Waterstone’s Sonnet -Jan Poetry Comp.

I’m found high up, a tiny crescent mark
a comma wand’ring from its rightful place
abused by every ill-read grocer’s clerk
some oft’ used plural noun to sore deface.

When I’m true placed, behind all proper nouns
the power of possession, I’ll at once confer.
I’m in mid-word?  I beg thee, spare thy frowns,
you’ll know the missing letters I do there infer.

A worthless vestige, or some antiquated sign
I never was.  Sad victim of some Ad-man’s pen
will never be, until the writing of the final line
means to us all the great, and last, amen.

When the rules of English usage they defile,
ALL the many Waterstones must we revile.

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Author: Low Wattage

Expat Welshman, educated (somewhat) in UK, left before it became fashionable to do so. Now a U.S. Citizen, and recent widower, playing with retirement and house remodeling, living in Delaware and rural Maryland (weekends).

8 thoughts on “Waterstone’s Sonnet -Jan Poetry Comp.”

  6. Janus : A bit shaky I thought. I cannot think of sonnets without thinking of Shakespeare. I wrote the original with a feather I snatched from a passing goose’s arse.

  8. Once, a long time ago there was a song…

    and at that very same time we had a neighbour, called Cyril. I cans till remember my father’s face when my brother and I sang it at the top of our voices one time….

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