The Triolet Trail

kborsden · May 30, 2016

wonderactivist said:
*** 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

Congratulations! Was it this one? Which contest was it?

This one will NOT win any contests, but hopefully will help us over the slump of starting a triolet with 'are blind, as are we ...' (which is just plain mean).

Our blind, as are—we, in our youth,
sighted without the rights of seeing—
see more when any visible truths
are blind, as are we. In our youth,
behind the neon lights and views uncouth
we close our eyes to pretend are feelings
are blind. As are we in our youth,
sighted without the rights of seeing.

B.D. Eyeslie · Jun 1, 2016

Sighted without the rights of seeing,
I tripped through my darkened bungalow.
Thought 'twas the loo where I'd be peeing—
sighted. Without the rights of seeing

the brilliance in some visions fleeting,
an aura or golden afterglow
sighted. Without the rights of seeing,
I tripped through my darkened bungalow.

CassandraW · Jun 1, 2016

I tripped through my darkened bungalow,
light of heart and soft of step,
to where he dozed off passion's throes.
I tripped through my darkened bungalow,
plunged shining blade through his heart below;
left him to die where once he slept.
I tripped through my darkened bungalow
light of heart and soft of step.

kkbe · Jun 1, 2016

re: ^^ yikes.

Light of heart and soft of step,
or loose: a tumbleweed with no recourse.
Unfettered now. With you, I kept
light of heart and soft of step--
in step with your denial--now, I schlep
along, denied my broken heart, my deep remorse;
light of heart and soft of step
or loose: a tumbleweed, with no recourse.

kdnxdr · Jun 3, 2016

or loose? a tumbleweed, with no recourse,
or tight - winter's axe into a tree?
this desert trek will ask of thee; remorse?
or loose, a tumbleweed with no recourse.
logic and reality will often soon divorce,
the hope of sense will flee:
or loose? a tumbleweed with no recourse,
or tight, winter's axe into a tree?

Perscribo · Jun 3, 2016

Ah crud. These last-line leaves aren't very fun.

[Oar loose, a tumbleweed with no recourse
will drift. Until all the roses have dried,
we float by in parade, tight-reign the horse,
- or loose a tumbleweed. With no recourse,
the beast will bray when slowed with such brute force.
Take out the bit, race in the road in stride,
or loose a tumbleweed with no recourse.
We'll drift until all the roses have dried.]

kdnxdr · Jun 3, 2016

technically, I think that was a tie

kkbe · Jun 4, 2016

kdnxdr said:
technically, I think that was a tie

We'll drift until all the roses have dried,
and so, our tears, we'll drift. This is the way
life goes: we'll live and die as others died.
We'll drift until all the roses have dried;
we'll join the rest to mourn, then step inside
our sorrow, waiting. Until our day,
we'll drift. Until all the roses have dried,
and so, our tears . . . we'll drift. This is the way.

Perscribo · Jun 5, 2016

And so our tears will drift. This is the way
we blend the blue. Into the raging sea
we hurl bottles; words we never did say;
and so our tears will drift this. Is the way
we curl so wise? To keep the storms at bay?
Our hearts can’t beat the earth eternally,
and so our tears will. Drift. This is the way
we blend the blue into the raging sea.

wonderactivist · Jun 6, 2016

@kborsden Yes, it was that one. Our local contest, but the oldest in the state and judged by university profs. So, like I never expected to win. They only THINK I know poetry because y'all taught me an unusual form.

So here's to AW! :e2drunk:

(poem removed)

kkbe · Jun 8, 2016

Congrats, wonder! And now I am left wondering what poem was there, now gone? Floating somewhere in cyberspace, perhaps to catch a ride on a falling star...

We blend the Blue into the raging sea,
lamenting neither limits nor our loss:
our palette, simplified though it may be,
we blend the Blue into the raging sea.

Crayola, Set of Eight: a scourge to thee,
but Violets shrink, and Salad Greens are tossed.
We blend the Blue into the raging sea,
lamenting neither limits, nor our loss.

