I have no one to blame for this but myself. I wrote some time ago, no doubt giddy from a promising beginning to another post-season, that if the Red Wings found themselves in the Cup finals, I would incorporate the sonnet into the poetic playoff predictions.
Sonnets, it turns out, are fucking hard to write at 10 a.m. the morning of the first game when you’re slightly hungover and drinking black coffee because you ran out of cream and the convenience store down the block is closed.
Sonnets would probably be hard to write under any circumstance, but I am merely emphasizing my handicaps. I promised, however, and therefore must deliver. “Shall I compare thee to a hockey puck? Thou art less vulcanized, yet also softer.”
See? That sucked. This is going to be difficult.
Anyway, Our record thus far in the playoffs (I didn’t even make predictions for the last round, because it was far too obvious what was going to happen and I told everyone who would listen we’d get a rematch, so I get a 2-0 on that one) is a very exciting 11/14. We’ll ignore my Bruins-over-Canes in five outburst because I think that it’s been well documented that every single person alive who watches hockey also picked the Bruins, even the Hurricane fans.
But enough of that. It’s poetry time. We’ll do the sonnet, and the two easy ones, just for fun:
Stanley Cup finals
No. 2 Detroit Red Wings vs. No. 4 Pittsburgh Penguins
Through haunted streets, our footprints traced the path
Returning us to fights that we have fought
The days loom bloody, sure to end in wrath
As students display lessons dearly taught
Bruised bones, not broken, strain and ache to heal
Before the snarling beast awakes anew
Once joined, beyond a doubt, the battle’s real
Taxing tired bone and weary sinew
For heavy hangs the head that wears the crown,
But heavy, too, lie burdens on the young
A sea of promise deep enough to drown,
As bards replay songs they’ve already sung.
We tell this story though the ending’s known
The old king, laughing, stays upon the throne.
~~~~~~~
A boy named Sidney said he was a man
Except nobody could understand –
“It’s a beard,” he exclaimed,
“I’m just young, so it’s lame.”
then he covered his face with his hands.
~~~~~~~
Two huge stars face off
against a whole galaxy
I know how this ends
~~~~~~~
The prediction: Red Wings in seven.
3 Comments
May 30, 2009 at 10:46 pm
Very nice. Sonnets are tricky.
I like the haiku best.
May 30, 2009 at 11:14 pm
Agreed with Baroque, the sonnet was very well done, but the haiku rocked my little world.
May 31, 2009 at 2:04 am
Very well done.