As I mentioned I aim to write 1 review for every 10 titles read, whether that is a 16-page title or 1000 page title.

I have read 60 titles this year (10 of those are re-reads) and have 12 reviews out, or forthcoming. although, 3 of those I wrote last year and there was a lag to pixel. Still, I’m a little ahead of my arbitrarily drawn curve. 

I have 4 or 5 more books underway, maybe 6. And another couple books to review coming by mail, I presume. Somehow, somewhen.

At Periodicities:  My Great-Grandfather Danced Ballet by Misha Solomon (Brick, 2026),

At The Seaboard Review of Books: Becoming Altar by Kyla Houbolt (Subpress, 20255) and Screaming Obscenities at the Sky (At Bay Press, 2025) by Christian McPherson

At ShoHyōRan: Weather by Rob Taylor (Gaspereau, 2024), How to Write and Publish Moving Poems and Books and Publicize Like a Pro by Charlotte Digregorio (Artful Communicators Press, 2025), and Mossy Alley by Shannon Wallace (Island of Wak-Wak, 2025)

At Miramichi Reader: Do It Wrong: How to be a Poet in the Twenty-first Century by Derek Beaulieu (Assembly Press, 2026), Best Canadian Poetry 2025 edited by Mary Dalton (Biblioasis, 2025), Sincerely Katherine: Life, Gender, Inclusivity and Leadership for the Future by Katherine Dudtschak (Page Two, 2026), The Time of Falling Apart (Harbour, 2025) by Wendy Donawa, and A Friend of Dorothy’s (Magic Show Press, 2025) by Richard Willets.

At Haiku Canada Review (print): Glass Noodles by Anthony Lusardi (baby buddha press, 2025)

I keep a running list of words that tickle. What are yours?

grisly, gristles 

huff, hustle and bristle

lavish

curt, courtesy

bebumfuzzledly

formica,  formic acid

dyspraxia

digital commons

cajole

clade

geranium

nimble

aporia

nuzzle

muzzy

interpolate, interpol

triangulate 

digression

gaussian

bickerflirt

shrewd

signifiers

hubbub

dubiety

ramada, ramadan

clod, clawed

indefatigable

defat

mooning over

over the moon

apt to, inept to

paraesthesia

chump change

chunk of change

wrinkle, rankle

catacombs, backcomb 

katabatic 

pixel-eaters

strictures

In case I haven’t mentioned lately, I compile all the reviews of books and chapbooks people have expressed on what I’ve been lucky enough to have published and read.

I know finding poetry can be hard. I’ve stockpiled a couple thousand titles of it yet in the season of spring titles releasing I feel woe-be-gotten that I can’t buy loads. Nor will my library. They keep ejecting titles of the already scant shelves of a few dozen. Even T.S. Eliot, boom, outta here. Even history of Black writers. Gone. So frustrating.

But at least I thrifted and got back Jeeves and Wooster from the BBC series. I once donated it to the library so more could see it, but it was immediately turfed to the free pile and gone, instead of added to the collection, while I was being reminded by librarian over my protests that a library is not an archive. It is an active collection based on what appeals to people. And right now that means French novels and teen graphic novels it seems. Even cookbooks go. Man, what a hard hard room.

And in the land of composition today, a fortuitous set of words that suggest a relationship. Lucky Fancy Thigh Zones. Take that as a prompt. I did.

Dear god, I renamed one of my current 9 books at editing phase. Continued editing it, then started editing the old version so they diverge. An overlap of poems but changed edits, deletions and additions. I can convert to text files (more versions, goodie) then run through File Merge app to see where changes are.

Is it still a headache if there’s a solution?

The night before I set myself the prompt of dactylic meter (after reading wiki random post of epic poetry). I combined it with the prompt from Pádraig Ó Tuama at The Poetry Unbound Substack of night, animal, and rain. [In case you read that and thought, that seems not right, it is because it isn’t. It was the prompt of Roger Robinson.]

Rain on a Wintery Night

Heart is awake. In the ears, an adrenaline thunder of blood. Are there sounds? Through the darkness, an animal movement. What’s larger than
mice? In my trumpeting trembling ears —
There’a a shifting on springs—across my legs. And the back of him bunts at my shoulder
to move me aside, to make room. It’s too cold on the floor. Can you manifest love
as a shared heat? An inflatable threat just as quickly deflates. From Darth Vader
with candy cane to a shadow. Out on the lawn… there is nothing the matter. Secure as blankets,
as sheets. Aren’t curtains just sheets that can stand? Just as joists are just beams that can nap? Back to dog…
He is a peace and a whole. As he presses, as he grumbles, his sleep becomes snor-ious.
Happier than clams, he is wagging and yips in falsetto of play. I should settle too. Wisdom is clear at this hour, 
But the path to return to that slumber? I listen to the breath of the pup.
And his twitching of chases. Some drowsiness can’t escape me this time. 
All his visions of meadows, the deer under sumac, a heat that can be dappled away. 
Can you hear it too? Gurgle of eavestrough or river. The sun has a tinkle like wind chimes, that call like the Fae.

It’s hardly the stuff of heroic epics but…Phew, that meter is hard. It forces to towards the words and structures I generally back away from in the name of efficiency and intensity: towards prepositional phrases, no contractions for helper verbs, gerunds, “and”, “just”.

I really have pushed lately towards iambic or so much spondees. Still, I prefer the pulse of iambic. It’s unstable, like a triplet somehow. Charming somehow though and not what I would normally write.