Italian Sonnet on Cool Hair

A little background on today’s poem:  I teach high school seniors.  There is one junior in my class this year; he is a high-achieving kiddo who is taking Senior English Honors.  He entered class today with a new hairstyle and I complimented him on it.  Another student asked me if I could write a sonnet about Jacob’s hair (we are in a sonnet unit at the moment) and my response was, “English or Italian?”  They voted for Italian and I wrote the following during their class period.  Jacob read it to the class and I earned extra credit for rhyming ‘says’ 3 times!  (note: the student’s name has been changed for privacy’s sake.)

The seniors have an attitude that says
They possess this school, the world is their own
Yet on and on they all complain and drone
But one is destined to become our prez.

This student does not wear a hat nor fez
Unlike all others, no one dares to clone
Him for he is the coolest all alone
He owns this hemisphere, north of Juarez

The thing that keeps him in the spotlight rare
Is only that which grows within his head
Brain power that all others care to dread
But more than that are plaits beyond compare
For this one junior rides a higher plane
Jacob has hair that drives them all insane.

© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved

Day 2

Heron

Day 26, I did not write from the (optional) NaPoWriMo suggested prompt, but was inspiried by the sonnets of interviewed poet Melissa Range, prompting me to work in the Italian Sonnet form. (Wish the meter were cleaner, but that, afterall is what the editing process is for!)

 

the great blue heron statue standeth he
beside the lake under the spreading oak
he hides as stealth beneath the mourning cloak
and shallow wading stalks the fish he sees
darting slipping in the reeds escapee
they, hiding there, the name of God invoke
protect their spines their gills their sins revoke
the craving hunger hunter can foresee

a bobbing neck the focused eye in wait
leans slowly in and casts a shadow not
upon the water of his hunting ground
and patient tips his eye a calm create
the penitent return their plea forgot
the saber beak will strike without a sound

© Jilly’s Poem & Photo

In a Windowless Room

The wild within my breast it calls me out
The scent of green upon the breeze I smell
Yet chained within these walls unto a cell
The toil of days have left me in deep drought
These primal urges long to run about
Up to the church door pull upon the bell
Ring out the knell release me from this hell
Announce it from the hills declare with shout

Barefoot runs my soul and leaps the wall
When work is done and time is but my own
Tumble down the hills rolling bouncing stone
Glee of angels sending a verdant call
Into Earth’s bright arms of welcome fall
For those brief hours my heart has found its home.

© Jilly's Poem & Photo 4/14/2017