... and now, for something completely different.

I teach high school English, so of course, I teach poetry. Students respond to poetry in essentially one of three ways:

1. "Yay! I love poetry.  We can do whatever we want!"
2. "Crap. I freaking hate poetry. There are so many forms and rules!"
3. "Meh."

I like poetry.  It's fun and flexible and can be taken to so many levels. To understand and write poetry well (no one is going to insist that poetry must be good here) takes a little work though. There must be a basic understanding of literary techniques - similes, metaphors, alliteration, onomatopoeia, etc. - and the purpose of poetry. This is not the Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph. D. of Dead Poet's Society fame rating scale of perfection and importance, nor is it multiple choice questions such as, "In line 7, the author's use of the word "verbose" suggests..." but some idea of what poetry is how it functions must be in place. In dutiful recognition of this, the class spends some time becoming acquainted with figurative language and necessary terms. Time - and effort - is also spent exposing the class to the basics of poetry with rhythm, rhyme, iambic pentameter and a slew of other concise terms.  We look at excellent, famous poems and analyze the hell out of them, because that's what we do.  Then, we come to fun of writing.

Silence.

"Mr. Parker, I don't know what to write about."
"Write about anything. Your dog, moldy leftover spaghetti, how much you hate this class. Anything can be poetry."  At this point, I will sometimes drag out my collection of free-verse written on the scintillating topic of marshmallow Peeps. "See, anything works."
"OK. I'll write a haiku." Moment of silence. "How does that work again?" Three minutes later, after the re-explanation of what a "syllable" is, "How many poems do we have to write, 'cause this one is done..."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, crazed writing is going on as the poem fueled beast within has been unleashed in other students. "Mr. Parker, I've got 29 great poems. Can I share them with the class? Now?"

Nothing is as divisive in an ELA classroom as poetry. In an attempt to bridge the gap between the heretics and true believers, I stumbled upon the sonnet.  I can hear you now, "The sonnet is a highly regulated form wielded with knife like precision by artists such as Shakespeare and Donne! How dare you expose the young philistine mind to such esoteric verbage, much less let them write one? Blasphemer!"

I hear you.  The sonnet is rather dry. Fourteen lines, ABAB CDCD EFEF GG form in (mostly) iambic pentameter. There's some good stuff there though.  When I tell the students that many of Shakespeare's sonnets were pick up lines, they sit up in their seats.

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a totter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

Spend some time reading that over. I know you've probably seen it before. Let it seep in. Find the similes and metaphors, analyze the word choice, soak up the consonance and read to the punctuation. Glory in the magnificent perfection of Shakespeare's sonnet #2.
"So, what's going on here?"
"Uhm, is he really saying that hey, someday, you're going to get old and not be so good looking so maybe we should go back to my place and make a baby so that you can prove that you were beautiful too?"
"Yup.  Looks like it."
"Damn! Shakespeare was a player!"

The students generally become more interested in sonnets and Shakespeare at that point. Sure, sonnets are - were - elegant and generally focused on themes of love, adoration and desire. Then - and this is the part I love, because I am dark and twisted - we talk about how times have changed.  Sonnets don't have to be nice and flowery and complimentary.  Sonnets could be used for a more devious purpose - as long as it's not about anyone in the room - and we could have fun with them. What if, instead of a sonnet being used as a pickup line, it was a buzz-off-and-leave-me-alone line? Hook, line and sinker. The anti-sonnet. Usually based, sometimes not exactly, on the first one or two lines of a Shakespearean sonnet and then twisted:

II.

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow

And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field...

Shakespeare said that way back when, but now

Wait ‘til the plastic surgery scars are healed

You paid a lot for only the best

The collagen to fill your lips

A couple of thousand in your silicone chest

The fat suctioned from your hips

Botox treatments to erase your creases

Color in your hair to cover the gray

Remaking your body in bits and pieces

You could almost pass for twenty-five today

Modern cosmetic surgery sure is great

Too bad you can’t change your birth date

XVIII.

Shall I compare thee to an overcast day?

Yes, I think that will do

Your complexion is a sickly gray

And your eyes a faded blue

A smile has never graced your lips

Nor laughter from your mouth

You eat constantly, adding to your hips

Like storms clouds piling from the south

Your nasty farts echo around the place

Drowning out the thunder from the sky

The smell is a terrible disgrace

It’s so bad, I wish I would die

No one will believe should I even write this down

So do us a favor; get up and move out of town

XVII.

Who will believe my verse in time to come

When you have long lain in the grave?

Your questionable morals, the guzzling of rum

The grotesque acts that were simply depraved?

To call you unbalanced is not nearly enough

To describe your twisted views

To call your personality simply “rough”

Well, even your shrink was confused

Your ideas of fun were crazy; bizarre

Stuff that was criminally insane

Like throwing rattlesnakes at moving cars

Or shouting ‘BOMB!’ on a crowded plane

Enjoy your straightjacket, in your room painted gray

I’m sure they’ll let you out, maybe, sometime, someday

XVII.2

“Who will believe my verse in time to come

If it were filled with your most high desserts”

Because they would be lies and best I stay mum

Else I be accused of being a sick pervert

There are no words that exist to describe

Your vile appearance or noxious smell

It seems a waste of time to try and scribe

A demonic creature that crawled from Hell

Yet if you were to find an unsuspecting mate

His senses impaired by too much beer

He might make a dreadful mistake

And take you home, sadly blinded to fear

And were that spawn still alive in future time

It would terrify men in life and in my rhyme

Irreverent. Yes. Edgy? Guilty. Fun? Absolutely.