Ah, the sonnet. Not since the haiku has a restrictive form of writing been so liberating. Constructing one's thoughts in rhymed meter is a unique challenge, and most people who attempt one sonnet end up scribing several more.
Of course, all of that pales before the challenge of constructing a 140-syllable palindrome... to say nothing of a palindrome which makes sense, in an off-beat, postmodern kind of way... which must also be in rhymed ten-syllable couplets.
Red? No! With gin (brag nil, right?), flew the drab
Red rose garden. Evil raw foe -- sordid.
Won't, lover? A hero slained. So grab
Me, regal Madam. Nom, Edward? I did!
Wow! Tix! Error: retaliated! Red
Rum? Med aide, solid ID. Lonely two.
We won! Faced no devil, Josh (a la Ed)!
Deal, ah? So, J lived on decaf now! Ew!
Ow! Tylenol! Did I lose diadem?
Murder! Detail: a terror, exit! Wow!
Did I draw, demon? Madam, lager em-
Bargos! Denial, sore. Ha! Revolt now!
Did rose of war live? Ned rages order.
Bard, eh? Twelfth (girl in garb!) Night, I wonder?
Kevin Hollenbeck (York)
Alan's 'sonnet' is a little more free-form, in that there are no rhymed couplets and it goes on for longer than fourteen lines. Still, this is Richard III we're talking about here. Was there any rule he didn't ignore?
Now I draw de la York, sacred Dad, as a knife --
no telling Nike "No!" Or by me
veil eristic issue re rose red
... rum I raw drowned use ... often no sleep,
reviled, off of fun, sodden nose lit
so he live by a' mew "na-na".
In issue lessen dwell ... let revenge be won!
I draw sword ... loom I no regrets? [Aside]
Gage disaster ... Geronimo! Old rows ward I.
No, we beg never tell lewdness.
Eleussinian an we may be vile.
Hostile son Ned ... do snuff off. O! ... Deliver peel!
Sonnet foe ... sudden word! War. I murder.
E. sore re us (sic) ... it's I relieve my bro.
One king ... nil. Let one fink,
a sad adder, cask royal Edward ... I won.
Alan J. Duda (Richard)
BJ also composed a sonnet for the occasion, albeit not a palindromic one.
Now once again I come to play a loon
Of course he is the center of the play
Before a today, murderer, goon
This time I have to face another day
My wife Queen of England and of my heart
Almost enough to make me Lancaster
But of the White Rose I must do my part
Perhaps the next play she'll be my master
My wonderful children Alex and Gwyn
By acting they're learning by Will Shakespeare
No lines but hard work they once again
Of literature class they'll have no fear
And thanks to Karl my brother in twin arms
Mechanicals now! To the Funny Farms!
BJ Mitchell (Cade)