To Sonnet or Not To Sonnet

Yay Macbeth!

Dear Chris Richman,

You don't know me, and I don't know you.  However.  I am terribly offended by your lack of a brain.  I have recently become the new owner of a book you chose to scribble all over.  This book is the wonderful text: Macbeth text and contexts by our beloved William Shakespeare.  Of course it's apparent that you could have cared less.  I just spent thirty minutes erasing (mercifully you wrote in pencil) your idiotic comments about how Lady Macbeth is a cow and a b**** and various other opinions on the characters too offensive to mention.  I'd just like to let you know that most of your naivete has been expelled from the text.  I hope that the next time you decide to spill your idiotic thoughts out onto a page written by my friend Shakespeare, you're smart enough to not write your name in the front cover.  Unfortunately, the name Chris Richman is incredibly common and there is no way for me to track you down and smack you.  You might also want to work on your cursive.  You have the handwriting of a five-year-old.

"I will kill you  Do not touch"  says Chris.  I say "fair is foul, and foul is fair"

Moving on then.
As I was musing over the fair and cruel Lady Macbeth, trying with all my might to use her as an inspiration for a sonnet, I realized that Shakespeare is far superior to me when it comes to language.  Therefore, writing poetry about his work is pointless.  When I came to my senses I found myself staring at this lovely picture.

Van Gogh - The Cafe Terrace

It hangs in my bedroom by my closet/at the foot of my bed.  Besides exerting such mastery over color and contrast, I think that my dear friend Vincent had a fabulous eye for beauty in the world.  And not just beauty, but a certain sense of sorrow that leaks into his work.  So I wrote a little sonnet about it for class.  Since it won't be work-shopped for two weeks... I'll give you the poem from last week.  It's a sonnet that doesn't exactly adhere to the proper form.  I took some liberties.  But my professor raved about it nonetheless.

A Disappointed Life

There is an ocean in my way.
Its tides are like the doubts within my heart -
They swell and fade, resilient though, to part.
I wish to find a place without decay
To which I can escape.  I want to stay -
To sit and wonder why things fall apart.
My wings are sore.  My shoes, my blisters, smart.
I fear the endless shades of blue and grey.
So now I hang like lonely portraits do
In empty rooms where dust falls in my eyes.
I am the one who leans her longing on
The window ledge and watches people through
The polished glass.  And as they age and die
I am protected from the burning sun.

Three cheers for poetry!  Now it's time for The Tempest!

Here's a baby rhino for your enjoyment!