I enrolled on a poetry writing course this term and have done very little but work on my poetry ever since, so much so that my blog has been suffering so I thought I would make you all suffer too. I'm going to share some of the pain with you!
I love free flow writing (see tab above). I often practice it in my many notebooks (I think I may have over twelve notebooks on the go at the moment. I keep meaning to finish one before I start another but I just can't resist the lure of a new one.) My poetry tutor has said that my writing style lends itself to the sonnet form and she suggested I try to rewrite some of the free flow stuff accordingly.
Have you ever tried to write a sonnet? It is not easy. It is fourteen lines of hard slog and the following is most definitely work in progress:
My free flow writing before the sonnet suggestion:
that was when she would wander the streets.
She liked it better that way
before the crowds spoilt the symmetry
of shop fronts and market stalls.
She would pick her way around yesterday's rotting veg,
slow her step to watch as the first of the traders arrived,
piling up their produce,
stamping their feet against the dawn frost.
But once the click of heels on cobbles rose to a crescendo she was gone
back home to her warm cushion
and her plate of Whiskas best.
The tutor advised me to change the ending. I fear that I have exchanged one clichéd ending for another and I've squeezed it into what I think is a sonnet format and I've done all this without consulting my tutor so I could have got it drastically wrong but here goes:
My first ever attempt at a sonnet:
She always wanders in the early mornings.
It’s better that way. She likes the empty streets
Before the shopkeepers spoil the symmetry
of windows bare, not yet clothed with awnings.
On through the market and traders’ shouted warnings.
Mind your backs! Trollies full of fruit, veg, meat
wheeled into place as traders stamp their feet
to fend off frost with futile friction warming.
Now voices rise and crowds start to appear.
Before the sun can warm her face she’s gone.
Without a sound, none of the traders hear
her fall and fade into the cobbled stone.
They’ve forgotten the body that was once found
of a young girl dead and frozen on the ground.
Well I did warn you that it was my first ever attempt!