how<\/em>
for those of us yet bound here,
without the flower of intellect
illumined by the words of Plato
and passed down to the present?
The summer wind, hot, merciless,
blew at your cloak, at my robe.
I was never the studious one.<\/p>\n\n\n\nII.<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
in this well-worn metropolis
plagues have often passed
wars have ruined the walls
byways filled in cut off
and yet the way through
surprises our gaunt memory
the heart yet knows the path
we light incense and rest
quiet in Gods\u2019 radiances
we are brought beyond towers
to hills that stand strong
grounded in luminous deep sky<\/p>\n\n\n\n
III.<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
The words he speaks have nothing within them,
I say in my heart, a thought I condemn.
Black-robed as deep night, yet holding nothing,
he stands within the church, hands beckoning.
If I could stand, sit, and swallow it down,
I would not fear the next faithful crackdown.
The millennium passed last year, you know,
and the end of the world never did show.
Something lies forgotten underneath this.
If complete, I would have nothing to miss.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
IV.<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
a signal propagates in time
an approximation degraded by noise<\/p>\n\n\n\n
the Goddess who holds the sphere
bears the echo of an egg once swallowed<\/p>\n\n\n\n
in the beginning the Harmonizer
tuned oscillations into rivers to hold us<\/p>\n\n\n\n
a text propagates in time
a jumble of what existed, the luckiest of copies<\/p>\n\n\n\n
the Goddess who spins the sphere
opens the way down black as night, cold as sea<\/p>\n\n\n\n
there in the deep everythingness
his eternal note unfurled, sound itself descending<\/p>\n\n\n\n
a truth always remains
undamaged by noise, uncut by tired scribes<\/p>\n\n\n\n
the Goddess who etches patterns
upon the sphere itself knows the record of all becoming<\/p>\n\n\n\n
matter danced itself open fast;
the universe bears the sign of this sacred sound<\/p>\n\n\n\n
V.<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Circles they are \u2014 around a common center.
We dance around the bright fire, awakened,
and Heaven\u2019s perfection no longer holds us.
Even Jupiter has bodies around him, starry,
and what more can we discover? Liberation \u2014
an opening of the mind that swallows down
each secret like vitality-giving quicksilver.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
VI.<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
on an unknown world now
a flower blooms curious
her homestar light lovingly
peels back the fading night
someone pulls it \u2014 she breaks \u2014
flower-dyes bleed rich red
this sacrificial adoration
mysteries alien to any other
trapped in opinon and strife
familiar to those who know
water that tastes of steel
truth the Gods forever give<\/p>\n\n\n\n
VII.<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
When the Earth turned green,
in a meadow on the high hills,
she and I poured the libation out.
Giddy \u2014 hardly practical \u2014 a waste we\u2019d
yearned for since reading Chapman,
Jove<\/em> and Juno<\/em> nectar on our lips.
Dreams drove us on, hot infernos,
each myth we read vivid fuel
ivying through our soft places
that ached sore as birth pains.
Something between curiosity and
compulsion took over in us two.
Now among the grasses, beside her,
the jug in my hands, her now silent,
the sky overhead \u2014 a healing balm,
a goodness. I will come back here<\/em>
again<\/em>, she says, and our hands
grow firm, intertwined, together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<\/span>Orphic<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nHalfway through, hearken to the king,
lightning-rushing bright and sharp,
the beginning the end reborn through Zeus.
He ingested all, filling fecund,
only to disgorge in opaline wonder.
Fitting to plunge first and final,
here \u2014 the fulcrum upon the father
of the not-yet, the never-now
son of ivy, prince of the winepress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>Four Drops of Bay Oil<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nfour drops of bay oil
three together, the fourth
alone
circling as they twisted
smaller circle inspiralling
until they pressed
together
in contact
like prayer humming
within the mind
light descending
victorious<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>Truth<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nWhat is this unstirring nectar,
the gift we beg receiving
a double serpent moving swift,
laurel branches rustling,
the scent of bay awakening,
frankincense oil burning so delicate
as if we inhabit a fractal flower
opening up in vivid stillness
until it flows like that spring
struck by Pegasus for the Mousai
that welled up to make all song.
Is this nectar truth, yet ungraspable,
so mind-tangible and deep-rooted?
