Sort of Sonnet

Not a lot of time because I am preparing to go out of town to Austin to visit my parents (Hooray!). I took a creative writing class at Metro this quarter to have something to do during the winter that didn't involve complaining about how I hate winter. I wrote several poems and thought I would share one with my readers...all four of them. The assignment was to write a "sort of sonnet." We didn't have to adhere to every rule, but just a few. For more on sonnets visit: Wikipedia. This sonnet materialized out of a journal page written about what was under my bed. Enjoy!

My Bed

There is an eddy under my bed

The swirling of dirt is like a tumbleweed; light and airy

The tent of poplin sheets contains the dread

The swing of the door pushes the particles and causes them to marry.

The socks trapped in the dirt are unwilling guests.

They would much rather do the jobs of warmth holder.

The dust clings to the chenille ripples to create a mess.

Retrieving these defacto swiffers is hard on the shoulders.

Newsprint, magazines and assorted papers fall victim to the suction

The papers are wrinkled and ready to meet the recycle bin.

The space heater brings in the winds and rustles up a disruption.

The papers rise off the ground, elevate and then drop like a fish fin.

The bed seems to breathe these objects in and out.

It is a breathing animal that will eat anything; a goat.