on code and conlangs

okay soooo i'm going to attempt to try 42 poetic forms in 30 days XD

schedule:

1: sonnet, quintilla; 2: american cinquain, rondeau; 3: limerick, tanka; 4: ballad; 5: ekphrastic; 6: concrete poem, sijo; 7: sestina, skeltonic verse
8: ode; 9: elegy; 10: blackout poem; 11: epic; 12: abecedarian; 13: mondo; 14: villanelle
15: flamenca; 16: kyrielle; 17: ars poetica; 18: decima espinela, heroic couplet; 19: canzone, silva; 20: bop, gasa; 21: madrigal, izibongo
22: magic 9; 23: diminishing verse; 24: minute poem; 25: epitaph, blank verse; 26: ovillejo; 27: paradelle, lipograms; 28: palindrome
29: qasida, pantoum; 30: free verse

buut if i find that i don't have enough time, i have some backups that are shorter/easier!
if i'm pressed for time:
haiku, shadorma, soledad, acrostic, list poem

so hopefully i do indeed end up trying 42 poetic forms one way or another =P

3/27/24
pre-napo poem 1 - seguidilla

format: (name of the poetic form; country of origin; description)

(seguidilla; Spain; 7 lines going 7-5-7-5-5-7-5, assonance rhyme with lines 2 and 4 and again with lines 5 and 7, pause and tone/focus change between lines 4 and 5)

under a maple tree, watch
spots of light dancing
through chlorophyll-tinted leaves
on a dust jacket.
flip a page and see
inky words in neat typed lines,
worlds of fantasy.

3/27/24
pre-napo poem 2 - sicilian octave 11-liner
(sicilian octave; Italy; 8 lines of 11 syllables, iambic meter, rhyming abababab)
i made it eleven lines instead so uhh technically it's no longer an octave >.> if anyone knows the fancy term for an 11-line poem, do let me know xD

i think my time online exceeds a healthy
amount, but who am i if not addicted
to symbols on a screen? i scroll as if we
exist as bits and bytes, just tech conflicted
regarding logic in humanity-- see,
the problem is that we are contradicted
by us and our imaginations. tell me,
today, is speech still free when it's restricted
by character counts, syllables, and money?
i rhyme while lacking reason; i'm afflicted
by nothing but my own devices, really.

4/1/24
acid rain
(Shakespearean sonnet; England; 14 lines of 10 syllables, iambic pentameter, rhyming ababcdcdefefgg)

the time for drinking acid rain is now.
become the plants, become their grieving leaves.
(you know you cannot be their roots, for how
can vagrants be at home with foreign eaves?)
your head tipped back, your mouth a void, i know
to try to photosynthesize is not
a task for faint of cane. (your backbone, though,
is strong as those of flowers holding dot-
-ted heads of seeds.) you hold the world. i rise.
(when atlas bent below the weight of sky,
the air was clean. but now we realize
the chemicals of our reality.)
if you, not even native to this land
can bear the world, well. i should give a hand.