Tag Archives: writing badge

another sonnet

I’m so weak for sonnets. Here’s my other one (probably the better of the two.)

if you must know, I’m worried about lots:
I can’t tell if these words are helping me.
I’ve been in some pretty laughable spots
and I’ve never been freed by poetry.
people ask me “can I read what you’ve writ?”
and before I can correct their grammar
they’ve noticed that it’s all just angsty shit
“it’s, um, ‘written,’ not ‘writ,'” I stammer.
but you took no for an answer, my friend,
you didn’t press on – and for this, for you
I have a certain prize, a certain end
to show you my appreciation true:
next time I’m angry and writing a piece,
if it’s about you, I’ll desist and cease.

Sonnet: Tales from Calgary Transit

The grass has sprung, the air is light

Beneath the shelter we all sit

The bus is late; we huddle tight

While many cigarettes are lit.


Safe from the smoke, in my own seat,

I’m made aware of one man’s plight;

His voice, crude like an ape, doth bleat

As his own words provoke a fight:


”Where is this bus?” he yells aloud,

while startled others glance about.

For his impatience, he is proud:

he stands up, now, to curse the route.


I count the minutes as they pass,

But this man surely will not stop.

He paints himself to be an ass!

Oh, why cannot my seat be swapped?


And suddenly, his accent slows, as he draws breath, his own eyes wide;

He says, “I’m at the wrong stop, folks,” as from collective glares he hides.

Shuffling lines: Trolius and Cressida

For my writing badge, I decided to switch lines in the introduction of Trolius and Cressida. Here it is:

In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed,
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,
Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia;
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruel war: sixty and nine, [and] their vow is made
To ransack Troy,The ravish’d Helen, Menelaus’ queen,
Within whose strong immures
With wanton Paris sleeps; and that’s the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come;
And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Their warlike fraughtage: now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruised Troys do pitch
Their brave pavilions: Priam’s six-gated city,
Dardan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien,
And Antenorides, with massy staples
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Sperr up the sons of Greece.
Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on hazard: and hither am I come in confidence
A prologue arm’d, but not
Of author’s pen or actor’s voice, but suited
In like conditions as our argument,
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
Leaps o’er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
Beginning in the middle, starting thence away
To what may be digested in a play.
Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are:
Now good or bad, ’tis but the chance of war.

Here I switched up the prologue to seem that Troy is winning, and Troy’s queen is Helen (which is the other way around) and I switched the narrator’s voice to be more confident. This way, Troy is winning and Greece is being destroyed.

I hope that you enjoyed this post!

Michelle Joo

Letters from the Hospital: Shakespearan Sonnet

Hello everyone! I have been asked to return to the hospital again; This time, I was connected with an IV to make sure that I was breathing enough. I was released on Sunday, but I came home with 20 stickers on my body that was connected to an ECG machine. I’ve been battling with this illness for four years; nothing helped. I have tried more than 100 ECG process, many moments of therapy, and medications. I am slowly recovering, but I was always in the hands of illness.

This is the third post of my project, Letters in the Hospital; I have about 10 more pages I would like to share with you, but until September 9th, I will be posting most of them. This is a sonnet I have composed when I was at Foothills Medical Centre.

Alas, I am in the hands of illness;
I have a voice inside that is yearning to speak.
My illness gives me hope, but much sadness.
I have no choice but to speak in a voice so weak.
Tell me, that I am going to wake up and walk in hope,
Rather than losing myself in the path to recovery.
I wish I could fly and tell my worried my friends that I could cope,
But my friends find me crying:  a worrisome discovery.
Take me from this cold hospital bed to my home,
To my children, my friends, and the one I love;
For this is not my place, my place belongs under the heaven’s dome-
I wish I could fly, like those beautiful birds, like a white dove.

I hope you enjoyed this post for my project. Happy Easter!

Michelle Joo

hey guys I wrote a sonnet

if I could put my body over there
and never have to see myself again
I’d give me something beautiful to wear
and walk away with paper and a pen.
for some things go unspoken, some unseen,
I wish sometimes that I could go un-both.
my life is better lived behind some screen;
my love is better written down in oath.
for you I remain visible and loud,
although my quiet instinct disagrees.
you find it hard to lose me in a crowd,
I find you put my worried mind at ease.
       if ever you need me to disappear
       I’ll hold my tongue, my love, but I’ll stay near.