Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Sonnet Throwdown

So, I mentioned yesterday in my Author's Apology (a la Chaucer) that a while back Simon and I agreed to a sort of sonnet duel. I'll admit, I'm intimidated by his skillz. However, I don't back down from a challenge, so I decided to write a story-telling sonnet sequence involving not only all of the subjects he challenged me to write about, but also all of the subjects he listed in his "most epic contest in the blog universe" (the entire list is: symphonic metal, vodka, writing, cycling, Scotland, tattoos, Simon, golf, beer, flirting, old men, me).

So, without further ado, here is my 8-sonnet sequence. Please keep in mind: 1) I am not a poet; 2) this sequence is meant to be snarktastical, not classical; 3) Please forgive the not always perfect meter and the occasional stretch when rhyming.

By the way, since I have yet to title this baby, brownie points to the person who comes up with the best title for it!

Sir Simon, our hero, a right proper Scot

(No really, he has a tattoo to prove it)

Master of wordplay, and skillful bon mots

A poet and scribe, of unequalled wit

Journeyed to the glorious land of Blog

Where he found himself outnumbered by far

Man among women, the clear underdog.

He flirted, cajoled, and bantered galore

Making the ladies of Blog swoon and sigh

But when legions of followers did not

Flock to his side, he was sure he knew why

‘Twas his gender that ailed him – a lot.

But he’d learned a lesson, and now he knew

What it felt like to walk in women’s shoes

The ladies of Blogland treated him right

(Cuz we all know it’s an actual place)

They offered umbrellad drinks every night

Life was sweet, lived at a leisurely pace

But Sir Simon was restless, for manly

Endeavors. He craved vodka and metal

(Of the symphonic variety)

So he resolved ‘twas time to test his mettle

With a quest for his yearned-for libation.

Quickly he made his way to the stable

Keeping to shadows, his nerves tight with tension

He must find a ride both sturdy and able.

He found Schwinn, and Fuji, and Roadmaster,

But chose Peugeot – because it was faster

He jumped on his bike and charged from the scene

Giddy with joy to finally be free.

Heading east for Scotland, so long unseen

And so he began his own Odyssey.

His trip went well, obstacles avoided

Except for the sirens: he listened and loved

Crushing on Charlotte and Simone the Redheaded

But thirst for vodka and homeland beloved

Were stronger than the sirens of metal.

Slightly heartbroken and melancholy

Face to the wind, and his mind on his goal

With no more ado continued his journey.

Still deep in thought he had no way to know

Nearby was trouble for him and Peugeot.

Because this story is utter nonsense

(and because he is the great Sir Simon)

With the laws of physics he quickly dispensed

And easily crossed the Atlantic Ocean

On a bicycle, only to find his

Beloved homeland ruled by a new queen.

He parked Peugeot outside of her palace

Beside a strange squat cart, and surveyed the scene.

As far as his eye could see were scores of

Old men swinging clubs at little white balls

Urging them down tiny holes with love.

By this strange turn, Sir Simon was appalled

Determined to get answers he entered

The palace, and by his courage was bolstered.

He found the queen in a cozy study

Curled by a fire and reading a good book.

Instead of traditionally queenly

She seemed to be down to earth, by the look.

“Welcome, Sir Simon. I am Queen Embee”

“Good lady, what have you done to my home?”

“You would have these men wear skirts so wee,

Eat haggis, and fore’er the highlands roam?”

“’Tis Tradition!” he roared, all riled up.

“This system works: I sell them beer, we flirt

For a while, they play golf. A good setup.”

“I won’t have it, the old ways must revert.

Back to old men in pubs where they’re well met.

And all the rest, on this I’m firmly set.”

“Then, Sir Simon, I will make you a deal.

I know ‘tis the vodka grail you truly seek.

Tho your homeland ire you really do feel,

‘Tis not the ultimate goal that you seek.

Those old men that you see golfing outside

All came in search of the vodka grail too.

I know its location, which I will confide

If you win the challenge I give to you.

In addition, should you succeed I will

Return this land to its old traditions.

But if you lose the land is mine and you’ll

Join the rest of the losing cretins.”

“I have little choice but to agree,” quoth he

If I am to have the grail and be free.”

“If you dare, choose your weapons, Good Lady.”

Queen Embee laughed, “I choose sonnets my dear.”

“Beg pardon? Methinks I misheard you maybe.”

“Indeed you did not. ‘Tis a form I revere.”

“Then I am game and on you should bring it.”

And so it began, the hero and queen

Trading sonnets for more than a fortnight

That neither could win was an unforeseen

Until to a draw they agreed with delight.

“You are a worthy opponent, Good Man.

Honorable and true, ‘twas a good fight.

I shall reward you by gifting half this land

And by relinquishing to you the grail.

With no clear winner, ‘tis a right fair deal.”

“Good Lady, I am humbled by your skill

And tho I weep that the Land of Scot will

Not remain whole, take what I can get I will.”

He bowed, she nodded, their bargain fulfilled.

“And now let us celebrate, Good Hero.”

With a flick of the wrist the grail appeared

A fifth of vodka which set his eyes aglow.

They drank and to each other they cheered

And to two new nations: The Land of Scots

Where traditions continue to rein true,

And the Land of Golf where all the old farts

Continue to hit their balls and sip their brew.

And at the end of this sequence so clever

Everybody lived happly ever after.


Anonymous said...

great msg for me, thanks a lot dude˙﹏˙

Simon C. Larter said...

Hahahahaaaaa! Oh, my. How cool is this sonnet sequence?

And, how dumbass am I for not posting yesterday like I should've. You, good lady, have clearly won in the timeliness department. I do, of course, have sonnets ready to publish, but for some reason neglected to get them posted on time. They will be up this evening. Scout's honor. (I was never a scout, fyi.)

My favorite line?

"But thirst for vodka and homeland beloved
Were stronger than the sirens of metal."


Cheryl said...

What a fun sonnet!!! I loved it!

SonshineMusic i.e. Rebecca T. said...

bwa hahaha! I hopped over here for the blogfest and then was delighted to see you were also the sonnet opponent! Yeah!