henceforth

Posted on November 13, 2019 | Leave a comment

This year, I’m writing poetry for every word tasting in November. I’m calling it Povember. Today, a cinquain.

these hands
sow these letters
on your humus tongue so
opulently words will burgeon
henceforth

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slush, slosh

Posted on November 12, 2019 | Leave a comment

This year, I’m writing poetry for every word tasting in November. I’m calling it Povember. Today, a sonnet – in the Italian (Petrarchan) style. Continue reading →

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bologna

Posted on November 9, 2019 | Leave a comment

This year, I’m writing poetry for every word tasting in November. I’m calling it Povember. Today, a rondel. Listen to the audio for an important clue on how this is intended to be read. Continue reading →

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Fly Me to the Manuscript

Posted on November 8, 2019 | 1 comment

My friend Mark Allen, @EditorMark, was this week’s host of a recurring Twitter event called #StetDanceParty, where editors can (if they want) take a break for a half hour for some lively music. He messaged me on Monday asking if I’d like to contribute.

“Do you mean I should sing the song?” I asked. “Or choose a video made by someone else?”

“I mean sing, man, sing,” he said.

So (after a couple of days figuring out what I’d sing) on Thursday I recorded and edited this video, put it up on YouTube just before bedtime, and sent the link to him. He shared it with the world about an hour ago. Here it is:

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contextual

Posted on November 7, 2019 | Leave a comment

This year, I’m writing poetry for every word tasting in November. I’m calling it Povember. Today, a glosa, which is a form that bases itself on a quote from an existing poem. I’m basing this one on a snippet from “Language Is a Virus,” by Laurie Anderson.

Paradise
is exactly like
where you are right now
only much, much better.
—“Language Is a Virus,” Laurie Anderson

Continue reading →

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thigmotropism

Posted on November 5, 2019 | Leave a comment

This year, I’m writing poetry for every word tasting in November. I’m calling it Povember. Today, a ghazal of sorts.

Thigmotropism, which has the stress on the second syllable, names the property of moving in response to touch: turning towards or away from a thing upon coming into contact with it. It’s often described in plants, but of course happens in more mobile entities as well. Continue reading →

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tregetour

Posted on November 4, 2019 | 1 comment

This year, I’m writing poetry for every word tasting in November. I’m calling it Povember. Today, a roundel.

A tregetour is a trickster, a conjurer, a juggler; the word comes by way of French from Latin trans ‘across’ plus jactare ‘throw’, the same source as trajectory. And gnidge is a rare word from Scottish meaning ‘rub, squeeze, press’. Continue reading →

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ultracrepidarian

Posted on November 2, 2019 | 1 comment

This year, I’m writing poetry for every word tasting in November. I’m calling it Povember. Today, a rondeau redoubled.

An ultracrepidarian, by the way, is someone who offers opinions on matters beyond their expertise. Literally, it’s someone who goes beyond matters of shoemaking. It’s a reference to an anecdote about the Greek painter Apelles: a shoemaker corrected him on details of a shoe, and Apelles fixed the painting; the shoemaker, emboldened, offered opinions on the leg, and Apelles advised him not to go beyond the shoes. Continue reading →

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brunt

Posted on November 1, 2019 | Leave a comment

For the past three years I’ve devoted November to a serialized work of fiction. I’ve decided this year to write poetry instead. I’m calling it Povember. Today, a rondeau. I’m picking up the theme I somehow started yesterday. Continue reading →

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masquerade

Posted on October 31, 2019 | 3 comments

For the past three years I’ve devoted November to a serialized work of fiction. I’ve decided this year to write poetry instead. I guess I’ll call it Povember. I start with an early triolet for Hallowe’en.

It lashes rain. I dress: my masquerade.
Mais, elle aussi, elle a sa mascarade.
We meet. I drip. She asks no task or aid.
I dress it. Lashes rain. My mask arrayed,
Mascaraed lashes, fishnets, musk: parade.
Elle ne rien dit, cette Marquise de Sade.
My lashes rain. Dress it: I masquerade,
Mais elle, o! si elle a sa mascarade…

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