It is not malleable to us,
though we may try to harness
patterns to mimic deep-moving roots,
winnowing out excuses to avoid
heat, light, and stillness that cut
in order to heal and come together,
a gift of shedding skin and leaves,
still hours of the year to sleep,
until like that flower it opens,
the offering blazing unburned,
and the mirages we once believed
fade away in the light as shadows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>Starbirth<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nUntethered and new,
the star dances,
pushing back its husk,
dust, gas, and newborn worlds
hot, illuminated, one,
rough friction and light.
Heart uncovered,
an image, an agalma of gravity,
elements combining and scattering,
intelligible even here,
too radiant to yet touch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>Solar Gods<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nApollon and Helios and their vivid attendants
and Sunna and Sulis and daughters of Sun
Goddesses and Gods in abundant dances
woven braids descending concordious
truth a light-beam vivid against shadow
playful as a swan coming down
to rest upon a swift-moving river
its feathers bright in fresh solar rays
witness, yes, witness \u2014 the lines so fine
mind tracing them as if moving a hand
along the steady curve of a lyre\u2019s frame
electric brightness saturating through
and each braided brilliance is a chord
made by light entire, breath entire, song
because each is its own interdependency
the rounds, the chorales change only
as attention flies swift along the edge
like entering a concert hall bathed in music
its stonework its arch-ceiling raining down
how to describe something wondrous
without collapsing to a single composition<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>A Thousand Years Hence<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nwhat if I told you
that the stones you smashed
were your own gleaming bones<\/p>\n\n\n\n
that the rocky marrow
was the quickening of life
the antidote to fever<\/p>\n\n\n\n
that the muscles of rites
still lay quivering, recoverable
but would rot nearly traceless<\/p>\n\n\n\n
that the flesh of myth
you decided to skin, to dry,
to schism into the ground<\/p>\n\n\n\n
did not look that way
when vibrant upon the suppleness
of living rites for living Gods<\/p>\n\n\n\n
that years from this day
your descendants will kneel
on rain-softened ground<\/p>\n\n\n\n
the rituals\u2019 details forfeited
to now-breaking ideological fevers
that sowed amnesia, unplacing<\/p>\n\n\n\n
they will not remember you
as you want to be remembered \u2014
just<\/em> people \u2014 but just people<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\nwho destroyed precious things
your iconoclasm to some impiety
to the rest historical calamity<\/p>\n\n\n\n
descendants embedding
shame into the memory of you
you become villains, your victims<\/p>\n\n\n\n
a litany of lost books, so precious
a register of lost Gods, mere syllables
they will come to mourn, not you<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>Indigo<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nArgument I<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
The scent of indigo
heated within the vat \u2014
hundred-handed Indigofera<\/em>,
Isatis tinctoria<\/em>, Persicaria tinctoria<\/em> \u2014
is patchouli and soil after rain,
this liquid yellow like noonday
while where it touches air
it is as blue as Ouranos above.
O sacred blossom, flower of life,
you are a token of starry sky
mingling with fertile earth,
reminding all of the blood
sinking down into the ground
when Titans slipped through tall grass
to cut the throat of the encosmic king,
preparing his body for the feast.<\/p>\n\n\n\nArgument II<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
bind white cotton fast
it submerges like a soul
succumbing to Fate<\/p>\n\n\n\n
yellow to sky-blue
each moment draws pigment deep
while shadows lengthen<\/p>\n\n\n\n
release the tight bonds
thyrsus-bearers preparing
to welcome their king<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>A January Morning<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nAs the sky pales amber and pink,
winter cold against windows,
the horizon hungers. Soon, hovering \u2014
the faintest brush of burning day.
I stretch up, unfurling in asana,
sun shimmering joyous above rooftops,
my eyes closed, heavy with light,
a gift for Sunna, Sulis, and Helios \u2014
this rhythm, alive with blessings,
my breath a channel chasing luminescence,
a triad finishing in watchful stillness,
the names of Gods plain on my lips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>Well-Written Literature<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nIn London, a bookstore, slim upon the shelf \u2014
Works and Days<\/em>, Theogony<\/em>, Homeric Hymns<\/em>, Battle of Frogs and Mice<\/em>
brought into one volume by Hine \u2014
we glimpsed one another.
