The Triolet Trail

Perscribo

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Chiseled deep in a cold hard stone
is my monument to lovers.
All I had I hacked away; grown
chiseled. Deep in a cold hard stone
flashing on her finger. Alone;
back to hammering book covers;
chiseled deep. In a cold hard stone
is my monument to lovers.
 

B.D. Eyeslie

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Is my monument to lovers
a proper fit for your front lawn?
Sculpted snow phallus discovered
is my monument. To lovers:
tell mothers who tend to hover
behind their front doors until dawn,
“Is my monument to lovers
a proper fit for your front lawn?”
 
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CDSinex

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A proper fit for your front lawn,
a pre-war Chevy up on blocks,
to where your time and funds are drawn.
A proper fit? From your front lawn
spouse and neighbors would see it gone,
but in your eyes it really rocks;
a proper fit. For your front lawn?
A pre-war Chevy up on blocks.
 

CDSinex

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The “pre-war Chevy” line was mine, so I’ll take responsibility for stalling the thread, sorry.

A pre-war Chevy up on blocks
a perfect home for honeybees.
This project car that gently mocks:
a pre-war Chevy. Up on blocks
untouched in years, a paradox
where time and cash all seem to flee.
A prewar Chevy up on blocks—
a perfect home for honeybees.
 

Perscribo

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A perfect home for honeybees
is the map we need to find fruit.
In our Eden the mites disease
a perfect home. For honeybees
to pollinate the apple trees,
Knowledge of Place must first take root.
A perfect home for honeybees
is the map we need to find fruit.
 
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B.D. Eyeslie

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Is the map we need to find fruit
bona fide, fake, bewitched, or worse?
The only way to find the route
is the map. We need to find fruit,
on that there can be no dispute,
for this land is certainly cursed—
is the map? We need to find fruit:
bona fide, fake, bewitched, or worse!
 
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CassandraW

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Bona fide, fake, bewitched, or worse --
which is our star-crossed love affair?
Describe it as I will in verse
(bona fide, fake, bewitched, or worse),
I'm still not sure if it's a curse
or if our love's beyond compare.
Bona fide, fake, bewitched, or worse
which is our star-crossed love affair?
 

poetinahat

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which is our star-crossed love affair
in this wicked constellation
of sweet, messy failures we share?
which is our star-crossed love affair:
- stagger of tremolo despair?
- horny stampede to damnation?
which is our star-crossed love affair
in this wicked constellation?
 
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CassandraW

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In this wicked constellation,
we circle in an empty space.
Boredom passes for temptation
in this wicked constellation,
and half-hearted cold flirtation
substitutes for warm embrace.
In this wicked constellation,
we circle in an empty space.
 

poetinahat

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Let's just take a moment and applaud this gem.
 

CassandraW

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Thank you!

I love these poetry games. I can't believe I was on AW for two years without discovering them.
 

Perscribo

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We circle in an empty space
charting satellites we long to connect
in our vacuous orbit. Moved by grace,
we circle in an empty space
cutting corners, clutter, without a trace.
If there comes a Sun we cannot deflect,
we circle. In an empty space,
charting satellites, we long to connect.
 
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CassandraW

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Charting satellites we long to connect,
cursing static on our screen.
The technician arrives later than we expect,
charting satellites we long to connect,
tweaking knobs and wires with little effect,
which he blames on problems unforeseen.
Charting satellites we long to connect,
cursing static on our screen.
 

CassandraW

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I feel like I killed this thread. Let's see if I can give the next person a better line to pick up.


Cursing static on our screen,
We heed not the storm outside.
Angry that we're missing scenes,
cursing static on our screen,
unaware that it could mean
our cable line has just been fried.
Cursing static on our screen,
We heed not the storm outside.
 

CDSinex

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We heed not the storm outside,
the walls are thick, the fire's warm.
The warnings that it won't subside,
we heed not. The storm outside
the howling winds and rising tide
will never force us to conform.
We heed not the storm outside—
the walls are thick … the fire's warm.
 
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B.D. Eyeslie

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The walls are thick; the fire's warm;
fear not the Do Not Trespass sign.
There is one rule I shall inform...
the walls are thick. The fires warm
you and give shelter from the storm.
Breathe in, breathe out, and soon you're mine.
The walls are thick; the fires warm
fear—note the Do Not Trespass sign.
 
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CassandraW

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That's a toughie, but I'm tipsy, so I'll give it a whirl.


Fear -- note the Do Not Trespass sign.
My heart is not for casual strolls.
Though for an hour we might entwine,
fear -- note the Do Not Trespass sign.
Do not presume that I am thine --
that you've gained purchase on my soul.
Fear --note the Do Not Trespass sign
My heart is not for casual strolls.
 
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poetinahat

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My heart is not for casual strolls
from jewel to bluer jewel,
fey smoke-wisps sighing from song-holes;
my heart is not for casual strolls.
No, we'll hop and dance on the shoals,
chance our balance: one dupe, one fool!
My heart is not for casual strolls
from jewel to bluer jewel.
 
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ableseaman

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never done one of these...

from jewel to bluer jewel
like pearls lined on the shore
reflecting birth so cruel
from jewel to bluer jewel
on fire as almost sexual
but wanting something more
from jewel to bluer jewel
like pearls lined on the shore
 

ableseaman

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Upon further review of the rules, I'm suspicious of "on fire as almost sexual" being not quite iambic and tetrameter instead of keeping the pattern of the other lines...well, no one said this was easy.
 

CassandraW

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Like pearls lined on the shore,
stiff toes thrust up from pallid feet,
soon to be locked inside a drawer
like pearls lined on the shore.
They'll fear the burning sand no more,
but dread a more eternal heat.
Like pearls lined on the shore,
stiff toes thrust up from pallid feet.
 
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CassandraW

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whom am I kidding -- no one wants to take on that line, and I don't want to kill the thread again. Let's see what I can do. Why not a pedicure triolet?

Stiff toes thrust up from pallid feet
to be pampered and adorned.
First soaked in water at blood heat,
stiff toes thrust up from pallid feet,
until they're soft and smelling sweet,
filed, painted, and decorned.
Stiff toes thrust up from pallid feet,
to be pampered and adorned.
 

CassandraW

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Myself, I give you twenty years
in the courtroom of my mind
for featuring in my paranoid fears.
Myself, I give you twenty years,
for all my wretched, anxious tears
over your imagined crimes.
Myself, I give you twenty years
in the courtroom of my mind.
 

Albedo

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[meta]ableseaman, it's my understanding that you can set your own meter as long as you adhere to the basic rhyme scheme.[/meta]


In the courtroom of my mind
I made a free and frank confession
To a judge I thought was kind
In the courtroom of my mind.
Never physically confined
But still shackled by depression
In the courtroom of my mind
In a free and frank confession.