Thursday, June 4, 2015
God gives us all a rhythm of the heart.
Di dah, di dah, di dah, di dah, di dah.
Iambic pentameter we call it, if we follow the example Shakespeare and others left us. String together fourteen lines of this, grouped four at a time, times three, with an end “doublet;” rhyme the lines a bit; and you end up with an art form called a “sonnet.” Shakespeare wrote hundreds of them. The rhyme appeals to those of us who like to tie the lines together. Lacking the rhyme, we call the work “blank verse.”
Take away the pentameter, and you get what? A sonnety piece?
A recent operation on son Stash yielded time for the following:
Here we sit in the waiting room,
Seeking ways to cut the gloom.
Chatter rises glib from some,
Others sit, arms crossed and glum.
Christy’s outside to make a call,
(Outside’s better than in the hall.)
Doc’s heading out to the tennis court;
Patient’s fine was his report.
Recovery room is where our guy,
Now sleeps away anesthetic high.
When he gets back we’ll give him smiles,
And quench all thoughts of recent trials.
Going home’s what we want best,
Before that, though, comes a bit more rest.
And, don’t forget to water those damn daisies.
SVG, ARMC, Fourth of June, 2015