I've been stuck on one of my meatier posts for over a week. While I'm sorting that out, here is some fan poetry. It's from an anonymous reader who posts here a lot. He has a knack for nailing the style of a Shakespearean sonnet. I don't know much else about him. He is shrouded in mystery. It wouldn't surprise me if he belonged to one of those esoteric, quasi-facetious secret societies. Anyhow, here is his poem, which he has given me permission to share here. It's untitled, so I guess we'll just call it "Sonnet #1." Actually, I bet he's written more. Let's call it "Sonnet #49."
There was a time when once I wanted -- ‘Twas youth--
To be a writer, known in verse or prose,
It made no difference what genre in truth
Provided fame, renown; so I then chose
A graduate program at great expense
To set me right with many sage workshops.
Professors lectured; students mirrored pretense,
While I, as best I could, marked my path’s stops
And aimed full might and main at that master’s,
Though empty ‘twere and paltry light in hand,
Nor could it vouchsafe gilt nor fame’s lustre,
And I found pale its shine, no brighter than sand,
Once done, and I’d on it means to reflect
And judge with doubts to make me heretic.