Here are some websites that can help you if you need a little assist in your poetry writing. Remember: there are no actual rules, but sometimes rules and limits help spark creativity. And it can be a lot of fun to play with some of the aspects of poetry writing to see what sorts of things you come up with.

  1. List of 168 Poetic Forms for Poets – This is a fantastic list by Robert Lee Brewer of various poetic forms, from haiku to acrostic. I’ve found it helpful when I’m not feeling particularly poetic to tackle one of these forms. The structure becomes the important thing. Maybe you’ll find out that you really hate writing sonnets, but you might fall in love with seadnas.
  2. Syllable Counter – I love using this tool, but it can be a little tricky. I use it to broadly get a poem to have consistency, but if the syllables are important you’ll still want to count them yourself. It doesn’t get everything perfectly correct, especially with contractions. It’s nice to start with though. Line lengths can be misleading.
  3. Rhyme Zone – I honestly don’t do a lot of rhyming, particularly at the ends of lines. I do use this site quite a bit though. It’s great when playing with a rhyme scheme in a poetic form you are playing with or to find some rhyming words to scatter throughout a poem to give a nice flow. I’ve been fighting against rhyming for a long time, but I think I was failing to see how I could use it in newer ways and now I play with it more often.
  4. Thesaurus.com – Feeling stuck? Try for a new word. I use this often and primarily early on in writing. I’m wary of synonyms. It’s rare that two words would have the exact same usage in a language. They generally would reduce down to one or each of the words has nuances that could be explored on their own… and that’s the route I tend to take. I have an idea and I look at related words that might pull me in a direction I didn’t expect.
  5. Wiktionary – Honestly, there are a million and one online dictionaries. I like this one because it is simple, ad free, and includes translations in multiple languages. It also is very comprehensive. I think people misuse dictionaries all the time. It is worth saying, a dictionary is NOT a list of “correct” uses of a word, but a record of how words are used within a language. It can be helpful to know that a niche usage has not yet been widely used enough to be recorded, or that it has become archaic. That isn’t a reason to not use a word, but it is good to know. Looking up a word will show it’s common usage, as we all know, but there isn’t much use in being pedantic about dictionary definitions. Language is fluid. (Sorry, I saw a soapbox and climbed up on it!)
  6. Wikipedia Random Article – I love choosing a random Wikipedia article and writing about it. It can be a poem or a blog post or whatever, but it is a challenge. There are so many things I know nothing about, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be inspired by something I learn about them. If I’m writing poems, I tend to skip athletes or modern celebrities (I find it hard to be inspired in those cases), but rarely is anything else a complete dead end.
  7. Artnet – One of my major inspirations in art. I love to pull up a piece of art I love and sit with it for days and let it influence my writing. Sometimes nothing comes of it, but often it feels like it becomes a part of the process. There are a lot of places to look for art to enjoy, including most museums’ websites. If you want to use the work in a publication, scour Wikimedia Commons for images. There’s so much beautiful work in the public domain to inspire you. Make sure you always check the image rights before using work. The art on Artnet is copyrighted. Please don’t steal art.

Notes

Written 19 May 2008 in Anchorage, Alaska.

Brian Fuchs, “Oil Man” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)


Posted 21 September 2020

 

Notes

Written 1 December 2012 &  22 April 2013 in Anchorage, Alaska.

Brian Fuchs, “Novels” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2020)


Posted 8 September 2020

This is how this poem appears in the book Okie Dokie. I’m considering rewriting it, or maybe I’ll just write something new to express these thoughts. We’ll see.

Notes

Written 22 August 2008 in Anchorage, Alaska & 8 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Mambo Italiano” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)


Posted 6 September 2020

Notes

Written 7 February 2020 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Making Circles in Darkness” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)


Notes

Written on or before 9 March 1998 in Claremore, Oklahoma. 

Brian Fuchs, “little SUPERHEROES” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)


Notes

Written 17 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Unpolished” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)


Campsis radicans

That house still haunts me;
the absences I feel are extreme.
Brad has kept the trumpet vines,
electric and intense like himself.
He pulled the irises that were once
lining the paths and taking breath
away from visitors as they passed.
The enormous black-purple blooms,
now towering only in our memory.
He inherited too much and not enough,
spending time and money adjusting,
spreading out and stamping his energy
onto the places that had been our center.
He’s added alcohol to the room where
my grandma’s last moments began,
highlighting the permanence of it all.
Where there was once an annual
display of daisies and cleomes,
a chainlink box sits, overgrown with
those intense trumpet vines.
The garden is all wild and unkempt,
like he’s trying to preserve something
that cannot be contained or suppressed.
Life spills out from our dark spots.
The house was full of undue pressures,
now settled into a gritty beauty.
The roots will continue to grow,
the trumpet vines will spread,
and one day my nephew’s children
will wipe tears from their eyes when
they visit a house that meant so much.
And they’ll talk about the intensity
and how much they’d give to have it back.

Notes

Written 20 February 2020 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Campsis radicans” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)

Stillwater, Oklahoma

1. HEARTBEAT

“a vast and magnificent landscape. The prairies bordering on the rivers are always varied in this way with woodland, so beautifully interspersed as to appear to have been laid out by the hand of taste… to rival the most ornamented scenery of Europe.” — Washington Irving

I’ve felt your beating heart;
thump thump… thump thump… thump thump…
thump thump… thump thump… thump thump…
Old folks still make weekly
pilgrimages to pray,
to seek God and solace.
Many hours of my youth
I spent rubbing the hands
of my grandma, wrinkled
and loose-skinned like mine now,
while the congregation
sang hymns from “the blue book,”
while old family friends
talked about love, dryly
reciting the red words.
Three times or more a week,
we’d gather to worship.
Thump thump… thump thump… thump thump…
I have felt the comfort
of belonging there, fell
for empty dogma long
before my welcome stopped.

