The Triolet Trail

And so, we are: to certain realities, from which
we pick and pluck--to satisfy some need,
to scritch and scratch some omnipresent itch--
and so we are too certain: realities from which,
if truth be told, amount to kitsch;
destroy the truth, corrupt propriety
and so we are, too: certain realities, from which
we pick and pluck to satisfy some need.

We pick and pluck. To satisfy some need
only luscious, unbruised flesh can compete
among many, fruitless, crushable seeds.
We pick and pluck to satisfy some need
that plumps, fulfills, calcifies naked greed
like grass to earth to gravel go our streets.
We pick and pluck to satisfy some need.
Only luscious, unbruised flesh can compete.

Fight to survive. Sow. What catches, designs
poems, makes us grow. Up into sky, souls
keep their colors, though our bodies resign.
Fight to survive. Sow what catches design.
Grasp the last straw. Observe when stars align.
Essence of these moments should be your goal.
Fight to survive. Sow what catches. Design.
Poems make us grow up into sky souls.

Poems make us grow. Up into sky souls
the downtrodden rise. Elevated above all
who still clutch their begging bowls,
poems make us grow up into sky souls.
Words have power to reorder our roles
among humankind's chaff, even with small
poems. Make us grow up into sky souls!
The downtrodden rise, elevated above all.

Downtrodden? Rise, elevated; above
roaring clamor, clogged wires, causes, attacks
unwarranted. Choice can uplift a love
downtrodden. Rise. Elevated, above
anger, black out bullish nitwits who shove
dogma as truth, then spears into our backs.
Downtrodden, RISE, elevated above
roaring clamor. Clogged wire causes attacks.

Perscribo said:

roaring clamor. Clogged wire causes attacks.

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Really?

[Never say I'm not up for a challenge. ]

Roaring! Clamor! "Clogged wire causes attacks
deep in our brains! It causes delicate issues."
Endlessly, the salesman peddles his hacks,
roaring, "Clamor clogged wire causes attacks!"
When will you stop listening to tv's hijacks?
"Do you find your body's sensitive tissues
roaring? Clamor clogged wire causes attacks."
Deep in the brain--it causes delicate issues.

Ambrosia said:

[Never say I'm not up for a challenge. ]

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I’d say you “elevated” to the challenge quite expertly. I also don’t think it’s breaking the rules to change tenses, articles, or even dropping words (like I did with your previous last line), as long as it’s minimal, to suit the poet’s style. It’s no secret among us long-time AW poets that your style and my style are very different. Whatever keeps this thread alive!

Deep in, our brains cause delicate issues.
Neurons fail to conduct crucial feelings.
From pasts we are trapped rats, forced to misuse.
Deep in our brains, causes, delicate issues,
become burdens without need for tissues.
We must activate, orchestrate healing
deep in. Our brains cause delicate issues.
Neurons fail, too. Conduct crucial feelings.

Neurons fail to conduct crucial feelings.
Pain? Pleasure? Nerves fervent warning
is befuddled by the Dom's dealings--
neurons fail. To conduct crucial feelings
one mustn't be forced to gaze only at ceilings.
Though emotions beg release come the morning,
neurons fail to conduct crucial feelings
of pain. Pleasure? Nerves. Fervent warning!

Painful pleasures, nervous fervent warnings
by friends, ensure to what extent you harm
yourself. The aim is not to judge; scorning
painful pleasures, nervous fervor. Warnings
as warm words are caring, not suborning
us to lie to ourselves. Heed the alarms:
painful pleasures, nervous fervent warnings.
By friends, ensure to what extent you harm.

Friends, ensure to what extent you harm
the tender leaves of plaited plants.
The reputation of the specialty farm
friends ensure. "To what extent you harm
a living creature reveals your charm
to those of like mind," the prophet rants.
Friends ensure to what extent you harm
the tender leaves of plaited plants.

The tender leaves of plaited plants
display math absent from the abacus.
If you long to sow, have grace to add, grant
the tender. Leaves of plaited plants
advance a path in lacy vines, enchant
with grand diagrams. Find a bud to truss
the tender leaves of. Plaited plants
display math absent from the abacus.

(I realize that wasn’t a very encouraging last line. Perhaps this one is easier?)

Display math, absent from the abacus,
swirls in schools of fish. Reflect a design
on your path which exists in all of us.
Display math absent from the abacus.
Dispossess the negative. Raise the plus.
Circles of trust, rays of bright light, refine
display math absent from the abacus.
Swirls in schools of fish reflect a design.

Swirls in schools of fish reflect a design
knitting through the sunlight. Patterns appear.
Clouds mackerel. Stars sleep. Planets align.
Swirls in schools of fish reflect a design
where each has, to this back-and-forth, resigned.
Freedom passes, undulating, as fear
swirls in. Schools of fish reflect a design.
Knitting through the sunlight, patterns appear.

Knitting through the sunlight, patterns appear.
To lead a path to victory or fate,
warriors trudge onward with little cheer,
knitting through the sunlight patterns. Appear
from the haze, disguised by redwood veneer,
bishops unleash their forces fore–checkmate,
knitting through the sunlight. Patterns appear
to lead a path to victory or fate.

To lead! A path to victory or fate
decides quickly which weapons to wield.
Most men are filled with too much hate
to lead a path to victory. Or fate
holds hostage the plans on their plate.
One must learn to fight and also shield
to lead a path to victory or fate.
Decide quickly which weapons to wield.

Decide quickly! Weapons to wield,
shouts to the sky, won’t bring white doves,
olive-branched, to bleak trees. Each field
decides quickly: weapons! To wield
oxen, water, shovels, plows, yields
not dead nuts, but seeds. Saints above,
decide quickly. Weapons to wield,
shouts to the sky, won’t bring white doves.

Shouts to the sky won’t bring white doves.
In the square, a man lifts his hand,
Calls, ‘Come, me darlings. Come, me loves.’
Shouts to the sky won’t bring – White doves
come tumbling to his woollen gloves.
‘Oi! Stop that! Feeding birds is banned!’
Shouts to the sky: ‘…won’t bring white doves
in the square.’ A man lifts his hand.

In the square, a man lifts his hand
as another soul is sacrificed to fear.
The demon dances, waving the brand
in the square. A man lifts his hand
and the strap bites deep. He can't stand
the roar of the mob's deafening cheer
in the square. A man lifts his hand.
Another soul is sacrificed--to fear.

[I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to ignore kinokonoronin’s strikeout. Anyhow, the next person can use either last line.]

As another soul is sacrificed, fear
courses through the crowd like slithering oil
over crystal clean lakes. The brand will sear
as another soul is sacrificed. Fear,
the call to hand the sword to Guinevere,
to see it disappear for good. Recoil
as another soul is sacrificed. Fear
courses through the crowd like slithering oil.

Perscribo said:

[I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to ignore kinokonoronin’s strikeout. Anyhow, the next person can use either last line.]

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There seemed to be a rule I missed wherein the repeated lines are reinterpreted with altered grammar (and sometimes with a word appended/omitted). As I went back through older entries, this seemed to be observed almost invariably. As such, I wasn't sure my entry was valid because I was no longer sure if I'd followed all the rules. Re-reading the OP did not clarify this for me, I'm afraid. But it was already midnight, so I decided to simply strike it out for simplicity's sake and get myself off to bed.