Caveat: Poem #1030 “Syntactic verse”

strident birds  green ideas  forceful sunlight
gloomy eagle
grave concerns  red movement  gentle wind
rough bark
angular branches  precipitous descent  able creatures
spinning insects
the day
but nothing
except now
it all feels
deep soil  dull failure  dead spirits
ghostly contortions

– a quennet. This poetic form, called a quennet, is one of the many odd and wonderful things to emerge from Oulipo. It is a specification not based on meter or rhyme but rather parts of speech and word counts – you could argue that it is syntactic versification. I think more could be done with inventing such constraints.

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