All Night Knitter, a Triolet for Tricoter

Because I have a deeply satisfying and stultifyingly busy life, I was just noodling through the Blogs - the whole concept "Next Blog" being not a concept at all - will it be alphabetical? I wondered, left the spectacularly ravishing Radish King for a horrifying photo of a furious looking man with an enormous firearm text in a language I do not read, then a lovely sunset and perhaps Persian, and then the All Night Knitter with a photo of a skein of yellow yarn in a formal pose, stark background, back lighting. Text below did not appear ironic, and so I skedaddled out of there and back to here where I can post and pass time all by myself as my work seems to have less audience here in blogland than there (or here) in real life land where the people are. Still, the act of publishing via one button push attracts and pleases me.

The Triolet (rhymes with Chevrolet and so is French just like the car) is a poetic form I have never before attempted but will now (sans net) because I want to and because I have to experience it before teaching it to fourth graders. Why would one do such a thing? Ah, I am in the class to combine the botany of trees and poetry, as per grant proposal. The TREE-o-LAY has the word TREE in it silly.

Tricoter (TREE-co-TAY) is the Manolo Blanik (sp) of knitting stores.

All-Night Knitter
A Triolet for Tricoter


I fondle skeins all day
attached flags, confetti, fur
I don't know how to knit anyway
I fondle skeins all day
silk shiny, fuchsia, wooly gray
I stare so much the colors blur
I fondle skeins all day
attached flags, confetti, fur


So that's the form. It isn't Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night, but it also isn't a Villanelle.

Here is a poem-like utterance in contemplation of my panel in a couple of weeks on women poets, as in being one: its effects.

Brief Bios of Five AMEricaN Poets

1.
Full-lunged America singer, grandfather of us all
2.
Insurer of insatiable imagination
3.
Physician's clear vision, brevity
4.
(us) up he shook far and wee
5.
cats could not declaw him
we still come and go

Sometimes we shiver in their shadows,
admit it grrrls.