Poetry Stretch Results - Dictionary Poems

The challenge this week was to write a poem in the form of a dictionary entry. Here are the results.

Jane Yolen left this poem in the comments.

Pal·ette n.
A board, typically with a hole for the thumb,
which an artist can hold while painting
and on which colors are mixed.

[French, from Old French, small potter's shovel,
diminutive of pale, shovel, spade,
from Latin pāla "spade, shoulder blade."
1622, "flat thin tablet used by an artist to lay and mix colors”
Sense of "colors used by a particular artist" found first in 1882.

A board and hole, wholly used,
abused with color,
from the choler of cadmium red
to the dead black, lacking luster
to the mustard and browns of soil,
burnt sienna, burnt umber,
the colors of the Palantine Hills,
the palettined hills,
the swirl and whirl and whorl of color
all dug up and plastered on to the canvas
with the help of the little spades.

©2009 Jane Yolen

Diane M. Davis shares a poem for the word levigate.

Laura Purdie Salas shares a poem for the word cold.

Kate Coombs left this poem in the comments.

Underword
Chthonic [from the Greek chthonios, meaning "under the earth," or chthon, simply "earth"]

Drags your tongue down unless
you let go of the ch; if not
the pull extends to your head,
your neck and your chest,
your limbs. The dark
waits, the heavy blanket of earth
with its wriggle of worms
belying the wait of dead rocks
beneath, and farther still
the great deep with its subtle river,
its silent ferryman, its triple-headed thug
of a dog, then a god
with a burning black crown
and stony eyes not-shining
a welcome.

Harriet from spynotes left this poem in the comments.

Eight [ayt]. n. or a. The cardinal number next after seven.
Not quite small, not quite big.
Formed by perfect circles joined by a cross in the middle.
A crossroads.
Turn it on its side and it makes infinity.
From the middle of it,
eight looks like forever.

Homonym of ate, eight devours everything.
Eight explains the disappearance of
hot dogs, potato chips,
cheerios, peanut butter,
and that bar of chocolate
that you hid in the back of the cupboard
for emergencies.
And possibly, once, a bug
(but probably not).

Eight is balls and yells and contests
And hide-and-seek
And skateboard tricks
And pianos and a stuffed monkey, well-worn,
And a frog left on the back porch in a bucket
A little too long.
Sorry, frog.

Eight is nine almost.
Soon.
Not yet.
An infinity in a moment.

Julie Larios of The Drift Record left this poem in the comments.

GOOFY - a dippy dawg
but gee (and oof and eeeeeeee)
he can be fun,
he can be whee,
(this message brought to you by
the olde gagaf, Buffoonery,
the middle goffen's pal, Frivolity,
the Modern Goofball, gaffe-inclined,
a goofer off,
a goofer up,
a half-brain...dictionarily defined.)
He may get goofy, sure,
but no one else who's goofy
(I mean me, and maybe you)
ever seems to mind.

Here's my contribution.

miz·zle - very fine, misty rain n.
[from the Middle English mysell and Middle Dutch misel]

The skies are heavy
with woolen clouds
of gray that
do not dump or pelt
but fairly spritz
the earth
in a nebulous
fog of delicious
rain

It's not too late if you still want to play. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll add it to the list.