#450: When my son was young he hated April . . .

Here’s another little sonnet experiment. Let’s try to be super dumb about the rhyme at the end of the line by using the same words over and over—but enjambing some of the lines so that the repetition is less audible and dorky! It strikes me that this has been a poetic goal since the EnglishContinue reading “#450: When my son was young he hated April . . .”

#14: Tonight

Okay, I didn’t write this. I transcribed it. These are words to a song my seven year old son improvised and sang over a piece of moody music he composed on the keyboard, also, I think, improvised. Listening to the thing, you can barely decipher what he’s singing, so I thought a lyric sheet mightContinue reading “#14: Tonight”