five sonnets
by Rodrigo Toscano
Weirdos
Poem took fifty-six seconds to read.
It was towards the back of the collection.
Just twenty-one people made it that far
And twelve of those merely skimmed over it.
Of the nine who spent a minute on it
Just two read it closely, and one, three times.
That lasted about four minutes and change
Compared to the six hours writing it
And the two hours submitting the piece.
Living in the slush pile for seven months.
It took thirty hours to fish it out
And about five hours to rank the thing,
Finally pleasing three functionaries:
The editor, the scribe, and one weirdo.
The Big Outside
“The blanker the page, the fuller the stage”
He said, to a round of eye rolls, except
For the one always by the exit door
In a hoodie, trancing on a blank page
“Venture a scribble” “grapple its headspace”
“Give ‘venture’ and ‘grapple’ their own voices”
He added, boosting boredom in the class
Making lower lips puff out even more
Shallow ponds of tears in every eyeball
“Also, give ‘voice’ a half voice. Why, you ask?”
(No one asking )“It’s all about yearning”
And that perked up the one by the exit
Eying the door, venturing a scribble
Spouting, “ah! the other half—is out there”
What the goth told us
“There we’re, let’s say, ‘vocalities’, afoot
As the Mongols circled in from the east.
We kind of fast dumped minimalism
The ceremonies, the attire, the moves
In favor of a maximalism
Each lining up, one behind the other
Belting out the most personal of plights.
To the west, the Franks were amassing ranks
Forming into an impassible wall.
Minimalism—came back with a rage
Some, jumping in front of the flaming pyre
Declaiming—three, two, or even one word
Claiming it a ‘saga’—for all present.
Others, slinked out into the dark forests.”
Street Poet
“Ok, why not, bring on the asteroid
Gotta start—or end, somewhere. It’s coming?
You wanna add in the gruesome black fish
From the deepest, darkest, densest waters
Floating up (people think) to see the sun
Perhaps the first of its kind to do so
Only to die, looks like, in someone’s hand?
Ok, so, ‘asteroid and gruesome fish’
And? ‘possible alien landing’? dude
This is a five dollar poem, not ten—
Ten gets you a ‘flailing empire sparkler’
That’s the jargon out here. And we’re the best
Me and my Smith Corona—clack clack clack.
Sometimes, we’re decades into the future.”
Brand New Ode
“Ode to the Ancient Art of Book Reading”
That’s the working title. It used to be:
“Ode to the Ancient Art of Book Writing”
Actually, the two titles seem quaint now.
“Ode to the Modern Art of No Reading”
Seems more appropriate, but this “art” bit
That seems triply quaint, as defunct as “ode”.
“Ode to the Total Defeat of all Odes”
That’s feeling about right, wouldn’t you say?
Oh, right, you can’t say, forgot about that—
And that reminds us, as people now say
In zombie voice, you’ve got! something! I want!
But no one knows what, right? Just a feeling—
But that’s how odes roll these days: onerous.
Photo of Rodrigo Toscano
BIO: Rodrigo Toscano is a poet based in New Orleans. He is the author of twelve books of poetry. His latest books are WHITMAN. CANNONBALL. PUEBLA (Omnidawn, 2025, an National Poetry Series finalist). The Cut Point(Counterpath, 2023), The Charm & The Dread (Fence, 2022). His Collapsible Poetics Theater was a 2008 National Poetry Series winner. His poetry has appeared in over 25 anthologies, including, Best American Poetry and Best American Experimental Poetry. Toscano received a New York State Fellowship in Poetry. He won the Edwin Markham 2019 prize for poetry. He was an Honorable Mention for the 2023 International Latino Literary Awards. He works for the Labor Institute in conjunction with the United Steelworkers on educational projects that involve environmental and labor justice culture transformation.