I rarely start a piece of writing without a title. And once I have started the piece, I never change the title. Never. Titles of poems or blogs or even assignments I write don’t evolve, they appear. I don’t tweak or massage them; I just type.

I did briefly consider calling this piece, “Blah, blah, blah freaking poetry, part 3” but I think that structure has run its course. While this is a continuation of the “freaking homework” blogs, it’s time to change it up.

Let’s start with a confession: I started a poetry section on my website and didn’t tell anyone. I wasn’t sure I could keep it up, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted readers. If you’ve explored my website, you may have found it. IF.

There are now three poems posted now all about playing cards. I decided I needed a theme of sorts to get me going, and I had been thinking about this idea for a couple of years: 52 playing cards & 52 weeks in the year. Write a poem a week based on a random playing card. Sometimes the poem will be very specific to the card and sometimes the card will simply occasion a poem.

The poem for week 17 is a sonnet because, if you will remember from yesterday’s blog’s dramatic cliffhanger, it was Shakespeare’s birthday, and I was challenging my son to write a sonnet to supplement the poetry study he has (not really) been doing for his remote learning freaking homework.

Well, he did it. He complained and tried to quit a couple of times, but he finished his poem in less than half an hour. That boy doesn’t put his shoes on in less than half an hour. And I did, too. While he kind of bailed on the final couplet, he enjambed like a boss and included slant rhymes.

A of S

The Ace of Spades is my favorite card.
But I’ll bet almost everyone thinks the same.
My mom is making me write about this card,
And it’s hard, but I do like games.

I like the Ace because it’s a leader.
And I like it in Black Jack because it’s high or low.
Although our card deck should be neater,
I always like to show

My Ace of Spades at the end of every poker game.
I sometimes bluff,
But for that you have to train.
I always have the Ace at the end of my cuff.

And I always bet the lot
So I can get the pot.

You’ll have to navigate to the “52” section of my website to read my poem. This moment is his, and I’m not sure I am ready for the comparison.

I am not supposed to post this poem. He asked me not to share it, but then added, “but you will anyway.” Yes, I told him, I will. This morning as we were setting up for our remote learning day, he showed his poem to his dad. He was proud of his work—he read it out loud to me and then listened as his dad read it out. Today, we are talking about haiku.

Part diamonds & hearts
A study in playing cards
His hand dealt & scattered.