A Didactic Sonneteer on Crack

The Poet Whose Head Was Turned by Cóilín Murray

A Didactic Sonneteer on Crack

The poet’s eye in a fine frenzy rolling

Sonnet, my ass, you call this piece of shit
A sonnet? Right, a sonnet, oh yeah, sure, sure.
To write a sonnet you must be a man or woman of wit –
It must be one-hundred percent pure,
Cast in iambic pentameter – tick TOCK, tick TOCK –
None of this slapdash fill-in-the-blank-piss-
ass diarrhetic irregularity. Think clock:
Tick TOCK, not TOCK tick, man. It’s got to fit
The pattern. Then at the end – swoosh – you swerve
the focus, attempt to solve the problem, knit
a perfect combination of well-chosen words
into a thought that ought to be uplifting
Or ironic or aphoristic or clever or droll.
You see, that’s a way a sonnet is supposed to roll.

2 thoughts on “A Didactic Sonneteer on Crack

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