Introduction
This article explains, in 10 steps, how I write ‘constrained poetry’. The article is 1,100 words long.
Medium has recently featured an article by Dr Avi Loeb about my poetry: https://medium.com/@avi-loeb/poetry-inspired-by-alien-intelligence-f35059e53872
How to Write a Constrained Poem in Ten Steps
Spark
Names do not constitute knowledge. However, some scientists enjoy the illusion that they know something about things by giving them names that reflect a particular interpretation.
The Dark Age of Science. Medium
Avi Loeb
Mar 9, 2025
This musing by Dr Avi Loeb — astronomer, provocateur, and advocate for radical humility in science — set the spark. It became the emotional bedrock of a poem I was about to write — ‘Naming of Parts’.
But writing poetry — especially constrained poetry — is not a spontaneous act of scribbled inspiration. It is a craft I approach with method, rigor, and no small amount of patience.
Here’s how I do it
1. Start with the Spark
Every poem begins with an impulse. In this case, Loeb’s quote lit the fuse. Sometimes it’s a historical injustice, a phrase overheard in a market, a startling image, a mystery, or a philosophical paradox. But the spark must burn hot enough to compel mind, heart and hand.
2. Dress the Poem in Metaphor
Rather than lecture, I name the theme (Empty vessels make most noise.) then cloak it in a “metaphoric costume.” For this poem, I imagined pig-headed fishermen — stubborn, arrogant, and misguided. This metaphorical lens filters the complexity of the science and accompanying moral failure into a vivid, character-driven framework.
3. Descriptive or Narrative Arc
I preferred, for this poem, narrative, over descriptive, framing. Narrative guards against the poem drifting into essay. Even the most abstract concepts become compelling when anchored to story.
4. Decide on Lyrical or Free Verse
This poem leaned lyrical. Why? Because lyricism disarms the reader. It sings before it stings. That lullaby quality is especially useful when the poem has barbs — it allows critique to arrive cotton-woolled in rhythm and rhyme.
5. Set the Tone of Debate
I often provoke my argument indirectly. Here, I staged the poem as an innocent beginner arguing with seasoned cynics. That rhetorical tension builds energy without dogma.
6. Tools of the Trade
My thesaurus and rhyming dictionary are constant companions. The thesaurus helps me discover precise, powerful words that fit my metrical and thematic needs. The rhyming dictionary? I don’t just pick the most convenient rhymes — I list all that feel provocative and let them simmer until the right pairing emerges. I reject any that sound convoluted and often restart the lines, if any trace of convolution shows up.
7. Begin in Prose
I always begin with prose. The opening line, before it is lineated, is massaged until it begins to pulse with rhythm. That’s when I convert it — often into pentameter for its stately cadence. My choices range from tetrameter (4 feet) which often sounds folky, pentameter (5 feet) which often sounds rich and stately, and hexameter (6 feet) which often sounds grand and classical. For ‘Naming’ I chose pentameter.
8. Choose a Poetic Form
This is crucial. For this poem, I rejected ballad quatrains — they risk sounding childish or overly folkloric. The subject matter demanded something sturdier. I treat the first stanza as a prototype. First, I’ll write it as a prose paragraph, ease it into metered lines (in this case, a blank verse septet), and gradually impose rhyme. The rhyme scheme must support both clarity and transition — like a well-paragraphed essay. Once stanza one is locked, its form becomes gospel for the rest of the poem.
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9. Ruthless Syntax Discipline
From here on, I impose a non-negotiable rule: no convoluted syntax, ever. I reject any line, no matter how beloved, if it does not yield to smooth, natural English. This stage takes hours, even days — but it’s essential. I never allow a line that exists merely to complete a rhyme. Each word must earn its place by advancing thought, image, or argument.
10. Plot the Stanzas in Prose
Only then do I outline the remaining stanzas in prose, writing what each will cover. This roadmap guides the emotional and logical development of the poem. This process is much the same as paragraph planning in prose. ‘Naming’ needed 7 stanzas to spin its story.
Final Thoughts
I never rush. Sometimes writing the poem takes days. That’s part of the process. And I’ve learned to trust it. I’ve learned to repeat to myself — ‘The poem will resolve — given time.’
Here’s the result.
POEM: NAMING OF PARTS*
Two days ago, I bought a fishing rod.
I still can’t tie a swivel to a line.
But since I’d pledged to join a fishing squad
of seasoned anglers (coworkers of mine)
I had to learn the fisher’s lexicon.
I dreaded being dubbed a ‘hanger-on’,
or worse, a poser, needled to resign.
The day arrived. We met at Half Moon Bay.
The tide was in. The sun was set to rise.
We lurched aboard the launch and cast away,
the lust for big fish fervent in our eyes.
The rods were stashed. The beer was chilly-binned.
The sea was roughly calm, with little wind.
I fretted that our vessel might capsize.
Awash with sinkers, hooks, lead-lines, and bait,
I knew the time had come to spill the beans.
“Shipmates,” I said, “I need to set things straight.
I’m ignorant of maritime routines:
I hardly know a boat’s bow from its stern.
I might be green — but, still, I’m keen to learn.
Explain your craft and what the jargon means.”
Much fist bumping and back-slapping ensued.
“Relax, Old Man, you’re with the experts now.
We are the fleet’s elite; we’re peer-reviewed.
What we don’t know, most anglers disavow.
We built the glossary. We state what’s true.
Repeat our words and you can join the crew.
The slang’s a badge that makes us sound highbrow.
The team upturned a muddled tackle box.
“This here’s a whirly-gig; this is a snag.
and these are gaudies, hefts and breaking blocks.
We jig, we trawl; we troll, we drift, we drag -
in hope phlogistons, mermaids, and the fey,
will surface from miasmic depths one day.
They’ll net us trophies when they’re in the bag.”
I tried to stow away my puzzled frown.
Cacophonies of noise confused my ears.
The crew had flipped the fish world upside-down,
by showing that they worked as sloganeers.
I didn’t learn a thing from their harangue,
except that anglers use a vocal twang,
and worry-guts about their fish careers.
Alan Wagstaff
* The title is borrowed from Henry Reed’s 1942 poem.
Image generated by AI
