Yesterday’s chosen poetry form was the Contrapuntal – which seemed much easier than I thought, at first, being essentially the solo version of a Tapestry form – a collaborative form that Necia Campbell and I wrote together last year, and which appears towards the end of the recently released, Poems from the Rebel Outpost. The previous link will take you to Barnes & Noble; to buy from Amazon, click here.
But then again, the Tapestry form might have been easier because it was a collaboration, and in the Contrapuntal, the left hand knows exactly what the right hand’s doing, destroying the element of surprise and risking too much cohesion, in a way. In other words, the counterpoint may be less of a counterpoint for knowing exactly where the poet wants to lead.
Progress, They Call It (a Contrapuntal Poem)
progress, they call it: slashing, burning, progress— can’t stop the forward motion of a nation! encroaching, elbowing, uprooting the living who would want to thwart the people’s will, or kill the canopy of verdant sunlit trees that once breathed sweet aroma of crisply minted bills enrobed in leather with our exhalations. we breathed theirs until they gasped the faintest whiff of manliness, invoking will, their last, until they fell to saw and ax, bulldozed determination. ancestors’ words forgotten as new money’s burned to make a way for strip malls and wealth, unfettered by past sense, decorum, grows, power lines—such progress don’t go well with pines— it goes to feed the engines of industry that only thrive incinerating cedar selves in swirling smoke coal-fired on the backs of miners, steelworkers, “little people”— their ashes drifting heavenwards and carried those dispensable, extra mouths to feed until on the santa ana winds to add a colored layer the robots shove them off the ledge on the cliffs of palo duro choking out the summer sun.
I was first introduced to the form by the poet Mervyn Seivwright, who is kind enough to let me call him friend and mentor. He made it look easy, with poems like, “Manhood’s Gambit,” but that’s the trick of any good writer. It should look natural and almost effortless. It’s not.
Today’s “alphabet challenge” poem, which I won’t publish here (I have other plans for that one!), uses the Diminishing Verse form.
The following poem was inspired by another participant in The Stafford Challenge who, bafflingly, was advised by AI to “doglificate their love life.” I suggested that even if the mean girls couldn’t make “fetch” happen, maybe a bunch of poets could make “doglificate” happen and in the process, confuse the hell out of the machine. I have never claimed not to be mischievously subversive.
Doglificate
We have been ill-advised in this, AI’s insistent
urging to “doglificate our lives.” Imagine
docile canine friends pontificating
from a coffee table soapbox or
the nearest fragrant hydrant hoping
they might radicate the notion that
the dogs should be in charge? Oh, woe
to cats and tender, tasty humans then –
our fate, thus sealed, as we
are slowly licked to death, complacent,
grinning, thinking we had any say at all.
Please – whether you consider yourself a poet or not – join in the fun. Let’s make this word, “doglificate,” a thing. Short story writers, you, too! Come back and post a link to your doglificate creations in the comments so we can all enjoy them.
Buried Treasure, an Asefru
“Don’t be a scientist. Doglificate your love life.”
~InspiroBot
Analytics, bland routines,
rigid self-restraint–
love bones stripped and buried deep.
Dig them up and toss them high,
messy, dirty fun—
playfulness that fortifies.
Loyal, unconditional,
treasure ripe with joy—
slobbered feelings visceral.
I love this! Excellent and unusual form choice, too – http://poeticsonline.com/glossary/asefru/ (plural, isefra) Am I to read between the lines? Are you challenging me to a poetry duel?
No, no…I’m just late in joining your form challenge…
Well, okay. But from that link, above: “The Isefra tradition is tightly linked, at least in western culture, to Si Mohand ou-Mhand n At Hmadouch, referred by colonials -er-sorry, by French scholars as the “Kabyle Verlaine”, and who, according to history, frequently took his Isefra and engaged in epic poetry duels, such as with the pious Cheikh Mohand ou-Lhocine.”
Well, I totally missed the link AND just realized I totally STP on the form. The rhyme is AAB AAB AAB not ABA ABA ABA. 😩
Try, try again? 🙂
Well, you know what that means…
KEEP TRYING.
Doglificate
. RJ Clarken’s AI advice:
. “Don’t be a scientist.
. Doglificate your love life.”
. A one-word-per-line acrostic
Dogs
offer
gleeful
lives,
intense,
free,
incidentally
contradicting
AI
triplicate
errors.
. —Vince Gotera
https://vincegotera.blogspot.com/2025/01/the-stafford-challenge-day-14.html
Marvelous! Thank you for joining in the fun, Vince. And welcome to my blog. Make yourself at home.
You’re welcome. Check out my blog too, please. https://vincegotera.blogspot.com
I did. I usually do, when someone comments here. I left a comment for you there, too.
I did notice something – first time I visited, on mobile (which I usually do with portrait mode locked, since I’d rather read tiny text than only a few lines at a time), it cut off the entire right side of your blog. So then I tried switching to desktop version (still on mobile – Android) and it STILL cut off the right side of the text. It displays fine on my PC or on Android in Landscape mode.
Hi again. 🙂
I skipped the origin story and made up my own possible meaning for doglificate. I was inspired by a friend who fosters Newfoundlands, and is currently dealing with a busy boy who is challenging for the entire household.
Sully’s Song
One hundred pounds of
unrestrained teenage pup energy.
Food in the garbage? Excavate.
A stuffed monkey toy? Devastate.
Pounce on older brothers? Indelicate.
His humans? Tempted to
defenestrate
this profligate
doglificate.
I think that the “origin story” leaves plenty of room for creative interpretation!