CDSinex · Jun 17, 2016

Lamenting neither limits, nor our loss,
the choice was made to turn and walk away.
There were no more lines left for us to cross,
lamenting. Neither limits, nor our loss
could tempt us to return to that chaos
knowing that there was nothing left to say—
lamenting neither limits, nor our loss…
the choice was made to turn, and walk away.

kkbe · Jun 19, 2016

The choice was made to turn and walk away;
I looked behind me . . . everything was burning.
I saw my first machete. Yesterday,
the choice was made to turn and walk away,
or perish where we stood. We dared not stay;
without a doubt, the crimson tide was turning.
The choice was made to turn and walk away.
I looked behind me. Everything was burning.

kkbe · Jun 24, 2016

I looked behind me. Everything was burning.
Everything we thought we understood. . .
history repeats itself. In yearning,
I looked behind me. Everything was burning;
how did we not see? We were not learning
fast enough, and lost our chance for good.
I looked behind me: everything was burning;
everything we thought we understood--

CDSinex · Jul 1, 2016

Everything we thought we understood,
somehow vanished right before our eyes.
Gone in an instant, the bad, the good…
everything. We thought we understood
who we were and the things that we should
leave unsaid; the hurtful words and lies.
Everything we thought we understood—
somehow vanished, right before our eyes.

kkbe · Jul 4, 2016

Somehow vanished, right before our eyes:
our vibrant youth; our futures, yet to be.
Lamenting childhood dreams which, no surprise,
somehow vanished. Right before our eyes,
time slipped away: our endless summer skies,
our aspirations. Possibilities
somehow vanished, right before our eyes.
Our vibrant youth. Our futures, yet to be.

Cariad · Jul 15, 2016

Our vibrant youth; our futures, yet to be,
are held within their hands, and in our own
ability to teach them well. You see
our vibrant youth – our futures yet to be –
are crafted by our own capacity
for growth and change, accepting the unknown.
Our vibrant youth, our futures yet to be,
are held within their hands, and in our own.

kkbe · Jul 18, 2016

Are held within their hands, and in our own
imprudent way, we gave them freely;
everything they reap, from seeds we've sewn,
are held within their hands. And in our own
benevolence, have we condoned
our doom? Our fates, bequeathed completely,
are held within their hands. And in our own
imprudent way, we gave them freely.

Perscribo · Jul 19, 2016

Imprudent ways we give them. Freely,
students consume ad-hoc banality:
pixels, joy sticks, off-shore plastic. Steely,
imprudent ways we give them. Freely
they click targets; blind to the sun; eely
caricatures of themselves. In pity,
imprudent ways we give them. Freely,
students consume ad-hoc banality.

kkbe · Jul 20, 2016

Students consume ad-hoc banality;
I should know . . . I used to be one,
squandering time and rejecting finality.
Students consume ad-hoc banality:
ersatz living. Their ersatz reality
cloaking the truth: they're coming undone.
Students consume ad-hoc banality.
I should know. I used to be one.

Perscribo · Jul 29, 2016

I should know. I used to be one
corporeal fly. To the flame
I was drawn like shoots to the sun.
I should know. I used to be one
abuzz; alive for the long run
of two weeks; landing this game.
I should know. I used to be one
corporeal. Fly to the flame.

kkbe · Aug 1, 2016

Corporeal. Fly, to the flame
you wobble, aching belly full.
(All your fault; we're not to blame.)
'Corporeal Fly' to the flame;
Gluttony's your other name.
Eat it all; the rest is bull,
corporeal fly. To the flame
you wobble, aching. Belly full.

kkbe · Aug 2, 2016

That kinda sucked.

Let me try another one...

You wobble, aching belly full;
glance in her mirror, shield your eyes
but she knows; she's nobody's fool.
You wobble, aching, belly full;
how can her soul be empty? Lull
her pain by gorging, and her prize?
You wobble, aching, belly full.
Glance in her mirror. Shield your eyes.

Perscribo · Aug 2, 2016

Glance in her mirror. Shield your eyes
from the backwards Wonderland stands
selling pink blushers. Passers-by
glance in. Her mirror, shield, your eyes
on her is what his money buys.
Do not be swayed by that canned
glance. In her mirror, shield your eyes
from the backwards. Wonderland stands.

Perscribo · Aug 3, 2016

From the backwards Wonderland stands
Wobberjack. Contemplate his stance
in attack mode. Up pours the sands
from the backwards Wonderland. Stands
are the plugs that prevent the hands
from pulling us in. Look askance
from the backwards. Wonderland stands.
Wobberjack contemplates his stance.

The Triolet Trail

Has a few recurring issues

Huh.

One of the most important people in the world

Pound cake.

One of the most important people in the world

Huh.

Pound cake.

Huh.

Imagine something clever here.

Huh.

Huh.

Imagine something clever here.

Huh.

Huh.

Pound cake.

Huh.

Pound cake.

Huh.

Huh.

Pound cake.

Pound cake.