If Apollo had a conscience

A saying known about me goes today—
'Apollo loves you? You are screwed to hell'
I could smite all mouths which these words say
I won't, though; for that's the truth, I can tell.

My endless power to heal, what good does it bring?
I fail to save even those whose love I won
Their fates forever sealed with Hades' ring
The sea or the earth seems higher up than the sun.

Though how do I shield from the arrows of erosy?
The boundless beauty of mortal souls attracts
A disease which seems to have no remedy
My heart, it shies, away from loveless contracts.

To the deity of augurs, fate, his own, concealed
But try, I will, to keep all feeling sealed.

30th April/ (15/30) / Shakespearean sonnet


Hello, hello, hello, layydies and laddahs and ladidoodles. Whoo. That, was one hell of a month amirite gimme a cheer.

Forgot a meal today, bud? Louder!

Now that’s how we do it. 

So, NaPoWriMo’s come to an end, and after thirty rollickin’ days of poeming we’re here, we’re queer— oops sorry forgot it ain’t Pride. Where was I? Yes— April. Great month. Thirty days. Poets and fools. Underappreciated.   

Now of course I haven’t got a perfect score, and anyway, perfection’s an unattainable myth *shushes gagged poets in the background with perfect scores* . But I got halfway there, which, to me, is puh-retty damn good. I wrote fifteen poems in 30 days, which is WAY more than I’ve ever written, so yeah, I’m proud of myself. And I wrote a Hindi poem after a long time. And I kept my promise of trying out a new poetic form every third day so currently I’ve got five poems that aren’t haikus or good ol’ free verse. And my last poem is a tragic sonnet, written in the POV of the friggin’ GOD OF POETRY, which means I’m going out with an indisputably brilliant bang.

Now let me take a moment here and remark that I should get a medal just for writing this sonnet: it took me two days, and I followed “dear old” Willy’s structure down to the volta, the rhyme scheme and the meter. Oh god, the meter. It is so. damn. exhausting to follow a meter. In fact, that’s what took me the longest— I tried to write directly in iambic pentameter, which proved to be impossible, so I did a li’l bit of twiggly-dwiggly and first wrote a free verse sonnet, which I then converted into iambic pentameter, with a sideways eye on the rhyme scheme. Tortured poor Wrinkles while doing it. Never gonna try following a meter again— at least not for a long, long while. When in the beginning of April I was looking up different poetic forms, I remember one of the articles asking, are you the poet who hates sestinas or the one who hates villanelles? Well this month I’ve written one of each, and guess what it is. Neither. Of course, duh-DUH.  

So as you can guess, my beloved Factorians—

Three people don’t make a fandom.

And who the fuck might you be, good sir?

You in italics, of course. After all, you’re not famous enough to have a rival.

Yeah well I don’t need one. I got you. 

Oh, An, such a flirt.

ANYway, your input is appreciated, italics me, but my blog, my rules, so I will group the three people who read it into a fandom, thank you very much.

At least don’t call them Factorians. It’s factorials with the l replaced with the n, so people will mess up this name all the time like they do the blog’s. Cerebration, celebration, the thing that annoys you so much. 

And in that exact spirit I will call them Factorians. It’s their choice if they instead wish to multiply themselves with all those who’ve come before them. *kicks italics me off the stage*

Ahem. So, as I was saying, dear Factorians, as awesome as this month has been for me, both personally and professionally (?), I’m pretty tired, so you’ll understandably see very little writing, and of course no poetry, for at least the next month. Something else might be in store, though; I can’t say for sure. In the meantime, you can go ahead and murder a criminal, bury their body and plant endangered plants on top of that ground so it’s illegal to dig it up. Or, y’know, you can be boring and do normal people stuff. *shrugs* Horse to water’s all I can do. 

Peace out, humans! *gets into Tardis that currently looks like a ’67 Chevy Impala with a license plate that says 221B and flies away*

2 thoughts on “If Apollo had a conscience

  1. A month well spent, I’d say. Enjoyed all the poetry in my feed. Take that well earned rest! Excited to see what’s in store at the Factory.
    Say… if we’re fans of the Factory, wouldn’t we be called Products? Because fans? Factory made?
    *Throws self into a gaggle of angry geese*

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks for reading my poems! Oh, you will eventually find that what was in store was unintentionally foreshadowed before…
      Products. Wow. Your dad joke game’s so strong, I can’t decide whether to push you further into that angry gaggle or to rescue you from it and give you a medal.

      Liked by 1 person

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