Quixote reduxA Poem by Joel M Frye
He awakens, sighs, bones acreak at every move.
Reaches for the boilerplate, straps on his rapier wit (but half of once it was), takes an aching hold of his rusty lance, and mounts the ancient keyboard. In clattering, staccato bursts, they gallop through acres of verse: thatches of haiku and senryu, prim English gardens of sonnet, manicured villanelles, and mile after mile of untamed blank verse just like this. All along the journey, he tilts at the ogres in his mind, swiping in steady rhythm at possesive pronouns replacing contractions, your/you're...their/they're...its/it's...gah! Set to charge full speed downhill from the Valhallan heights of two courses of college English at unedited mounds of unexamined thoughts, he fetches up sharply; slows to a trot, looking uphill at the hordes of English majors eyeing him and his keyboard with malice aforethought. © 2011 Joel M Frye |
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2 Reviews Added on April 12, 2011 Last Updated on April 12, 2011 AuthorJoel M FryeSt Petersburg, FLAbouthttp://k002.kiwi6.com/hotlink/3w6q0yrymv/01_Ballad_to_Ben.mp3 http://k002.kiwi6.com/hotlink/jhjs7gw3cz/02_What_Do_I_Say.mp3 http://k002.kiwi6.com/hotlink/652qs6u270/03_Lady_Chasing_Rainbows.mp3 htt.. more..Writing
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