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A Sonnet writer’s Murder
Sitting alone in his dark and unlit room
Donny the hit man was making a plan,
A poet needs whacking and he’s the man.
He spins out sonnets like cloth from a loom.
He writes in Petriach which Donny always hates,
He writes in iambic pentameter
The one greatest bane of any writer.
Now the poet sits and awaits his fate.
Donny like a shadow walks through the door,
The poet keeps on writing his sonnet.
Donny the hitman enter, the poets gunner.
The poet turns, the sonnet on the floor,
Trigger pulled the poets death apparent,
Donny’s happy, one less sonnet writer.
- Title: the murder of a sonnet writer
- Artist: kabraxes
- Description: A while ago my english teacher told us that we had to write a sonnet. Now it just so happens that i hate sonnets, so I decided to write one about the murder of a poet who writes sonnets.
- Date: 06/19/2009
- Tags: murder sonnet writer
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Comments (2 Comments)
- kabraxes - 06/21/2009
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@spellcheck Ninja- no i really appreciate the criticism and i hope others will give me advice too. thanks.
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- Man_in_Silver - 06/20/2009
- Not so bad of a poem, but immensly depressing. (This is constructive critizism I hope you know (coming up)) You focus a little too much at the whole death part and not so much at how and why. Also, all poets write poems. sonnets are just one kind. Though the way you incorperated your own hate of sonnets into the workings was clever.
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