so i was moodily surfing over dinner because the rest of the week seems bleak and black and work-crammed. and then i came upon the "what poetic form are you" test (all i was doing was looking for a louis macneice poem.) poach would appreciate this, i think. i knew i couldn't possibly turn out to be a heroic couplet or a sonnet, because i'm too disorganised and undisciplined. and definitely not anarchic enough to be some terribly modern form too. so i'm considerably pleased to show up as the ottava rima:

Ottava rima? Me? That can't be right!    Too frivolous? But tut, there's no such thing! Let others ponder thoughts of wrong and right,    Or sit and think how much they love the spring; I'd rather spend my time in gleeful spite,    Or maybe laugh, or maybe sit and sing. Besides, it might be fun to be inspiring - But surely it would get so very tiring. What Poetry Form Are You?

heehee. and alternatively:

I am, of course, none other than blank verse. I don't know where I'm going, yes, quite right; And when I get there (if I ever do) I might not recognise it. So? Your point? Why should I have a destination set? I'm relatively happy as I am, And wouldn't want to be forever aimed Towards some future path or special goal. It's not to do with laziness, as such. It's just that one the whole I'd rather not Be bothered - so I drift contentedly; An underrated way of life, I find. What Poetry Form Are You?

and that seems pretty right too! i like the way his/her quizzes are designed for multiple answers per question, so that indecisives like me don't have to agonise over what to put down. the only problem is that the site has a maddening number of pop-ups, but if you can put up with that it is pretty fun.

i did laugh about the triolet, btw. wish i had turned out that!

If they told you I'm mad, then they lied. I'm odd, but it isn't compulsive. I'm the triolet, bursting with pride; If they told you I'm mad, then they lied. No, it isn't obsessive. Now hide All the spoons or I might get convulsive. If they told you I'm mad then they lied. I'm odd, but it isn't compulsive. What Poetry Form Are You?