Cecil Curry currently indwells in the salt-welling seasprays of Diamond Harbour, South Island, New Zealand — with sunsplayed girl-partner, Alexis Pietak, and spayed cat-partner, Knobby the Cat — within the low, zealous slowness of nestling island Life.

Cecil recently absconded of a disunitive United States, where he still holds freeholding citizenship, to New Zealand's nascency, where he now holds Permanent Residency. Mayhap happily, he priorly served in the quaint, peace-feigning Peace Corps (Tanzania, Africa), the quietly abstaining, academic Universität Bremen (Bremen, Germany), the Koyaanisqatsi-quartered corridors of Waseda Daigaku (Tokyo, Japan), a stint at Apple (Cupertino, California), and dappled spates of Earth-spading, Túwaqachi-tilling permaculturing institutes, tutelary ecovillage cultures, and locality-acculturating, cult synchroneity-accreting organic farms (Sequoia National Forest, California; Purau Bay, South Island, New Zealand; et al.).

Cecil senses — as, sensibly, he dare suggests others do — Tensorial, complicity-soughing changes in this encitied world; and in this seed, sowed the preceding five seeds of poetry. He intends to tend them, more, and publish delicate remains in his first book of hissing free verse, “Stanchion Spliced: The Thrice-Horned (S|Ph|Acre)age of Armature.”
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Cecil currently maintains Raiazome, an open-access, open-source wiki discussing the catabolic collapse of industrial civilization — and anabolic emergence, concurrently, of rhizomatic lattice-socioeconomies of localized scale, place, and land stewardship.
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This collective of five poems was fashioned of strictly free (as in both //gratis// and //libre//), liberty-tinctured open-source software, fonts, colours, and content. 

Content, of course, is courtesy Cecil Curry. Tart commentary on that content, to which he's fallibly indebted, comes courtesy the collaborative generosities of Alexis Pietak (partner and fellow poet) and Mark Zimmerman (goodfellow, bellowing poet-blogger).

Colours are courtesy the non-Pantone Linux palette; and consist, mostly, of the //organics//: Moccasin, Snow, Coral, and so on. {{shade each colour its actual colour}}

Fonts are courtesy a heterogeny of font authors. In no good order, these are:

- Paramond. 
- Baramond.
- Linux Libertine. 
- Linotype.
- Rechtman.

Software is courtesy the Linux operating system, FVWM-Crystal windowing manager, and Scribus publishing application. Scribus, in particular, merits mention: this open-source alternative to for-profit, proprietary applications (Adobe InDesign CS4, QuarkXPress 8, and so on) affords an affordable ("...it's free!"), viable ("...it works!") avenue for self-distribution, -publication, and -pressing. This poet fondly recommends it.
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This collective's title, “Pons Pentacra,” is Latin. It means, roughly, “The Bridge to Five-Summited Mountain.”

This collective's poems were culled from a full-bright, fuller collection of some thirty-seven poems -- tentively entitled, “Stanchion Spliced: The Thrice-Horned (S|Ph|Acre)age of Armature.” The collection's near complete, replete with original acrylic artwork, courtesy Alexis Pietak, and looking for some “roughly slouching” book or chapbook publisher. 
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This would not have been possible without a great many things. Linux, yes; Scribus, certainly; dict.org, gutenberg.org, and wikipedia.org, a goulashed certainty. But were it not for the folky love and unyoked, steamy temerities of Alexis Pietak, piebald and free, not I or it'd be here to export it.
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Cover letter: mention the linearity of modern poetry, and that my poetry is inherently a-linear --
but, neither is it cyclic. Rather, it exhibits a high fractal dimension and consequently signifies
a new approach to poetry. Industrial civilization is inherently linear: humanity progresses
linearly along a line of technologic inevitability, till obtaining the transhumanist objective.
My poetry defies that. Conventional poetry must be read from the beginning, linearly. My poetry
defies that, and can be read from any point. Why? Because it exhibits holistic fractalism and
holography (in the Terence McKennan sense). Each line of my poetry is innately related to every
other line in that poetry. Furthermore, each line is, itself, a starting and ending place.
"Holographic Poetry," "Organic Poetry," or "Rehumanism" are all respectable appellations for this.
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18th century poetry, informed by Victorian feudalism, class rigidities, and cadent marching of Queen Victoria's empire, maximized adherence to rigid meter.

19th century poetry, informed by American egalitarianism and class flexibilities, moderately, maximized adherence to no meter.

20th century poetry, informed by that but principally Americana-bred consumerism, maximized adherence to no meter and a Haiku aesthetic. Lamentably, though was its amiable purpose, this made poetry mass palatable, marketable, and, of course, sellable. As was often the case, before, poetry served to support society's vast and lastingly sordid superstructure, was was the histrionic heir of Enlightenment: to promote a nihilistic acceptance of the metaprolis

My poetry, on the alterant hand, is not informed by or maximizes that. My poetry is informed by deep ecology, synergistics and -gestics, and gesticulations of true, abiding freedom: post-peak oil sustainability, and strict adherence to the solar budget.