cinch me in

my first exercise with form was surprisingly gentle. it helps that i'm reinterpreting freeverse poems, i don't feel i'm cheating the muse that way. i'm honoring my voice and exploring an existing topic further.

the thing with form is, it demands a loftier voice, a higher ideal, it's the drama queen of the poetry world. i found myself, to adhere to the rule of the form, casting my arm out higher and pitching my head back father, drawing in a deeper, longer sigh, then swooning to the ground. (please). all this coupled with rhyme. the rhyme alone would normally stop me. but the form demands it.

and i'm finding it explores the limits of your vocabulary.

i'm not partial to thesaurai because people choose a word that works in the rhyme scheme but may not necessarily work in context.

seems i'm going to have to publish this series on grief i've been writing all together at some point. they are still powerful to me. and i will complete this run, then compile them and hopefully never look back (or move forward, i'm not sure which).

how they have the power still to level me. a friend just wrote to inquire about the one i had just written and i shared the opening poem of the series in reply, we cannot dishonor our children by misquoting them, can we? at least not to another poet. though i often do, they forgive me, imperfect parent that i am.

i have to write about the nutjob i'm reading and while she's an incredibly famous poet, i think she suffers from poor editing of her prose. i should hold my tongue before i get myself in trouble. but i don't do that well either, so i'll write a snappy essay and say it all there.

it is well my friends, it is well.

poetry is alive and well.

peace.