The pages containing you four
were smooth as silk beneath my fingers,
slippery in my mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\nThat semester, I analyzed
Hesiod\u2019s frustration,
the weave of divine relationships
tumbling through my head,
on weekends when I took the train
to the British Museum
to write in the galleries where
ceilings pooled with steady seas of human voices.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat unmoved and moving,
looking through the train\u2019s window
while the suburbs fled past,
each verse running toward Pandora
when my knowledge grew
like flowers blooming in autumn
unaware of the coming frost.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I remember you were there
that night when someone jumped
\u2014 a suicide \u2014
in front of a South Western Train
and we waited for hours,
so many hours,
in Waterloo Station until the workers purified
the soiled tracks somewhere
towns and towns away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What would have happened
if, like the others, I\u2019d read you
confined to classroom walls
and uncomfortable chairs, bound?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Certainly not affinity and affection
tinged by the bone-cold winter damp
that made coats useless in Egham,
each Homeric hymn spoken
with offerings of cheap wine
bought with a study abroad stipend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Certainly not Hesiod\u2019s words
beckoning my mind beyond, deeper.
It is good we meet in that shop
when my fingers traced the shelves,
brushed your slippery cover,
and cracked open the pages to linger
like a swan floating on bright water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>Flame Vessel<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nHestia alight,
candle\u2019s wick an artery
anchoring these prayers
beyond the raging ocean,
its form embering hollow
like slow-cooked stew meat
whose veins once pumped a cow\u2019s blood.
Feeding life through fleeting life:
each, devoured, transforms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>Candles<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nI: Taper<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
this candle
the color of mead
blooming with morning light
mellow-sweet fragrance
cotton wick yet white
its sooty blackness divined
long before my lighter
hums electric
to offer oil to Hestia
to tip frankincense
drop by drop for Zeus
as the wick keeps
the beeswax tame
its fuel bridled
by tight weave<\/p>\n\n\n\n
II: Jarred<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
a wood wick
flat as a fingernail
the candle\u2019s flesh white
studded with fragrance
when I lit you
you hissed
as if the wax coaxed
impressions of the crackle
of fireplaces
from nothing more than a sliver
held erect with fuel
its pattering a deafening potency
underlaying each prayer
triangle-sharp flecks
extinguishing themselves
as if the wax cannot hold the wild<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>Cutting Through Untruths<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nAll Gods are the same God when you look deep enough<\/em>
and when he spoke Enid remembered those late
college nights when sleepiness weighed her eyelids
drowsiness a perfume smoking up the air
when in the quiet she suddenly forgot
if she were speaking or if her roommate were speaking
one of them pulling takeout noodles into her mouth
each boundary collapsed into disoriented
consciousness taking in sensation without wakefulness
the feel of fabric against skin was not her own
nor was the curve of breast and collarbone
or the taste of the food as she did not chew
They are like light in a prism, facets of a diamond<\/em>
but the light those nights could cut crystal
and it teared her eyes that strained to study
what if the sameness is illusion there, too
a sage awake suddenly to what is beyond being
still drowsy sweating through ler fever of becoming
not yet accustomed to eternal song and light
nor drawn tight to identity and identification
Being attached to a form of God prevents the ascent<\/em>
well, yes \u2014 but identity persists through instances
she dreamt one night she caught Proteus
and there were other Gods watching as she
grasped his wrists tight, pushed him against the rocks
while the sea ebbed and flowed around them
her grip persisting through his changes of form
she cannot remember what she asked for
or why he was held or if he was in fact holding her
as if the fatigue of life had spilled into restoration
but the feel of other Gods\u2019 eyes staring awoke her
where she slept with her head on a calculator
a paper beneath it repeating the same problem
six times, the night rendering math incantation
the empty takeout boxes littering the floor
and dawn tiptoeing beneath the roller shade<\/p>\n\n\n\n<\/span>Reclaiming the Self Unadorned, or, Fleeing Pandora’s Division<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nStrip the body down to its essentials
as if flaying back its own outer skin,
revealing latticework of marrow-rich bone,
the structure of muscle and tendon.
Cut away each untested assumption and lie.
Abandon the makeup in its jars and boxes \u2014
the glisten of glitter and iridescent powder-sheen \u2014
the blistering heels, the chafing clothing,
ideologies we hold for attention, not conviction.