Notes

Written 19 February 2020

Brian Fuchs, “Stillwater, Oklahoma” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)

Legg-Calvé-Perthes Cocoon

I’m more reptilian than Russian.
My parts have grown back,
and I’ve shed myself so many times,
expecting somehow to find smaller
versions of myself.

I haven’t grown smaller.

I test my legs often,
waiting for cracks to form
and for the new leg beneath
to emerge, emaciated and pale,
like it was the last time.

I thought I was a butterfly once,
and I fantasized about emerging
beautiful like the people I’m not.

I haven’t emerged beautiful.

Reinvention is either a myth
or a luxury of youth.
I tried so many times,
but I am more like myself now
than I ever was before.

It’s been thirty-five years
since the casts fixed my form
and my legs were allowed
to regrow.
I’m still waiting for it
to happen again,
knowing it won’t,
wishing it would.

I’m not so filled with new versions
as I was before,
and I’ve given up on beauty.
It was alway a lie anyway.
I long to know where
the beautiful people’s cracks form,
and what they expected to become.

Notes

Written 7 February 2020 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Legg-Calvé-Perthes Cocoon” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)

It’s that time again, and I’ve been pretty excited to get my cards done.  This year is also the 150th anniversary of the postcard, so there is a lot to celebrate! I love postcards.  This year, I did 2 cards, and I also got Justin and Bradley to join me and do a card each.  Below are our cards for this year.  If you want one, just send me a message with your address and I’d be happy to send any or all that you’d like.  Each was limited to 50 (Justin’s was limited to 30 numbered & 20 without number).

 

In a lot of ways, it feels like things are starting to make sense for me.  And it a lot of other ways, it feels like things are as chaotic as always.  Everyone seems just a little frustrated, but I’m not sure most of them can articulate why.  I know I can’t.

I finished Okie Dokie last month, and I have done a couple of edits to it since.  I hope I’m at a point where I can leave it alone now.  My copies come in the mail Saturday, and I’ll really know then.  I’m both excited and terrified to have my writing available for others.  That was always the goal, but I’m just so nervous about these things.  I hope others can appreciate my point of view and I’m looking forward to getting feedback, even if that feedback is negative.  Constructive criticism is always welcome.  I actually just assume that if someone doesn’t like something I’ve written, then that is just a preference they have and does not reflect on my writing in any real way.  If the consensus is negative, then I’m just writing the wrong things for current audiences.  I will have to wait and see.  The really difficult thing will be critiques by those I admire or grammatical errors pointed out by those I don’t.

I’ve started working on my next book, which will be similar to Okie Dokie in that it will contain selections of poetry from the past twenty years, as well as a few new poems to pull the book together.  I’ll have one or two more like that before relegating unpublished poetry to a “remnants” book of some sort in the future.  I have some things I’ve written that I really love, but I’m not sure how to make them work in any of these projects.  I do want a story to emerge from the collection, even if only loosely.  Okie Dokie was about myself and about how I see the world around me.  The second book will be about family and the places from which they came.  The third book is about friendship and love.  If I need fourth or fifth, I’ll do another about myself and then a last one about family, as those are the two subjects I’ve written the most about.  I’m also not limiting my writing.  I have other things I want to write and those things will fall into the projects that make the most sense for them.

For October, I’m enjoying some spooky stories and songs throughout the month, and I am of course bothering family with those things.  I miss sharing things with people.  I find everyone becoming increasingly isolated, and not just in my own family.  I’ll post some of those things on here during the month.

Quentin Clingerman Has Died

The winds are picking up
blowing trash into my yard
and announcing a storm that will
fall apart before it arrives.
The worn out flags and crosses
still look as majestic as they did,
but I’m opening by insides
and filling my pages with secrets.
I’m waiting for critiques
by entrenched folks who think
too much about the sex lives
of other people, of my sex life.
I want to reveal myself again,
try to make people see my words
and my techniques and stop worrying
about who I’ve kissed or
who I haven’t, but wanted to.
I want to edit volumes of poetry
about God and America and guns,
poems filled with the lies we tell ourselves
and enjoy them because the author
knew how to write the words beautifully.
I don’t want to read the judgement.
It starts to rain and I’m surprised;
I thought the rain would miss us.

Notes

Written 21 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Quentin Clingerman Has Died” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)

Gleditsia triacanthos

You were beautiful once, and maybe you still are.
I rarely revisit those moments when we became adults
on Sunday mornings, skipping church for each other.
I don’t think about the length of your neck
and I don’t dwell on the smell of you skin.
I’ve turned you upside down, exposed the roots
and tried to understand how they worked,
rubbing the soil into the grooves of my skin.
I don’t want to return to your kindness or cruelty,
and I don’t want to put you back how I found you;
Your branches are thorny and I’d end up hurt again.
So, I’ll repaint the photos I have of you in new colors
and we can pretend that there were no feelings.
And I’ll send you copies of the new versions
and you can pretend that you don’t remember.

Notes

Written 18 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Gleditsia triacanthos” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)