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Monday, September 27, 2010

17 Points in 17 Minutes: That's Poetry, Shaq

Shaquille O’Neal Sonnet

Seventeen points in seventeen minutes!
What can the sonneteer do against such
accuracy and luck penultimate?
Her counting cannot lead to very much.
While the basketball player’s luck’s outlucked,
this lackluster pentameter is out
of time, not buoyant. Far from its goal, it
misfires word  past word in pedantic
rhyme, more haphazard than it is divine,
Her bouncing ball is ridiculous sport,
in vintage form of old world poetry,
equipped with lines, half strange, half obsolete.
When Pope who lisped in numbers passed to me.
I doubleshot, fouled and over-dribbled.

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