I fall for people who are trying a new approach.
Michele co-opted the marketing and research survey program Survey Monkey and set up three templates for poets to write a poem in: 1) Confessional 2) Love 3) Condemnation. She’s “interested in how the digital interface affects the writer’s experience, how the concept of ‘play’ factors in the experience, how the digital interface either expands the limits of the forms or speeds their ruptures, and any ways that the writer can subvert the form. And when is the form exhausted? And is filling in boxes in responses to prompts an act of writing poetry?”
I completed the Confessional templete and wrote The Hank Snow Album Cover Confessional, published on Michele’s website.
Have a read of other template poems. They’re worth it.
The Hank Snow Album Cover Confessional
Forgive me for being one hundred and one, weary, a good
hum, a bad run. The bar refuses to keep
me out, the doormen refuse to refuse
their number one customer around its face. I’ve fallen for a numberless year
old Bolivian tailor who slows days.
I’ve invoked the cocoon. I’ve slowed no “I” to slow
“I’s” that lead to the deserted ancients. With totem.
Tiny wisps. A palm-eye negotiating third eye, the chakra hooked
inside a guitar string. I’ll get over it and cross his measuring tape all over
again: the lost Bolivian, the desperate seer
with her hair. But I’ll not mediate argument to write
someone else’s memory. At twelve, I was shown by a seventh son
of seven sons within the windy windy canyons of Des Moines. My first cousin
shamed me into horsewhipping a scorn I could hide.
That seventh son is now one hundred and one with a confusion since her
hair the shape of my tailor. My organ grinder is an inappropriate
panhandler I sometimes indulge. I don’t indulge in water.
I don’t wear rhinestones among the stampeding cattle run who disregarded
floral arrangements unlike my chakra the last time we deserted. But I did. Found
damp crinkle of dubious path but let their manhole covers pursue my stormdrains again
and again. I strum. I’m a good landscape who can’t help landscaping
wallflower impeding on the horizon. This is not scattered ruffian.
All of my ruffians are unending.