The Triolet Trail

survivor to the last, but not by choice,
i'd rather we had built a life together
one that echoed each other's voice;
survivor to the last, but not by choice.
our love together was so glorious,
until you left for fancy's other;
survivor to the last, but not by choice,
i'd rather we had built a life together.

Ah nuts ... Let's see if I can recover quickly here...

[Survivor to the last, but not by choice.
Seventy years have passed without his touch.
Now she takes his hand; hears the velvet voice.
Survivor to the last, but not by choice.
In her final descent she can rejoice.
Her first-time love became her biggest crutch.
Survivor to the last, but not by choice.]

Aye, I cannot. Time for work.

kborsden said:

I'd rather we had built a life together,
founded ourselves on some solid bricks.
At the same time, love and respect tethered,
I'd rather. We had built a life together
and vowed that it would last forever.
Unlike passion inflamed by rubbing sticks,
I'd rather we had built a life together;
founded ourselves on some solid bricks.

Click to expand...

kborsden said:

Found it ourselves, on some solid bricks.
Jen wrote, 'Alas! I cannot.' Time for work
instead of play: toiling away the minutes
founded—ourselves on some. Solid bricks,
each outline etched with cement thick—
perhaps a triolet or two could do no worse,
founded ourselves on some solid bricks.
Jen wrote, alas: 'I cannot. Time for work!'.

Click to expand...

Jen wrote, alas: 'I cannot. Time for work!'
as Timothy slipped her blouse off trembling shoulders;
pen from paper, he noticed her subtle jerk;
Jen wrote, alas....'I cannot...time for....work.'
Her eyes, they flitted, her body perk,
his body pressed closed to hers;
Jen wrote: 'A...lass...I...can. Not time...for...work...
as Timothy slipped her blouse off trembling shoulders.

As Timothy slipped her blouse off trembling shoulders
the light of the full moon softened his view.
So shy - after a day full of bolder!
As Timothy slipped her blouse off trembling shoulders,
shining green eyes search into his older.
Velvet curtains parted. She gave her cue
as Timothy slipped her blouse off trembling shoulders.
The light of the full moon softened his view.

the light of the full moon softened his view,
to love's tenderness, he acquiesced;
violence, hatred, strife : his life's brew,
the light of the full moon softened his view.
tyranny, dominance, he would eschew
with a simple kiss, the beast felt blessed.
the light of the full moon softened his view,
to love's tenderness, he acquiesced.

to love's tenderness he acquiesced
candle by candle, darking the light
and, in this nude communion, confessed:
to love's tenderness he acquiesced.

he laid their robes upon the chest -
a paramour, yet an acolyte
to love's tenderness. he acquiesced,
candle by candle, darking the light.

Candle by candle, darking the light;
this is what happens when True Love is spurned:
'hope springs eternal' now blacker than night,
candle by candle. Darking the light,
nary a spark to illumin her plight;
played with his fire and now she is burned,
candle by candle. Darking the light:
this is what happens when True Love is spurned.

It sours and spoils; it devolves into hatred;
your stark prejudice is like poison on cake:
it bubbles and boils in a manner ill-fated,
it sours and spoils. It devolves into hatred.
You live for chaos--you rejoice, you're elated!
No matter that Innocence falls in your wake:
it sours and spoils it; devolves into hatred.
Your stark prejudice is like poison on cake.

'your stark prejudice is like poison on cake'
walking home, i picture you as you said it:
cold epitaph, skate-ice etches on a lake
'your stark prejudice is like poison on cake'

the hallway lamps flicker and flare at daybreak
a house-ghost's warning, i know, but i'll forget it
'your stark prejudice is like poison on cake'
walking home, i picture you as you said it

Walking home, I picture you as you said it.
Isn't my place to be with you? "You are free
to kiss any man." I ponder this tidbit
walking home. I picture you as you; said it
was my place to paint, to carve the conduit
that guides this pinball in. Instead I flee.
Walking home, I picture you. As you said, it
isn't my place to be with you. You are free.

[Felt compelled to fix that feeble last verse.]

Isn't my place to be with you? You are free
to kiss any woman. By the moonlight
the mist there eventually
isn't. My place: to be with you. You are free
to build the board and man you claim to be,
to ride the waves. Perhaps the pale of night
isn't my place to be with you. You are free
to kiss any woman by the moonlight.

To kiss any woman by the moonlight,
ask the blessing of Jupiter and Mars.
Your horoscope said it would be alright
to kiss any woman. By the moonlight
handcuffs still hurt when ratcheted too tight,
and a club to the head sure twinkles stars
too. Kiss any woman; buy the moonlight;
ask the blessing of Jupiter and Mars.

Ask the blessing of Jupiter and Mars?
Your gods hold no interest in you:
weak of flesh; borne of sorrows and scars.
Ask the blessing of Jupiter and Mars,
your High Priests and Pharaohs and Czars?
They'd just as soon rip you in two!
Ask the blessing of Jupiter and Mars;
your gods hold no interest in you.

If this offends anyone, blame kkbe.

Your gods hold no interest in you,
just pass the plate and drop in your coins.
Rest assured that whatever you do,
your gods hold no interest. In you
they find succor, and what they accrue
will have castles built for you to join.
Your gods hold no interest in you—
just pass the plate and drop in your coins.

Just pass the plate and drop in your coins.
Your cost is nothing your ex-lover paid:
shunning, then Hell for not girding her loins.
Just pass the plate and drop in your coins.
Piddly penance! How dare you perloin
virginity, in your quest to get laid?
Just pass the plate and drop in your coins;
your cost is nothing. Your ex-lover paid.

Your cost is nothing; your ex-lover paid
with gall. For a hundred lashes,
you snuck out the back after you parlayed
your cost. Is nothing your ex-lover paid
enough for you to end the dumb charade?
You must tell us where your stash is!
Your cost is nothing...your ex-lover paid
with gall for a hundred lashes.

with gall for a hundred lashes
all the eyes in a peacock's tail
winking cryptic dots and dashes
with gall for a hundred lashes

its throat, dry with phoenix ashes,
can only croak when it should wail
with gall for a hundred lashes
all the eyes in a peacock's tail

All the eyes in a peacock's tail
are blind, as are we. In our youth,
journées d'été ont soleil.*
All the eyes in a peacock's tail
see naught, but enchant us; we fail
to focus our eyes on the truth:
all the eyes in a peacock's tail
are blind. As are we, in our youth.



*summer days have sun.

*** Just a drop-in to let you know that I just won a poetry contest with the triolet I wrote for this thread. I never even heard of one before I came here. THANK YOU! Lucie