A Discontented Sonnet

I am a sonnet and am very bored

At my confinement into fourteen lines

And following a pattern that defines

Such narrow limits that they leave me floored.

No wonder those poetic forms have scored

In popularity whose lax designs

Allow them freedom outwith their confines,

Fresh opportunities to be explored.

There comes a time for sonnets to rebel,

To add some colour to the monotone

Of ancient strictures that have hemmed them in.

I will be first to break that classic spell,

To move where other, freer forms have gone.

Though some will judge it heresy and sin

I’ll add one more couplet and alter the rhythm

And, damn me, I won’t even make myself rhyme!

Alanna Blake