Quizilla asks: What verse form would you be?



Were Natalie to have a form, it would
most likely be in rhyming couplets: sweet
and to the point, forthright and funny. Kim
would be in ruthless rhyme, each quatrain sharp
with malice. Dana would be sapphics -- though she
would state no double meaning's there. Though Dan
would like to think himself a villanelle
(artistic, difficult, and clever), truth
must note he's not. Perhaps a rondelet:
still strict, still French, but not so hard by half.
For Casey, Rhyme Royal, traditional
and neat. And here, a sonnet redoublé
for Isaac, now replete with history
and rhyme, complex, rewarding careful reads.

But no poetic form, thinks Jeremy,
explains his own concerns, his madd'ning love
for Natalie. His passion for all sports,
from stats to gossip, luge, gymnastics, bikes,
Hail Mary passes, balls Bill Buckner drops,
the hockey fights and steroid scandals draw
him in with eager fingers, typing up
the stories Dan and Casey tell. But how
could verse encompass all that's Jeremy?
Five-seven-five is not a pattern that
describes him. Kyrielle won't illustrate
the man who writes to dear Louise because
she cannot hear. Ottava Rima won't
make him less geeky, less inclined to rant.
The freedom of free verse denies the frames
that shape the young producer's life. So while
our Jeremy can label all his friends
with forms, his own self-view is sacrosanct.

Is this a fracture in himself? Or them?