2005 Form Challenges
A while ago whilst surfing for Sestina, I came across this mini version.
Having bookmarked it for further investigation I promptly forgot it. Much later
whilst researching ten line poetry, I came across this form buried in the depths of Google
and remembered my earlier bookmark, and found that this form was not a one-off, and there
were many examples of it, thus making it deserving of a place in the Ten Line Poetry site.
Being modeled from the Sestina, there is no rhyme scheme, instead it comprises of three stanzas
using the same three words in a Sestina like pattern, and a final line which uses the three words
in the starting sequence:
A.. B.. C...
C.. A.. B...
B.. C.. A...
The meter is not specified but is usualy tetrameter or pentameter.
A ten line poem we’ll write, just you and I
But let’s call it Tritina, shall we, love?
Connecting lines together...fun with you!
Could we take turns so I could share with you?
Although it might be hard, for sometimes I
Begin with words you might not like or love.
But we could try, okay, for I would love
Co-ordinating all the lines with you
At last, our own creation, you and I.
It ends, Tritina says, with I love
A Love Junkie Tale
I need a chemical cocktail tonight
With my smile as rouge as roses are red,
The spice of love rushing to white mountains.
I need a bucolic scene in mountains
Where laughter is the only blush of red
My face glows with, the only high, tonight.
I need smiles, not pink lingerie, nor red,
Just a foot race to our champange mountains,
No lines in my ears, nor my eyes, tonight.
We need find love in tonights red mountains.
Only Want To Be
Only want to be sane, secure, sure
And never find I'm labeled, lonely, lost;
Just knowing that I exist, feels like love.
Only want to be lost in true blue love,
Not ever alone against the world, dead lost,
But found floribundant of friendships, sure.
Only want to be sure I am not lost
And looking for what isn't there, my love,
Just losing my heart every time I'm sure.
What we want to be isn't sure, lost love.
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Tis an undefined tugging that sends me out to find
My heart that lies awaiting upon a blessed isle,
While these eyes see waters of an endless stormy sea.
Oh blessed wind, do briskly turn and sail across the sea
With calming whisper rising cross the waves to find
That place where all may come and rest upon that isle.
Oh fair and joyous day, when I do touch that isle,
Quite hidden by the clouds and the mist upon the sea,
When eyes will see that place I've often hoped to find.
To find that blessed isle within the stormy sea.
Aww shoot, ma dear, what's that ya'll say?
Lamentin' 'bout us folks that live down here?
As sure as shootin' we got service in the south!
Before ya'll go and put down the south,
Ask anyone born and bred and they'll say
Mama and apple pie were invented here!
All them there Yankees a visitin' here
Understandin' not that we're relaxed in the south,
Sure 'nuff mistake it for slowness, or so you say.
Americans though, say Here, Here for the south!
(Reply to Gloria Carpenter)
It would be so easy to write myself a different song
The inconsequential lilting verse of a greeting card
Until a frothy piece of nothing dripped from my fingers.
Easier for me though to flow from heart to fingers
To lie just a bit smudged and dirty as a darker song
Playing from that worn deck on the only marked card.
How many times and eons have I played the devil's card,
Shuffled and dealt myself that hand familiar to my fingers,
In order to create that phrase of music I've called my song?
My song is but that card I hold within my fingers.
It Is War
I have no wish to hurt you, Mr. Mole.
My view was clearly made, blocking all your tunnels
Or the large cat scents I did place around my home.
No squatter's rights exist to the ground at my home.
My house, occupied, takes precedence, Mr. Mole.
Cease and desist in the making of more tunnels!
This trickery you used on my dogs at your tunnels.
Surely they knew, this place was not your home.
They bother not a scratch or a bark for you, mole.
(It is war with this mole who tunnels at my home.)
Was there ever a light that warmed the heart so brightly?
Such is hers, so soft and tender, yet so wide to hold
many within its girth, for hers is a welcoming circle.
From one drop of love, swells rise and fall to circle
So much more than when begun, when one drop brightly
Splashed its way into the midst with it's desire to hold.
Sally not forth from that embrace, but onto her hem hold
Tightly with fervor that you may be swept within that circle,
Such light to rain upon your heart and soul so brightly.
Brightly she doth hold me within her loving circle.
Its water rushes on, quickening, this winding river,
Rolling round orbs, tumbling, next to silt forming
Beds for spawning, hidden, along root lined paths.
Water fingers splay, opening, to sweep these paths,
Parting but come again, curling, to run with this river.
We stand in muck, planting, new homes are forming.
Once proud trees, falling, now the dams forming
New breaks ahead, splashing, spurring the water paths
To continue on, rushing, down this snake bent river.
Winding river, moving, ever forming your paths.
With a Slide
Rising up and peeking wildly over the morning
Neither a sound nor a word to jinx this slippery fall
Into the buttered noon day hour of the day whiled away
To see there on tip-toes in the up-close and far-away
Wanderings of the minstrel strumming the morning
Black cups of coffee into which notes of sugar cubes fall
Past the foot sweeping papers that rustle as they fall
Into peculiar sound all its own heard in the echo away
From nonsense strung to spurt freely from the morning
For morning thoughts fall in fragments as cobwebs drift away.
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It’s time for some frivolity, I think
for sometimes if I get into a funk,
I drag myself around pathetic-like.
You must know what I mean. Pathetic-like.
Like some lost dog that looks like he can’t think
of where he lives, in a bedraggled funk.
There’s no other word to describe a funk...
So now you know why I’m pathetic-like.
Just singing the funky blues, d’ya think?
I think a funk is so pathetic-like.
Hey y’all, he says from somewhere in the south
U.S., with shitfull internet service ~
No longer any time for writing verse.
