Some of our favorite things are
new poetic forms. These inventions
of Mars include Converbs, Trigees
and Geoms.

CONVERB: A contrary proverb, the mission of the Converb is to be as controversial as possible in as few words as manageable. There are no rhyme or meter requirements, just hit hard and get out. 

*****
Converb #1
Long Leaf

Cigarettes
became the bad guy
when John Wayne
got lung cancer.

*****
Converb #2
Motivation

I want to organize a poetry reading.
How can I get 20 or 30 artists to come?
Free food, free beer, free wine. Ta Dah!

*****
Converb #3
Beat It

I want to swing to the new beat
that Quincy Jones wrote for
Michael Jackson in 1982.

*****
Converb #4

My watch must have stopped.
It still reads:
“A time of excess and celebration.”

*****
Converb #5
Ballgames

The game is grand
(old)
only to a child?

*****

TRIGEE: The Trigee is a three-in-one poem. They are built by combining two short poems into a third large one by stringing the lines together. The left stanza is read first, the right stanza second, then the combined lines make the third poem.

Again, there are no rhyme and meter requirements.

Trigee #1

Like my heart . . . . . . . . . I am hidden
Softly singing . . . . . . . . . .In the meadow
Where the swallows . . . Waiting Quiet
Will not fly . . . . . . . . . . . . As dry grass rustles

*****
Trigee #2

Lets go down . . . . . . . . . . The same old walkway
to the beach with . . . . . . . . . our red sandals remembering
our new bodies . . . . . . . . . years before, wanting
to frighten young boys . . . . . more than unrequited love

*****
Trigee #3

no soldier wants . . . . . . war with men who dream
to be immortal . . . . . . . . senselessly peaceful
with the living ghosts . . . . among brothers and sons
of the ancients . . . . . . . . . with no blood to shed

*****
Trigee #4

Peace paid for by . . . . . Blood in waves
A strange currency . . . . From gashed heads
Printed red and white . . . Flows like a tide
Born of hate rushed . . . . Through my dream

*****
Trigee #5

How can a . . . . . . hearth-hardened
poem describe . . . ironclad will by
love songs . . . . . . a lady displays
so metallic . . . . . . like a Bugatti bronze

*****