#trpplffct | fresh poetry & friends

Poetry is the most exciting memecoin on the ideas exchange. Just a poem today. As I am preparing the move to another platform. I will make a snapshot of the subscribers here on Tuesday. If you are subscribed at that moment, you will start receiving from the new platform from next week. Of course, just as here, you can subscribe or unsubscribe whenever you think the time is right. And no matter which platform you choose, poetry is our currency for exchanging ideas. Just an image for you, this time.

Some baguette and a round semolina bread with yeast, as Berbers make it; zaatar spiced melting pot - our table. What is your favorite type of bread? Is it one you grew up with, or one you discovered later? For me, it’s all of the above. Recently, we had some bread local to where we live (in France, so yes, baguette) and also a delicious semolina bread made by a local baker with Berber roots. I’ve been thinking about bread quite a lot lately, thanks to my friend Chris and his CoCreated community.

We're early so we're the prospectors roaming through a world of unfinished business, trying to find pearls for swine. When you are early in an area of new trends or new technology, you will find yourself in a world where much doesn’t work too smoothly, and some of the things you love and get used to will vanish. The world of Web3 is, despite earlier hype cycles, currently in such a state. And I love being there. Feels a bit like roaming into the Wild West, establishing new lands.

The season to be jolly is done and what remains is a pile of trash. Maybe this year we can do better? No matter where you are in the world, you only have to look around you and find that still too many people treat their environment as a public trashcan. Especially after events or special moments, this becomes evident. For example in The Netherlands after the celebration of New Year’s Eve, when millions of Euros are shot into the sky as fireworks.

On these flames we burn the things that brought no improvement to our lives, so we can start the new year with a clean slate. Happy 2024, dear readers! May it bring you all you wish for, and of course lots of poetry. The new year is as good a moment as any to start doing things differently if you wish to change anything in your life.

Fountain top endeavours to catch rays of early morning sun falling through the now leafless branches of park trees. Early in the morning, or maybe now the days are shorter not so early, the fountain in our park is already spewing water into the air like a whale. On the days the sun is already out, but still low above the low skyline of our town, the top of the fountains tries to mimic diamonds by catching the early morning sunshine.

Back behind the tall façades, stairwells walkways and forgotten corners lie, sans make-up, real beauty is found here. There’s this wonderful book by Paul Smith. The title of the book says it all: You Can Find Inspiration in Everything. The playful subtitle says even more: And If You Can’t, Look Again. It’s very true. There is inspiration to be found in everything. All you have to do is look. I found that out when I was doing a year of creating and publishing a poem daily.

Tiny crab leg, colourful shells, sand, pebbles and wood smoothened by the salt and currents of the sea. Beach treasure. The beach is always an inspiration to me. The sound, the scent, the sand and all the beautiful things you find on it. This poem is a little bit about that. But it’s also part of something else I find inspiring: experimenting. I am experimenting with this poem and the words in it, to see if I can make many distinct versions by alternating just a few words.

Here we go, yet again, round and round, then once more. No airplane, elephant or race car. No, of course, the white horse. Horses. That’s what our daughter cares about. Horses. So when we spent a day in Paris, recently, that’s what we saw. In the Louvre there were statues and paintings. Of horses, of course. But centaurs were interesting, too. La Joconde had too many people around it, the Winged Victory of Samothrace was something for Dad. The horses, though, were the best.

A Fibonacci sequence in nature, as imagined by AI using Night Café Studio Shapes, forms, evoke emotions. That's this poet's aim. And sometimes I even succeed. I’ve been playing with forms again lately. Not those shapes you give small children so they can start developing their scientific muscles at a young age, but poetic forms. I usually write poems in the tritriplicata form, a form I created myself.