Last to be stripped away is taxonomy:
Body just is<\/em> and it is<\/em> what it is<\/em>, complexly simple.<\/p>\n\n\n\nFind beauty in earthen hues that make space,
like a jewel-case well-designed for viewing:
Plain neutrals befitting its nature \u2014 unadornment,
accessories that free the soul it grasps tight
to shine forth acuity, light, and strength
without artifice or insecurity to hold it back.
Place the open jars where unneeded gifts belong;
sacrifice them to Earth, do not hold clinging to
your nostalgia of once-friends and ex-lovers,
each cultural lie taught to you unnobly.
You treat these adornments as you yourself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Love the body for itself \u2014 its diaphragmed breath,
the pull of muscle as it extends, contracts;
its potential for building strength, for enduring
(even what you feared it could not endure);
how soft light feels upon the flesh at midday;
the sensation of wet ground and grace underfoot.
Adore its distresses, its pains, its racing thoughts,
its tidelike fluctuations, its days of bleeding,
its storms of disquiet that bluster in winter,
its instincts to do what others want done,
its desire to label before knowing the form.
It is a world in need of your custody, yes.
It is a world already seeded with adornment.
It is a world not in need of overthinking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>Sea and Mountain, Body and Mind<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nI. sharp love \/ \u1f14\u03c1\u03c9\u03c2 \u1f40\u03be\u03cd\u03c4\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\nas circles move through the grit of sensation
what is within dissolved
mimicking blood, mirroring life
the image of the mixing-bowl
Hekate\u2019s retinue of meandering spirits
the root of all quenchless desire
a growth that blooms, that sheds
a red rose within the walled garden
we hide from ourselves unspeaking
shame nailing us, shackling us<\/p>\n\n\n\n
II. urgent love \/ \u1f14\u03c1\u03c9\u03c2 \u1f40\u03be\u03cd\u03c4\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\neach page beneath these fingertips,
their sharp edges teasing dry skin.
raw er\u014ds active within, its pulses
starlit landscapes: alight, vast, hungry.
intangibly keen, this feeling at its core
a mountain-peak altar embering traces of
fragrant sacrifices at the meeting-point:
a body of stone bereft of even trees,
appetition quenched to cold illumination,
yet even here remains breath and bone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>Ordering<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nwe build how we see the Gods
like amino acids build life
selecting some Gods, leaving others only potentiality
another life-path that could have been
only what we choose is grammared by us
pantheoned and token-bearing
nourishing our lives with symbols
who point the way to the unknowable Ones
beyond what we know is possibility
potentially animate
its gifts treated like mud and excess<\/p>\n\n\n\n
but brought together by other beings
in variants too numerous to name
our oases mere instances
of Gods\u2019 divinity in full bloom
worlds dancing around a common sun
encountering one another
first in gravitational resonances and interactions and
life-bearing meteors sent like messengers
at last as intellects seeing one another
placing ourselves newly stable
within the woven light
mirrored and mirroring
these structures lain out like a meadow
we travel together and apart<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>Opinion and Conflict<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nI.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\nOpinion, like sand, shifts with each touch \u2014
malleable, a struggle to move through.
Its shape has no evenness, no center.
It drives together into collision \u2014
first a kindly orbit, then an inspiral,
and finally the violence of dissolution
from which there is no escaping its hunger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
II.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\nWe carry stories\u2019 afterimages within us.
Who knows how these echoes propagate through
the essence of each \u03c8\u03c5\u03c7\u03ae until they become
violent to see, a cascade of dissonant fire.
Like an oracle, I divine them from words
spoken so freely \u2014 angrily \u2014 in the agora.
Like a recording, I play back what I see
when fortune lets me have body language.
These are the dim reflections of decisions
made long before our birth \u2014 parents, lovers,
some agents so long ago that we do not know
their faces, and yet they torment us still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
III.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\nWho knows who these ghosts are who yet
grasp fast like something sucking spirit out,
leaving emptiness \u2014 that makes you lash out
at those you see to steady yourself in illusion.
What does opinion become, this sand shifting,
responding to each touch by sinking in \u2014
we are so high up on the shore that waves
will never reach to render the sand smooth.
Turn back towards the sea who purifies.
Beyond the waves, your feet will not touch
the murky bottom that casts up mud and sand.
(Yet how frequently, even there, do we slip
into the undertow towards the deep abyss.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
IV.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\nTo which Goddess do we offer incense
when we want blessings against war \u2014
the power of reconciliation and kindness
must be hers, the courage of new peace.
