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Tuesday, April 9, 2013

NaPoWriMo Day 8: The Fan

Today's challenge was to write an ottava rima, a sort of neo-heroic poem, perhaps in jest or satire, with eight iambic pentameter lines, with end-rhymes in an a-b-a-b-a-b-c-c pattern.  I found it hard to get into the iambic pentameter mode, not to mention coming up with a theme and fitting it all into the form.  So here is my dogged, doggerel attempt at Ottava Rima:

The Fan

So hopeful, he began his sports career
with t-ball first, his father's hopes did raise.
Slept with his baseball glove, it was so dear,
yet little gain he made, and lesser praise.
To bat, his joy, to run, his ploy, no fear;
but rounding bases home seemed like a maze.
Though try he might to play aright, he flailed,
til once, despite his failings, he prevailed:

A hit! He ran, alas he ran to third.
So patiently the coach called for time out,
and took the child aside, gave him a word:
"The next time," coach declared, "I'll give a shout.
Run there, to first, to second, if you can, to third,
if you are lucky.  If you're not, you're out."
As summer passed, our 'slugger" had a slump,
a slump so long he lost the will to jump

at chances for a spot on next year's teams.
His parents said, "There's other recreation.
Not all of fun is based on baseball dreams."
Agreed, he was not destined for sensation.
Though next our chap tried other sports, it seems
his talent lay in music, its creation.
While pickup basketball at times he shoots,
it's mostly as a spectator, he roots.
                             --Shirley Smith Franklin

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