A Fool’s Sonnet
Hello my name is Gregor McSoarkin
I am a foolish poetry student,
I made a strange bet, to my misfortune.
I’m sure you’ll agree it was not prudent.
A struggle with my assignment immense,
A cursory search on the internet,
A webpage with magicks ancient dispensed,
I tampered with a spell I won’t forget:
A bounty of sweets for the faerie folk
They can be tricky with their silver tongues
When discussing the matter do not choke
Or the fae will steal breath from your sweet lungs
Search for a ring of mushrooms small and witty
You must cease with wearing undergarments
Twelve locks of hair and a modern ditty
Fuck up, face countless occult debarments
With my pant pockets full of Hostess cakes
I trekked into the deepest natural lands.
Although I had to fear the highest stakes,
My dwindling extension made me wring hands
I practiced my lingo and legalese.
I severed my hair and stole it from friends.
Acquired a box of Snoballs® with ease.
I acquainted with new cottagecore trends.
I felt prepared to face the beast.
I crumbled my cake and scattered my hair.
Expectations dipped before they increased.
Only a blink of time and I was there.
A mossy hole with accouterments quaint
Decor aglow and baubles with malice
As I looked upon the man, I felt faint:
Long-limbed, holding a bedazzled chalice
“Come hither,” he said with a rotted smile,
“There are many deals and treasures within.
I promise a treat if you stay a while.”
Then a centipede crawled through his snide grin.
He beckoned with elongated finger
“Come taste my tea and you shall be refreshed.”
On my tongue the tart flavor did linger
In a blue flash I saw his face un-fleshed
I stumbled back and he cackled just so
“It is divine to have the gift of rhyme,
However, absurd to give it back though.”
I scrambled out covered in dirt and grime
When I returned to my humble dorm room
I sat down to write something beyond
On completion I felt a sense of doom
I was a victim of a magick bond
I gained a perfect score of ninety-nine
And was showered with praise and accolades
Afterwards my words refused to untwine
The ultimate downside of this fae trade
And so everyone thinks I’m annoying
And doing the world’s worst English-y bit
I admit this curse is soul destroying
And to be honest I’m fucking over it
Even though I am a massive sucker
I want to punch that tricksy mother fucker
Connor Stanford is a second-year theater studies major who vents all their emotions through poetry. You can reach them at [email protected].