A Glimpse Into the British Literature Class

"The one way to understand something is to try to do it yourself." – Grady Bryan.

Mr. Bryan's British Literature class was studying Renaissance sonnets and one of the projects was to write a sonnet yourself, but there was a catch: rhyming scheme and iambic pentameter.

Rhyming scheme is the pattern of rhymes at the end of each lines. The Literature class studied three kinds of rhyme scheme: Petrarchan, Shakespearian, and Spenserian.

And iambic pentameter is a kind of rhythmic pattern that consists of five iambs per line. An iamb is a metrical foot that consists of unstressed syllable followed by stressed syllable – daDUM.

Upon your face my lustful gaze does fall

My heart, my mind, a squall enthralls - be mine!

You slowly ooze, the goo - it makes me bawl,

Your fluff ‘n moist centre; surely divine.

As God created rivers, stars, sunshine

So man made you, on par with such wonders

Though numerous your place to usurp do pine

When next to you, they’re merely poor blunders

But Brownie, dear, suddenly I’m asunder

I’ve eat’n you whole - now surely I’m mired

My body’s growling, won’t stop the thunder

These calories, it screams, weren’t desired

My days without you bleak and lifeless seem,

But some things - sweetest taste when left a dream.

– Anonymous 

The beast at no time will stop feasting.
Tick-tock goes the clock, never ending roar,
Cannot hold this horrid pain anymore.
Inside me is the thunderstorm boiling,
My tortured insides are showing.
The whiteness of cloth is stained with gore,
If this is a dream I'm not sure anymore.
My ears are tired of constant screaming,
The smell of bitter laugh repulses me.
"Why so sad, my darling, my sweetie?"
The end will come to my psyche at last,
When the handle of clocks noon will pass.
I wake up with the sweat of agony,
Hand shakes for the bottle of mixture, whiskey...
–Anastasia

Dark sky, black clouds surround the people’s griefs
Loud cries, blaming God for loss in their lives
Stomaches weep of bread - men turn into thieves 
Accept the lie that Georgian Dream waved fives.
But the Power avoids the barrierInstead, 
Blocks the sacks with poor nation’s wealth
Scatter promises as grains to birds’ frontier,
Waste Georgian rise into the lake of stealth.
The West side closes, and the Right opens
Outside world left the people in the cage,
Let the Holy Body rule the doses
Hand out the case to another upstage.
The country will lose the blood and flora,
Only God can save the land of Georgia.  
– Elizabeth

When my mind’s last beat seized the mighty night, 
I spent far three seconds bald with my heart,
fraily maimed, but groped I thy light, 
Lady of Christ’s praised the flaunt of His art. 
The two swords sparkled and the dark knight rose, 
black, elegant, beloved through my thought, 
thus I beseech thee Bard of Avon, know
why the thought sham meaning hath sought.
The king moves, thy glistening light with him, 
though enthralled my bones and mirrored in blood, 
Red, with the last breathe, through rain on thy skims,
touching thy margins till truth the dreams thuds.
Faith Red stays with to the dim scoop of dare, 
And error of mind, bliss takes me in air.   
–Anonymous

Live the world, surrounded by family
Parents possessing vast spot in hearts
Growing up, but them becoming closely
Like magnets pulling on facing parts
Mother; spread love with unfurl arms
Let me tackle the scattered care 
And follow path assembled yours.
Lots of old memories we share.
Father; such a genial affair
Lessons taught, as mouths stretched
Smile never left any despair
Wait for the rewards to be fetched.
Small brother not yet fully adept 
There is more love to expect.  
–Nino

Time is a  killer and most tranquil he is,
Many sought justice; though all failed.
Above the Mighty he is, follows no one but his;
Boring killer, evil bowed down and hailed
No cure, no prayer or escape from disease,
No one is equal and we all are guilty.
The Fountain of Youth is not found easily;
A dreamer’s dream is all but fealty
Time’s weapon is himself; for each 
of us possesses time, crime’s partners.
Slowly, seemingly, consumed us each;
Like a burning candle exhausting the last flame. 
As calmly Time consumed us as he ate;
The only answer to the riddle is wait
–Nodar

My fingers tap to count syllables out
But turn into drumming impatiently.
Drumming, thrumming… what if I wrote about
A sound? What rings through rhyme ab, ab?
Oh! I could choose one of the thoughts any
That fly through my head free of any cage
But no. They fly on swift wings too many
And will not be trapped by pencil to page.
Or what if writing philosophically?
I could sit, ponder a plaguing question,
Think on what is wrong with society.
Wait… That’s for my college application
As I stuff in a square fit,
I have to know. How did Shakespeare do it? 
–Anonymous

By Anastasia Demianenko