I wrote this sonnet (based on a true story!) for my creative writing class, because I am going to require that they all write sonnets and in the interest of fairness, etc.
He Hates Nature Poetry
He was my student. He said,
“Nature poetry is shit.” Or
something like that. I had,
I admit, forced the point, for
I found that I could love
the words a poet chose for pine
or lake, egret, heron, even cove.
I lament that such descriptions are not mine.
So what was I to say, confronted,
as I was, with this raw truth?
Here’s what I said: “Poetry,” I quoted,
“makes nothing happen.” It can do
only this: take a simple nothing, a mere it,
and through linguistic folly transform shit.
My assignment is: write a sonnet that includes an image from nature and a proclamation, such as, "Life, friends, is boring." I look forward to reading their (and your?) sonnets.
I also included, on the handout, some selections from Ogden Nash, just so they didn't take themselves too seriously. My favorite is "A Drink with Something In It." I love the truth/vermouth rhyme. It may be my all time favorite.
Okay. Now I must drink some wine, watch some TV, then drift off to sleep.