The Triolet Trail

(Is it okay to play with it a teensy bit?)


Just the way you think, I am
Redefining honesty...

Redefining honesty?
Donald trumps us all. In truth,
he's providing what we need:
redefining honesty.
Our end justifies his means:
Evil loves the voting booth.
Redefining honesty,
Donald trumps us all in truth.

Donald trumps us all. In truth
I feel browbeaten by this name,
creasing my forehead like lost youth.
Donald trumps us all. In truth
I dread finding his loud uncouth
itch under my own skin. O, shame.
Donald trumps us all. In truth
I feel browbeaten by this name.

My real name is quite unusual. I hated it passionately when I was a child and wanted to change it -- kids teased me mercilessly about it. I've grown to like it now. Still, your last line immediately brought a triolet to the surface of my wretched mind.

I feel browbeaten by this name
imposed upon me. As a child,
others teased. Not now. All the same,
I feel browbeaten by this name.
And should I work my way to fame
my name will dog me all the while.
I feel browbeaten by this name
imposed upon me as a child.

I'm with you there, Cass -- I've ruminated on the effects of names too, here in The Great Unspoken Sadness of Today. (It's time I wrote a non-game-related poem again; until I get one out, I'll just self-refer.)

imposed upon me as a child
thunderclouds and commonsense
around my head, to keep me wild
imposed upon me as a child

(what's the number that you dialed?
does it make a difference?)
imposed upon me as a child:
thunderclouds and commonsense.

My apologies -- I'm feeling silly.

Thunderclouds and common sense --
really, they should come together.
When lightning flickers from intense
thunderclouds, and common sense
says "don't lean on that metal fence,"
listen -- or suffer worse than weather.
Thunderclouds and common sense --
really, they should come together.

Well, there you go again. Making poetry fun and all.

Really, they should come together
stroll into the light, hand in hand
hey, we know; it's when, not whether
really, they should come together

loose the dogs of cape and feather,
go wild - or, if you want, be bland
really, they should come together
stroll into the light, hand in hand

You grow a fine garden, my friend.

stroll into the light, hand in hand
out of the cave, soar into skies
dive in the river, walk through forestland
stroll into the light, hand in hand

into the beach, your abs be tanned
hold my hand, let's be allies
stroll into the light, hand in hand
out of the cave, soar into skies

(one can only soar into one sky at a time, as far as I know, so I took a liberty.)

Out of the cave, soar into sky --
an eerie sight in dying light.
In pursuit of prey you fly
out of the cave -- soar into sky
with uncanny high-pitched cry,
webbed wings spread against the night.
Out of the cave, soar into sky --
an eerie sight in dying light.

an eerie sight in dying light
to watch you gulp down all ice cream
with heartless teeth you took each bite
an eerie sight in dying light
my bucket emptied, so high plight
life savings gone, t'was my dream
an eerie sight in dying light
to watch you gulp down all ice cream

to watch you gulp down all ice cream
among the wolves and acrobats
in this twilight: my last, last gleam
to watch you gulp down all ice cream

and would i spend my last centimes
on taxi fares and paper hats
to watch you gulp down all ice cream
among the wolves and acrobats

Among the wolves and acrobats
I roll on the wooden barrel.
The lions roar when the master pats,
among the wolves and acrobats.

The crowd throws gen'rous hats,
zebras rear and clowns juggle.
Among the wolves and acrobats
I roll on the wooden barrel.

I roll on: "The wooden barrel,
more civil than tar and feather,
but not suited for the gravel
I roll on. The wooden barrel—
a very poor choice for apparel,
the onesie for any weather?
I roll on the wooden barrel—
more civil than tar and feather."

I tried

Yes, it's a godawful Tolkien-inspired triolet -- what of it? I couldn't think of much that would leave a decent line for the next person.

I roll on the wooden barrel
down the river to the lake
in constant fear and peril.
I roll on the wooden barrel.
with dripping wet apparel
for my thirteen dwarf friends' sake.
I roll on the wooden barrel
down the river to the lake.

ETA:

Gaah! I just missed yours, B.D.! I think I started drafting about a minute before you posted.

Next person can use your line.

To be fair, I flipped a coin. Cassandra's, it is.

Down the river, to the lake,
dump it in and watch it sink;
vitiate my one mistake.
Down the river, to the lake,
smearing crimson in its wake,
drag the thing with thoughts in sync:
Down the river. To the lake.
Dump it in and watch it sink.

Dump it in and watch it sink:
my amulet. I break upon the beach
into a song that coaxes each to blink,
dump it in, and watch it. Sink
pointless treasure, pulling down, to the brink
of an abyss that that snags you from air's reach.
Dump it in and watch it. Sink.
My amulet I break upon the beach.

My amulet I break upon the beach;
this broken heart, bequeathed to shifting sands.
Your photograph, floating just out of reach.
My amulet. I break upon the beach,
fall to my knees and silently beseech
the loss of us, and our innocent plans.
My amulet I break upon the beach.
This broken heart bequeathed to shifting sands.

This broken heart bequeathed to shifting sands
lies remnant - a testament to pride's infidelities,
victim of love's contrabands;
this broken heart bequeathed to shifting sands,
could not resist the storm of your demands,
sought only to satiate and please;
this broken heart bequeathed to shifting sands
lies remnant - a testament to pride's infidelities.

lies, remnant, a testament; to pride's infidelities
the question remains the same,
without an answer, there are no guarantees;
lies, remnant, a testament to to pride's infidelities.

when truth is construct, spoke with ease,
often, love deferred and pain
lies remnant, a testament to pride's infidelities
the question remains the same.

the question remains the same
and don't you fail this time.
this exam is not a game
the question remains the same.

to study should be your aim
though failing is not a crime.
the question remains the same
and don't you fail this time.

and...don't you fail this time,
knowing what I mean;
would it be easier if I told it in a rhyme
and...don't you fail this time!
the clock's hands will put you in a bind,
your petty angst will cry until you scream;
and...don't you fail this time,
knowing... what... I... MEAN.

knowing...what...I...MEAN,
you've gone into seclusion;
swimming in your conscious, a swollen, torrid stream;
knowing...what...I...MEAN!
jealousy's green eyes cast a wicked gleam;
any love but ours is an enemy's intrusion!
knowing what I mean,
you've gone into seclusion.