Poetry is like stealing money (if you're getting paid)
Since Curt Schilling is on my fantasy baseball team, I spent the evening watching the Red Sox-Mets game he started.
With two outs in the top of the fifth of a scoreless tie, Schilling picked the ancient Julio Franco off second base. As Franco remained on the ground, and the Red Sox players all moved towards the dugout, I starting thinking about how lonely Franco must feel, still out there. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with an urge to immortalize the scene in verse.
I chose the "haiku" because a haiku is not supposed to rhyme. Although it does require you follow a certain syllabic code. The haiku also has its own society. Here is my poetry debut:
With two outs in the top of the fifth of a scoreless tie, Schilling picked the ancient Julio Franco off second base. As Franco remained on the ground, and the Red Sox players all moved towards the dugout, I starting thinking about how lonely Franco must feel, still out there. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with an urge to immortalize the scene in verse.
I chose the "haiku" because a haiku is not supposed to rhyme. Although it does require you follow a certain syllabic code. The haiku also has its own society. Here is my poetry debut:
Off, the fielders jog
He wanted that extra step
A rally is dead
He wanted that extra step
A rally is dead
2 comments:
In this case, it seems as if you have stolen a bag of pennies.
Methinks you are not really a world champion.
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