Kerfe has just reminded me of a poetry form I devised a couple of years ago and promptly forgot about. It’s called a 42 after Douglas Adams and his answer to “the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything.” It starts with a one-liner question, followed by a two-liner of background, and ends with a three-liner of resolution.
Question for the Earth
Why the rain, the cold?
Earth sleeps beneath dead leaves
chill in every feather.
When frost pricks blue flesh
and cold is waiting in every corner of the house
I cup my hands around the living flame.