, negotiate with every business partner.
    Thank you for your insight on this.

    Yours truly,
    Mary Gardner

    Dear Mr. Iverson, I hope this let-
    ter finds you well. Concerning your response
    About our recent post in which we set
    Forth our demands that any pending constr-
    Uction plans shall always be reviewed
    By our Committee ere they’re on a con-
    Tract, you acknowledge our office’s shrewd-
    Ness of requiring a performance bond
    To bind successful bidders to, in time-
    Ly manner, finish in accordance with
    All clauses and attachments. Keep in mind
    We’ll meet all reimbursements true, forthwith;
    And in good faith, negotiate with every business partner.
    Thank you for your insight on this. Yours truly, Mary Gardner.

    Reply
    • Morrison Handley-Schachler

      Brilliant. I love the way you make the officialese language rhyme.

      Reply
  20. Morrison Handley-Schachler

    Always make sure that you distinguish an asset from an expense. If you have bought something that you still have, the debit ought to hit a balance sheet account, which can be for non-current assets, like a van or car, or for a current asset, such as inventory, which tends to be much less permanent. Some things last longer than others but as you use the asset you credit the asset or provision for depreciation and the debits go to an expenditure account and through this cost account you add up more and more resources used, as your accounts will show.

    Always make sure that you distinguish an
    Asset from an expense. If you have bought
    Something that you still have, the debit ought
    To hit a balance sheet account, which can
    Be for non-current assets, like a van
    Or car, or for a current asset, such
    As inventory, which tends to be much
    Less permanent. Some things last longer than
    Others but as you use the asset you
    Credit the asset or provision for
    Depreciation and the debits go
    To an expenditure account and through
    This cost account you add up more and more
    Resources used, as your accounts will show.

    Reply
    • Mary Gardner

      A sonnet superb, Morrison!
      In the 20+ years I spent as a civil servant in Contracting, we worked closely with Finance. Your sonnet brings back good memories of the Contracting-Finance partnership.

      Reply
  21. Milan

    See, when he who came-forth after four days, bound-in-cloth from tomb, could not yet so cause those high brow men who saw to be amazed and then to doubt their eager outstretched claws!
    Lazarus, who died, now stands up displayed! It’s who they are that always seeks the fame, thus no dent on their morals so decayed. They just plotted, and in time —– He was slain.
    Conclusions are that rulers cannot feel! They own the news and make the rules to fit. They specialise in learning how to steal young lives — So, on the deeds of these we spit.
    Those that See seem small in number indeed; Those who want to see are still less than these.

    ============================================

    See, when he who came-forth after four days
    Bound-in-cloth from tomb, could not yet so cause
    Those high brow men who saw to be amazed
    And then to doubt their eager outstretched claws!

    Lazarus, who died, now stands up displayed!
    It’s who they are that always seeks the fame.
    Thus no dent on their morals so decayed.
    They just plotted, and in time —– He was slain.

    Conclusions are that rulers cannot feel!
    They own the news and make the rules to fit.
    They specialise in learning how to steal
    Young lives — So, on the deeds of these we spit!

    Those that See seem small in number indeed.
    Those who want to see are still less than these.

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.