Today I ate fried food and wrote no verse;
Such is the way of things here in the south,
Vexatious place, needing better service.
It is life’s purpose to be of service.
Lamentable, this lack of writing verse.
Lost in labor, Tritina has gone south.
'Ere down south, internet service is verse.
a little bluesy, in the night and all
the music playing, cool and yet so hot, that
rhythm beating softly steel brush jazz
a blue note wends an improv home to jazz
as strums and drums connect their voice to all
along a common thread, a weaving that
can pick a textured tapestry, like that
modulating scale, A Minor shade of jazz,
a little bluesy, in the night and all
with Mr. P and B, and all that jazz.
What made me think our love was true, ever?
We laughed so much, of course it felt like love,
and yet, I questioned, time and time again.
You’d frown at me and say, "Not this again,"
each time I asked if you would leave, ever,
and this is how we lived ~ in fear, not love.
Yes, now I know that letting go is love,
for love so true shares freedom. Once again,
a lesson for my heart. More than ever,
I wonder if I’ll ever love again.
Let Go and Listen
These things I write about, like fear and love,
can sound so simple, written from the heart,
but getting to the letting go takes time.
On many paths we travel over time
in hopes that we can find our way to love ~
to be here, now, connected to the heart.
For isn’t that what beats inside us? Heart,
the rhythm of life that ticks away at time
and says let go and listen ~ I am love.
Let love be in your heart, for now’s the time.
In order to connect, you must be free.
By that I mean in touch with who you are,
Not needing someone else to make you whole.
For love between two people who are whole
Allows each one of them to still be free,
Accepting, without question, who they are.
If someone lives in fear of who they are
And hides behind a mask, they are not whole
By letting go of fear, they will be free.
To love, be free, connect when you are whole.
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Standing on a Rock
I'm standing on a rock
If I jump right off the front
I'll land in deep water
I try not to slip into the water
I maintain my balance on the rock
Keeping my eye on what is in front
I must remember what lies in front
Dark, swirling, angry water
As I stand like a statue on this rock
This rock in front of troubled water
For years they met and drank their tea
Sharing new gossip and secrets
The way old friends can do so well
They knew each other's habits well
As they stirred each cup of hot tea
Its steam carried years of secrets
Invisible just like secrets
Time and aging suited them well
Moments savored over steeped tea
Tea and time and secrets blend well
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Our love is fertile, my heart she did plant
Great care she gave and watched it grow
For I was her sunshine, she was my soil
No bad days allowed for happiness to soil
Joyous days were like seeds, yet to plant
We expanded our garden with room to grow
Kaleidoscope of colors within it would grow
All the rainbows of living contained in one plant
Our home became more than rich darkened soil
A plant is life which only grows in loved soil.
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As crows attack their nest, the magpies dive.
"Beware", they shriek to neighbours, "come and help!
Usurpers threaten eggs and young, defend!"
"Our brood and future are at stake, defend!"
assault the enemy with beaks; fierce dives
From everywhere the magpies come to help.
disrupt the fiends’ formation; joined, the help
troops soon are proving stronger, still defend
as crows’ attempts grow weaker with each dive.
A joyful dive thanks help- here to defend.
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Grace Potter's Blues
Gracie's so young to be singing the blues
Her Hammond wails out in tune with her voice
Ah, but Gracie wails on even higher
drummer raising the stakes even higher
fearsome gyrations while beatin' the blues
those skins ramba-damba, framing her voice
A Fender guitar is her side-man's voice
And his screaming strings just bring him higher
His eyes jamed tight shut, his axe cries the blues
Blues bass' thunder voice, and power is higher!
I'm sure you've heard rumors about angels
and you may have seen some of them in flight
they say you can follow them to glory
we all have our ways of seeking glory
we don't always use the style of angels
and we sometimes get down to "fight or flight"
stay true to your honor, you can take flight
and soaring with eagles can bring glory
but better to follow soaring angels
angels steer our flights always to glory
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Above the clouds the sun streams in
The strains of Mozart ease my mind
As I sit back gazing at the world below.
Feelings grow looking at some clouds below
And I wonder at the world I’m in
That the heavens could provide this mood.
All too soon we must change this mood
Rejoining once again the world below
And change the state we are living in.
The in-tercom blares, breaking mood we become the world below.
How do I know?
How do I know she is my love?
So many ways tell me she is mine
Look at her eyes and see them glow.
See her smile, look at her glow
Her look tells me she my love
Her touch tells me that she is mine.
Keeping her serene making her mine
Then bathing in her afterglow
Only makes for a stronger love.
She is my love, forever mine look at her glow.
The moon misunderstood my remark about the rain,
She ran off, and is hiding in a dark layer of clouds
The night ignoring us proceeded with his storm.
Is she so like some humans she hides from a storm,
Or like us does she enjoy love games in the rain,
Delighting as we sport and welcome dark clouds?
Perhaps she wishes to play hide and seek in clouds
Amusing herself in the mêlée caused by the storm
Appetite sated and thirst quenched by the falling rain,
See the moon play in the rain, and clouds, during a storm.
How can I look into the eyes of your pain?
They seldom blink nor do they ever change
When they are closed it is the blackest night.
And yet somehow it is the worst at night
I wish I could hold you and ease the pain
How can it be done, how can things change?
This voyage without you, cannot be changed
For where I am there can never be night
Nor will I ever again feel pain.
No pain, no change, no night.
I do not care anymore for tomorrow
For any dreams I had have been dashed
Scattered like the ashes of last night fire.
What of the fuel that created that fire
Should I gather more to use tomorrow
Or has truth been completely dashed?
I will prove that hope has not been dashed
By building a bigger and greater fire.
An optimist ever, I will rebuild, tomorrow.
It is tomorrow, the past is dashed, look at that fire.
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