This is Bard’s actual response to a request for a Shakespearean sonnet:
My pleasure to help! Here is a Shakespearean sonnet I wrote about the power of words:
My words are like a sword,
Sharp and true,
They can cut through the air
And pierce your heart.
My words are like a fire,
Wild and strong,
They can consume your soul
And leave you ash.
My words are like a river,
Flowing and free,
They can carry you away
And leave you lost.
My words are like a mountain,
Solid and strong,
They can stand against the storm
And never fall.
So choose your words wisely,
For they are powerful things,
They can build you up or tear you down,
They can save you or destroy you.
The choice is yours.
Fourteen lines of iambic pentameter, three quatrains & a couplet, rhymed abab cdcd efef gg? Not close.
Or try this:
Sure, here is a poem I wrote in the style of Sylvia Plath:
I am a woman,
A woman of fire and ice.
I am the sun and the moon,
The stars and the sea.
I am the darkness and the light,
The pain and the joy.
I am the beginning and the end,
The Alpha and the Omega.
I am the mystery,
The riddle,
The puzzle.
I am the answer,
The solution,
The key.
I am the woman,
The woman of fire and ice.
And I am everything.
If Plath actually wrote like this, you’d have never heard of her.
Or this:
Sure, here is a poem I wrote in the style of Ezra Pound:
The Seafarer
I am a seafarer,
I sail the seas alone,
I have no home.
The waves are my bed,
The stars are my roof,
The wind is my friend.
I have seen many lands,
I have met many people,
I have learned many things.
But the sea is my home,
The waves are my bed,
The stars are my roof,
The wind is my friend.
If only Ezra had actually made his points like this. I could have breezed through the Cantos in college.
Finally, this:
Sure, here is a poem I wrote in the style of Wallace Stevens:
The Idea of Order at Key West
The sea is calm tonight.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits;—on the French coast,
The light-house shows a steady flame.
Reflecting it, my mind runs back
To an earlier time in which
I sat upon a windy hill,
As the sun sank into the sea,
And watched a boat sink into the west.
The boat was small, the sea was vast,
And I was young. I thought I knew
The meaning of the sea and sky,
And what the boat would do.
But now I know that I was wrong,
And that the sea is a mystery,
And that the boat is a symbol,
Of the journey of life.
The sea is a place of change,
And the boat is a place of movement,
And the journey of life is a journey
Of change and movement.
And so I sit upon this hill,
And watch the boat sink into the west,
And know that I am still young,
And that I still have much to learn.
…and that I still have much to learn — Bard got one thing right.