For my Shakespeare class, we have to write a Sonnet. Not any old Sonnet, but it is supposed to be in response to one of the assigned Sonnets. AND ... we are supposed to pretend like Shakespeare's Sonnet was written to us from someone in our lives and our response is to that person. Confused yet? I know I am. UGH! This is so hard for me.
I chose Sonnet 19. It is really about the ravages of time, but I gave the interpretation a little twist. Instead of growing old, I tried to read into it growing up. I imagined that the poem was from my parents and that they were trying to freeze me in childhood. I changed it to just my mom because it made the rhyming easier.
I would love to hear feedback. I am much more comfortable writing essays than I am poetry. I was trying to go for iambic pentameter, but I don't think I hit it. In fact, I know I missed.
I have been under her thumb for many years;
Pinning me down with all her mustered might.
As the time for me to fly the nest nears,
She plucks my feathers afraid of the flight.
Frozen: A four by six inch slice of life
Tethered to the center of the fridge door.
I try scissors, clippers, and at last a knife
To shear the fetters and finally soar.
Time has chiseled me from a boy to a man.
Still the tow-headed toddler in her mind.
Entering the world without holding her hand,
Leaving the safety of my home behind.
I walk out with a promise to call her
And ask if I can borrow a dollar.
I chose Sonnet 19. It is really about the ravages of time, but I gave the interpretation a little twist. Instead of growing old, I tried to read into it growing up. I imagined that the poem was from my parents and that they were trying to freeze me in childhood. I changed it to just my mom because it made the rhyming easier.
I would love to hear feedback. I am much more comfortable writing essays than I am poetry. I was trying to go for iambic pentameter, but I don't think I hit it. In fact, I know I missed.
I have been under her thumb for many years;
Pinning me down with all her mustered might.
As the time for me to fly the nest nears,
She plucks my feathers afraid of the flight.
Frozen: A four by six inch slice of life
Tethered to the center of the fridge door.
I try scissors, clippers, and at last a knife
To shear the fetters and finally soar.
Time has chiseled me from a boy to a man.
Still the tow-headed toddler in her mind.
Entering the world without holding her hand,
Leaving the safety of my home behind.
I walk out with a promise to call her
And ask if I can borrow a dollar.
