The Triolet Trail

ChloeRose

Taking the long view.
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Recourse for what is due?
Return her bones, my tears;
sonnets exchanged, in lieu
recourse. For what is due,
grief as muse, is but true
remorse. For her lost years;
recourse. For what is due,
return her bones, my tears.




(It is not good, but it is done.)
 
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Perscribo

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I guess I was too late with this one. Will try to create another one with Chloe’s last line now.

Recourse for what is due

forms in my heart. A scream:
“We murdered, then withdrew!”
Recourse for what is due
cannot un-sink canoes,
un-kill each horse. It seems
recourse, for what is due,
forms. In my heart: a scream.
 
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Perscribo

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Return her bones. My tears
cascade across each sea;
rippling our wonder years.
Return her bones! My tears
soil the root, block the ears
of her God to my plea:
return! Her bones, my tears,
cascade across each sea.
 
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kkbe

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Cascade across each sea,
and each reminds us of our better days,
our better selves. As we
cascade across each sea,
tumbled and turned about, to be
forever tossed and lost inside, the waves
cascade across each sea,
and each reminds us of our better days.
 

Perscribo

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Remind us of our better days
when guilt entraps our human souls.
Equal rations, all hearts ablaze,
remind us of our better days.

But alms for some is just a phase.
Compassion be the common goal!
Remind us of our better days
when guilt entraps our human souls.
 
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Perscribo

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When guilt entraps your human soul,
offer me half of what I ask.
It's not so hard to fill the hole
when guilt entraps. Your human soul
is not to enrapture, to bowl
us all over. Take me to task
when guilt entraps your human soul.
Offer me half of what I ask.
 
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kkbe

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Offer me half of what I ask
(better you know, than I know myself).
My cup is dry. Your brimming vasque:
offer me half. Of what? I ask
you. Quench my soul and fill my flask.
(You'll find both on my closet shelf.)
Offer me half of what I ask;
better you know than I know myself.
 
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Perscribo

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Better you know than I know myself
fantasies fall apart with time.
Far-flung is the unicorn, elf.
Better you know than I know myself.
I’ll keep my dreams, this old bookshelf, dragons, damsels in childish rhyme.
Better you know than I know myself
fantasies fall apart with time.
 
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Perscribo

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Fantasies fall apart with time.
Abashed, you crawl through perception,
splintering your great paradigm.
Fantasies fall. Apart, with time,
you’re not so small; ascend to prime,
drawn by truth; your own direction.
Fantasies fall apart. With time,
abashed, you crawl through perception.
 
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CDSinex

Imagine something clever here.
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Not good, but it's time to move on.

Abashed, you crawl through perception,
as the doors somehow swing open
for you. Constant, no exception,
abashed, you crawl through. Perception,
bends to your will, your deception
and inner thoughts go unspoken.
Abashed, you crawl through perception,
as the doors somehow swing open.
 

ChloeRose

Taking the long view.
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As the doors somehow swing open;
illuminated dragonflies?
Ambers grasping grief is broken
as the doors somehow swing open.

Creaking, cringing, thoughts unspoken;
Crushing, fluttered, winged reply.
As the doors somehow swing open,
Illuminated Dragonflies!
 
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kkbe

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Illuminated dragons fly
above this puppet, tied (two strings).
Kings of wind and endless sky,
illuminated dragons fly
above this marionette: am I
forever anchored, without wings?
Illuminated dragons fly
above this puppet tied to strings.
 
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Perscribo

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Above this puppet tied to strings,
I bob. In her painless release,
she dances with each fingerling
above. This puppet, tied to strings,
jostles hearts of humans being
in love, at play. No song shall cease
above this puppet. Tied to strings,
I bob in her painless release.





 
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kkbe

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I, Bob, in her painless release,
mourn and yet, I eulogize her, too:
Precious Daughter, finally at peace.
I, Bob, in her painless release--
after praying for her dis to ease--
must now do what grieving fathers do,
aye: bob in her painless release,
mourn and yet . . . I eulogize her, too.
 
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Perscribo

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(tweaked the line a bit to make it a little easier)

Morning yet. I eulogize her, too
soft in my voice. Pluck your heart strings
in time to this reflective, blue
morning. Yet I eulogize. These two
boys must grow up without her view
of peace, of grace, of the waiting
morning. Yet, I eulogize her. To
soften my voice, pluck your heart strings.
 
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Perscribo

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Soften my voice. Pluck your heart strings.
This cleverly-spun poetry,
woven between out-loud readings,
softens my voice; plucks. Your heart strings
a chain of wordless wanderings
capturing jazzy melodies.
Soften my voice. Pluck. Your heart strings
this cleverly-spun poetry.
 
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ChloeRose

Taking the long view.
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This cleverly-spun poetry,
kindly left years before my time,
exposed my failings, notably;
this cleverly-spun poetry.
True, a comfort, but woefully,
my same efforts? Hopefully rhymes.

This cleverly-spun poetry
kindly left years before my time:


Death, be not proud
By John Donne

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
 
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Perscribo

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Kindly. Left. Years before my time.
You are the best of my lovers.
You have put up with my cross rhymes
kindly. Left years before my time,
yet I feel new between your primed,
downy, five-hundred count covers;
kindly left. Years before my time,
you are the best of my lovers.
 
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ChloeRose

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you are the best of my lovers.....
for a time, she notes with regret.

Worse yet, that letter uncovers
you are the best of my lovers!
For I made sure she discovers
there’s a man she best soon forget.

You?? Are the best of my lovers??'
for a time she notes with regret.

Sorry....it's silly, I know.
 
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Perscribo

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For a time, she notes with regret
the way she spent her precious youth.
These trials of life she won’t forget.
For a time, she notes. With regret,
she sees the words are blood to let;
absolution; expert, bald truth
for a time. She notes with regret
the way she spent her precious youth.
 
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Perscribo

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The way she spent her precious youth,
running towards a home of fiction,
led to windowless walls. In truth,
the way she spent, her precious youth
should have drowned in books, not uncouth
paws; ill-read wolves who forced missions,
The Way. She spent her precious youth
running towards a home of fiction.
 
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Perscribo

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Running towards a home of fiction
is no shelter. In a life of rain,
pink pictures cajole contradictions.
Running towards a home of fiction
weakens genuine fascination
of your true beauty. What is your pain
running towards? A home of fiction
is no shelter in a life of rain.
 

Perscribo

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Is no shelter in a life of rain
keeping you from loving human beings?
Four walls, iPhone, music, crossing terrain
is no shelter in a life of rain.
Talk to truthful friends. Listen. Live again.
Unconditional love is believing.
Is no shelter in a life of rain
keeping you from loving human beings?
 
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Perscribo

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Keeping you from loving, human beings
as lone creatures are blind. We should just be
feeling. Is what you think you are seeing
keeping you from loving human beings?
Don't mistake your sight with ghosts you're fleeing.
What galactic, absolute truth are we
keeping you from?: Loving human beings.
As lone creatures are blind, we should just be.
 

kkbe

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As lone creatures are, blind we should just be.
And so we are, to certain realities. From which?
We long to look the other way as not to see,
as lone creatures are: blind. We should just be
accepting of our fate and fuck esprit
de corps! Esprit is dead and Life's a bitch.
As lone creatures are blind, we should just be
and so we are, to certain realities from which. . .