Sonnet
14 lines · iambic pentameter
An argument with a hinge. The Shakespearean turns at line 9 and clinches in a couplet; the Petrarchan breaks 8 against 6. Use it when a feeling needs to be reasoned with.
The workshop
How poems are built, how they are read to their depths, and how you might make one of your own tonight.
14 lines · iambic pentameter
An argument with a hinge. The Shakespearean turns at line 9 and clinches in a couplet; the Petrarchan breaks 8 against 6. Use it when a feeling needs to be reasoned with.
19 lines · two refrains
Obsession given architecture. The repeated lines return like a thought you cannot put down — which is why Dylan Thomas used it to rage against a father's death.
unrhymed iambic pentameter
The heartbeat of English speech. Shakespeare's plays and Milton's epic live here: grand enough for God, natural enough for grief.
any form · one purpose
A poem that mourns, then attempts consolation. Watch how the grief refuses the consolation — that refusal is usually where the poem gets honest.
stanzaic · exalted address
Sustained attention to one thing until it opens: an urn, a nightingale, autumn. Praise, in poetry, is a form of close looking.
no fixed meter
Not the absence of form but form invented per poem. The line break becomes your only instrument — so break where meaning hesitates, never where it is comfortable.
Ideas make essays; images make poems. Start with the thing you can see — a chipped cup, a hospital corridor, rain on a bus window. The meaning will find its way in behind it.
Anger is often grief with armour. Nostalgia is often fear of the present. Write toward the thing underneath; that is where the reader is waiting.
Constraint is not a cage but a trellis. Decide the line length, the stanza, whether it rhymes. Then let the form pressure you into a phrase you would never have chosen freely.
Delete every 'very', 'somehow', 'really', and each adjective doing the noun's job. If a line survives being spoken in an empty room, it can survive a reader.
Do not explain the poem in its final line. End on an image, a turn, or a silence — and let the reader step through carrying their own life.
Ask four questions of any poem. Who is speaking, and to whom? Nobody speaks into a vacuum; find the listener. What is being avoided? Notice the subject the poem circles but will not name. Where does the language break? A shift in rhythm, register or syntax is the mind flinching. What does it want from you? Comfort, witness, absolution — every poem is a request.
Bring the Oracle your poem