My friends often ask, “What is your favorite form of poetry?”
“The Fibonacci form,” I answer.
“What in the world is that?” they ask.
Well, here is an answer from The Fib Review, a literary journal in which I’ve published some of my Fibonacci poems.
And here are some of my favorite Fibonacci poems I’ve written.
What is a Fib?
The Fibonacci poem is a poetry form based on the structure of the Fibonacci number sequence.
For those unfamiliar with the Fibonacci Sequence, it is a mathematical sequence in which every figure is the sum of the two preceding it. Thus, you begin with 1 and the sequence follows as such: 1+1=2; then in turn 1+2=3; then 2+3=5; then 3+5=8 and so on. The poetry sequence therefore consists of lines of 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, and so on with each number representing the number of syllables or words that a writer places in each line of the poem.
As a literary device, it is used as a formatted pattern in which one can offer meaning in any organized way, providing the number sequence remains the constancy of the form.
The subject of the Fibonacci poem has no restriction, but the difference between a good fib and a great fib is the poetic element that speaks to the reader.
When you graph the Fibonacci numbers, you create a swirl that is often found in nature, from a conch shell to the face of a sunflower.
The poets who write Fibonacci poems are simply geeks who love to write 💛
brown eyes
I
look
into
your brown eyes
and see the good earth.
They are the color of the ground
after my papí plows land in the first days of spring.
In them I see the trees, for they are the color of bark in the early morning sun.
In them I see the sea, for they are the color of the water as it turns with sand and shells in the broken waves along the mid-day shore.
I love the plowed ground, walking through the cool dirt with bare feet; the bark of the trees, climbing the smooth branches, shirtless in the heat of the day; the sea, floating naked in the gently rocking waters of the ev’ning tide; your brown eyes.
migrant hearts
My
Heart
Loves home
Winter snow
Spring mountain flowers
Summer salt in the deep, blue sea
Fall leaves on the colorful trees are art for my heart
With tears in my eyes, my heart pulls on it’s brown tattered coat, black holey shoes, red wool scarf
My heart is so tired, poor, huddled, wretched, homeless and tempest-tost. It loves it’s memories, family, home but it is time for me to go
Too many cold, deserted eyes at checkpoints in lonely streets pointed guns at my heart; too many clouds empty of rain brought pain to my heart; too many coughs from my children’s chests into the night broke my heart
My heart picks up it’s battered suitcase, with tape all around it’s ends, lest it break open and spill out my father’s favorite shirt, a love letter, a picture of my beautiful children, all I have in the world, onto the ground
Deep in the hull of a ship tossing on stormy seas; high on the roof of a train winding down a long, steep hill; barefoot on a dusty road
Silently, back to back, knee to knee, with poor people and little children…migrant hearts
With each step along the way our hearts whisper, “We’re here”
With each mile we long for caring
We hope for kindness
On the trail
Moving
Our
Hearts
pluto
so
far
away
3 billion
miles away from Earth
a small, cold forgotten planet
that a group decided is no longer a planet
"Pluto is not a planet because of its size and location in space," they agreed
When I was a little boy at my desk in my classroom, Pluto was my favorite planet because it was so, so small, cold and forgotten
Pluto has no gravity, no pull on the Earth, but it has gravity on my heart
I love Pluto, feel it in the deep space of my heart
New Horizons just journeyed there
found it has a heart
discovered
Pluto
loves
us
romero’s glasses
Faith
Hope
People
A hero
Oscar Romero
Protecting poor, oppressed people
From unimaginable hatred and violence
Dying but not killing, denying guns their power, risking the violence of love
Conserving tradition at first for the greatest, seeing through your glasses at last for the least, feeling the hunger of unpaid workers, knowing poverty
Holding the tears of the disappeared, calling all to view the body of a slain priest
Building up humanity, tearing down injustice
“In the name of God, stop killing...”
Death, crucifixion
Life again
People
Love
Peace
sea and sky
She
loved
the sea,
kneeled on her
knees in the water,
felt the swirl around her legs as
the gentle waves moved back and forth with the ev’ning tide. She tasted salt in the water
as it splashed upon her body and broke apart
into one thousand drops that touched her
lips. The elemental song of
water singing a
song sung just
for her
in
sea.
things they carry
Now
on
the land
migrants live
with holes in the floors
cracks in the walls, leaks in the roofs,
broken apart from years upon years of people
moving in, moving out, broken apart by owners using money for things other than repairs
yet held together by people like my abuelo and mamí, who will move into a used place, scrub the floors and walls with soap and water
repair broken parts with things they carry with them, patch them with grit, common sense and love
small space
we
stand
closely
side by side
i reach out for you
and take your hand inside of mine
our fingers intertwine and our palms make a small space
this space is warm in the deep snow that covers the ground of Point Hope
is warm against the icy wind that blows off the rocking waters of the Chukchi Sea
“life is in these small spaces between us,” I whisper
we stand quietly hand in hand
with the small space, and
then we smile
holding
small
space
52 Blue
whale
song
lonely
where are you?
wandering, singing
singing unheard wandering songs
can you hear me? are you there? are you? i am alone
listening, longing for songs gently sung, i hear you song on water, i’m here, i’m here
we sing at diff’rent frequencies, migrate along diff’rent routes, wandering, wondering
unheard, unknown, wandering the sea, song on water
singing unheard wondering songs
wondering, singing
who are you?
gentle
song
whale
- Trevor Scott Barton, Fibonacci Poems, 2022
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