I recently picked up a copy of "The Ode Less Traveled" by Stephen Fry on the recommendation of a poet I follow on Google+.
The sub-title , "Unlocking the Poet Within" explains all.
What follows is my attempt at exercise 2 - Iambic Pentameter. I'm afraid the reasons for the pre-emptory apology number about twenty and are all too self evident.
The grass calls out. It wishes to be mowed.
The mower chokes on clippings in it's throat.
The water pump comes on when pressure's low.
When pressure crests the top it cycles off.
Today I cooked the eggs with herbs and salt.
I added milk to keep them moist and soft.
I baked the bacon in a foil lined tray.
The cleanup thereby rendered into play.
Earthworms wriggle in the potting soil.
The Doctor is a countryman of yours.
In Hallowell the path becomes the street.
The blanket on the chair needs to be smoothed.
The state of plans at work are desolate.
Coffee after eight keeps me from sleep.
Duke, the dog, is laying in his bed.
The water's smell came from the dead chipmunks.
Progressive lenses make me turn my head.
My wife turns roving into woolen art.
In afternoon the deck gets very hot.
And here's a bonus. In the course of the exercise. I realized that this tweet, resulting from frustration with the weather, also meets the criteria:
Rick Andrew (@fmandrew) tweeted at 6:27 PM on Thu, Jul 04, 2013:
This rain, in Maine, is really quite a pain. http://t.co/i6RcQNqcex
(https://twitter.com/fmandrew/status/352916698573189122
Well Professor... Worth any extra credit?
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