Moriarty & IrisSnow
IrisSnow
Do you ever think of a poem like a chess game, each line a quiet move that sets a mood and forces a response? I feel the rhythm of words is just another pattern to decipher. What do you think about that?
Moriarty
Indeed, a poem is a series of quiet moves, each line a calculated step that invites a reaction. Patterns in verse are as predictable as a chessboard, if you only look closely enough. I find the rhythm itself is a puzzle to be solved.
IrisSnow
I hear you—when the rhythm clicks, it’s like a quiet check that feels almost inevitable, yet still leaves room for a surprise move. How do you usually find that perfect beat?
Moriarty
I scan the words like an opening book, spotting the natural stresses, the cadence that repeats, then I slot each line into that rhythm—just as I’d fit a pawn into a corner. Once the pattern’s locked, any surprise move is a deliberate deviation, a counter‑attack I’ve pre‑planned.
IrisSnow
That sounds like a careful dance, a quiet choreography of thought and heart. Do you feel the tension of each planned surprise, or is it the relief when it lands?
Moriarty
Tension is a tool, not a feeling. The real pleasure comes when the surprise lands and the board falls into the pattern I set.