Know
not at all
what to find in dredges
of my mind: appealing rhymes, rocking sounds,
or free verse galloping to the hounds, ideas so abstract,
sly turns of phrase, precise descriptions, felicitous haze. I wake with words crawling
out
every pore
refusing to battle
leading, coaxing, bullying more. Nothing
licks them into shape, so let them swarm gently, leaving agape,
Meaning, words drift asunder, while the Poet chases rainbows. It’s a perfect blunder!
This has been an interesting experiment of mathematical meter over at dVerse Poets. I wrote a rhyming and metered poem yesterday which I have now redone to fit a Pascal Triangle, that is, 1-3-6-10-15-21 syllables in each line. I am not sure it adds to the poetic experience (the rhymes have gone awry, of course, and I’ve had to lose or change words), but it’s all part of exercising the poetic muscle.