There has been no sleep \u2014 men beat shields
at the gates so loud their rhythm pounds
in my skull, a headache splitting me
apart even lacking the stroke of a sword.
This Goddess must come in with charisma
like a woman in her prime walking into
a board room for hard negotiation \u2014
no one will dare to interrupt her,
firm-voiced and powerful in her element,
whose attention holds all with \u03b4\u03cd\u03bd\u03b1\u03bc\u03b9\u03c2
as if the world will rip apart if she
does not bless you with her divine gaze.
She must know the mercuriality of opinion,
this one who dispenses illuminating truth.
To which Goddess do we dedicate this
when her name would shake Earth when
breaking through one\u2019s lips from its power,
each vowel a yawning supernova bursting,
each syllable a singularity coming into being.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>Time and Eternity<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\nHere lies a temple \u2014
no stairs, entryway, or door \u2014
a place we have all gathered,
where we do gather
from the beginning. It is
a meadow of asphodel:
underworld, sun-world,
and the place of woven cliffs.
If only you could
perceive the bright agalma
time resolves itself to be,
forged from unity,
pulsing eternity bound,
the God who speaks with a voice
intense as pulsars,
you would tip your libation
jar made of space-time webbing
forged by H\u00eaphaistos
in supernovae for all,
dip it deep in neutron star
matter whose mass not even
Atlas could lift up
or Herakl\u00eas break open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You would pour it out
to this God who makes ler home
in each of your cells.
You would come to taste
decanted space-vast ichor
as the images
unfold out and up and down
as if all you hold
within vibrates, yet comes still \u2014
lightless, illumined.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/span>Dionysiodotes<\/span><\/h1>\n\n\n\neach press of char and bone
against divine skin
the pool of ash yet warm
your hands seeking unity
until they are caked in it
gathering the remnants of body
like single notes into harmonic one
the light still shining down
burning with the fire of spent worlds
of planets singed by Titanic suns
life destroyed, all destroyed
save the heart unremitting
you heal the melodies
your lips buzzing fire and stinging bees
prophecy and katharmos
your fingers numerous as rivers
burying what Ananke ordains
filled with abiding compassion<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
One of the puzzles with having a somewhat lively religious blog is that there is more incentive for me to post poems there than there is here, where my reach is smaller. However, in the interest of not having them buried beneath prose blog posts in which I dissect passages of things I’m reading, I…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"Twenty Poems: Intersections of Life, Polytheism, and (Platonizing) Sensemaking\n\nI wrote these between 2019-2021, and rather than leaving them buried on my religious blog, I am adding them to my writing one. There is a table of contents. \ud83e\ude95\ud83d\udcd6\u2712\ufe0f\n","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[1],"tags":[21,25],"class_list":["post-599","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-poetry","tag-portfolio"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p9qEhO-9F","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":465,"url":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/2020\/06\/30\/im-doing-a-poetry-book\/","url_meta":{"origin":599,"position":0},"title":"I’m Doing a Poetry Book","author":"kaye","date":"30 June 2020","format":false,"excerpt":"An update on my writing\/conlang blog about a poetry book I'm putting together.","rel":"","context":"In \"poetry\"","block_context":{"text":"poetry","link":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/tag\/poetry\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Screen-Shot-2020-06-26-at-7.09.06-PM.png?resize=350%2C200&ssl=1","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Screen-Shot-2020-06-26-at-7.09.06-PM.png?resize=350%2C200&ssl=1 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Screen-Shot-2020-06-26-at-7.09.06-PM.png?resize=525%2C300&ssl=1 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Screen-Shot-2020-06-26-at-7.09.06-PM.png?resize=700%2C400&ssl=1 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Screen-Shot-2020-06-26-at-7.09.06-PM.png?resize=1050%2C600&ssl=1 3x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Screen-Shot-2020-06-26-at-7.09.06-PM.png?resize=1400%2C800&ssl=1 4x"},"classes":[]},{"id":582,"url":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/2021\/02\/07\/website-updates-and-current-projects\/","url_meta":{"origin":599,"position":1},"title":"Website Updates and Current Projects","author":"kaye","date":"7 February 2021","format":false,"excerpt":"This weekend, I spent a bit of time updating my main website, kayeboesme.com. I switched from a hard-coded HTML5 site to a Wordpress-based one. Pangrammatike will still be the place where I blog about writing, though \u2014 I love the name of this blog, and it feels cozy. The \"Read\u2026","rel":"","context":"In \"writing\"","block_context":{"text":"writing","link":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/tag\/writing\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/02\/Screen-Shot-2021-02-07-at-9.08.41-PM.png?resize=350%2C200&ssl=1","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/02\/Screen-Shot-2021-02-07-at-9.08.41-PM.png?resize=350%2C200&ssl=1 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/02\/Screen-Shot-2021-02-07-at-9.08.41-PM.png?resize=525%2C300&ssl=1 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/02\/Screen-Shot-2021-02-07-at-9.08.41-PM.png?resize=700%2C400&ssl=1 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/02\/Screen-Shot-2021-02-07-at-9.08.41-PM.png?resize=1050%2C600&ssl=1 3x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/02\/Screen-Shot-2021-02-07-at-9.08.41-PM.png?resize=1400%2C800&ssl=1 4x"},"classes":[]},{"id":471,"url":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/2020\/08\/19\/skillbuilding-in-verse-1\/","url_meta":{"origin":599,"position":2},"title":"Skillbuilding in Verse (#1)","author":"kaye","date":"19 August 2020","format":false,"excerpt":"Most of my poems either go by syllable count, (more or less) iambic pentameter, or a combination. This has been true since I started writing poetry as a child. Iambic pentameter is like a well-loved pair of jeans that you can dress up to go out or dress down to\u2026","rel":"","context":"In \"poetry\"","block_context":{"text":"poetry","link":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/tag\/poetry\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"","width":0,"height":0},"classes":[]},{"id":503,"url":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/2020\/10\/29\/acts-of-speech-is-out\/","url_meta":{"origin":599,"position":3},"title":"Acts of Speech Is Out","author":"kaye","date":"29 October 2020","format":false,"excerpt":"Acts of Speech\u00a0is now out and in the wild in e-format. (The print is a bit delayed due to the pandemic, although I now have a UPS tracking number for proofs, which is a change!) The poetry book explores performative, public, and private religious speech and how they construct identity\u2026","rel":"","context":"In \"poetry\"","block_context":{"text":"poetry","link":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/tag\/poetry\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/PaperbackVer1.jpg?resize=350%2C200&ssl=1","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/PaperbackVer1.jpg?resize=350%2C200&ssl=1 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/PaperbackVer1.jpg?resize=525%2C300&ssl=1 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/PaperbackVer1.jpg?resize=700%2C400&ssl=1 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/PaperbackVer1.jpg?resize=1050%2C600&ssl=1 3x"},"classes":[]},{"id":447,"url":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/2019\/12\/30\/ending-2019\/","url_meta":{"origin":599,"position":4},"title":"Ending 2019","author":"kaye","date":"30 December 2019","format":false,"excerpt":"My annual year in review post, with a focus on writing: Some stats, some project updates, reflections on how much time social media sucked away before my hiatus, and goals for 2020.","rel":"","context":"In \"writing\"","block_context":{"text":"writing","link":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/tag\/writing\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"","width":0,"height":0},"classes":[]},{"id":505,"url":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/2020\/11\/11\/acts-of-speech-paperback\/","url_meta":{"origin":599,"position":5},"title":"ACTS OF SPEECH Paperback","author":"kaye","date":"11 November 2020","format":false,"excerpt":"The paperback of\u00a0Acts of Speech\u00a0is available for purchase.\u00a0It has been listed automatically on Amazon and on the more ethical alternative Bookshop.org. To order from another source (I highly recommend your local independent bookstore), you will have to call the bookstore to express interest \u2014 it's in the main book ordering\u2026","rel":"","context":"In \"acts of speech\"","block_context":{"text":"acts of speech","link":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/tag\/acts-of-speech\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/PaperbackVer1.jpg?resize=350%2C200&ssl=1","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/PaperbackVer1.jpg?resize=350%2C200&ssl=1 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/PaperbackVer1.jpg?resize=525%2C300&ssl=1 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/PaperbackVer1.jpg?resize=700%2C400&ssl=1 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/PaperbackVer1.jpg?resize=1050%2C600&ssl=1 3x"},"classes":[]}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/599","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=599"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/599\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":610,"href":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/599\/revisions\/610"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=599"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=599"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kayeboesme.com\/pangrammatike\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=599"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}