NaPoWriMo #11: elemental

I liked Read Write Poem's prompt to write a poem about one of the four elements. I confess to being a bit inspired by Robert Frost's "Fire and Ice," which I've always admired.

And just to show I'm willing to face my fears, I wrote it as a sonnet. I think Holly is right; getting caught up in the form helps to work through a block (thanks, Holly!)


Sonnet No. 3

I am man’s oldest friend and his most feared.
When underestimated I can turn
and in an hour leave a forest cleared,
razed in a raging furnace on the burn.
I glory in the smell of scorching flesh,
the ruins of a home charred down to earth,
devouring all that’s live and loved and fresh,
and leaving only ash and death and dearth.
For many years, my appetite had bounds;
millennia, my power limits knew—
but now, my old and cunning friend has found
ways to use me, once done, he can’t undo.
I will consume this world whole if I can,
but don’t thank me; the honor goes to man.

NaPoWriMo #10: a challenge

That's what I get for venting about my NaPoWriMo woes on Facebook. One of my oldest friends, Holly, threw down the gauntlet and assigned me to write a sonnet. Oh, it gets better: she assigned me to write a sonnet using the words violet, harbor, stem, drink and absolution. (Did I mention she used to teach college-level English at Purdue?)

This is the first sonnet I've written since the last time I was assigned to write one, which was more than twenty years ago in Mr. Adams' class, my senior year in high school. This one isn't much better, but it does follow all the rules and include all the obligatory words.

I've learned my lesson. No more griping on Facebook.


Sonnet No. 2

Regret is nothing but a rueful brew;
its swill will slake the thirst of self-disdain.
Cold-pressed from grapes of loathing, left to stew,
it soils the soul with livid violet stain.
A better drink, contrition heals the heart,
dissolves away the icy thorns of spite
and in their place humility imparts
a bloom of hope to set transgressions right.
I taste of both the bitter and the sweet,
but absolution stems from only one.
In finally forgiving I’m complete;
I harbor no reproach for what I’ve done.
Each fault’s a jewel, ev’ry flaw a gem
when those mistakes have made me who I am.