Category: Sestina

Within
Where Iron Factories spouted grey,
There I dwelt by Mahhalian shores.
So Doctor Hubert came with a Word,
For plastic Angels of the new Hell
City; for mind-slaves of Its hurt.
There I became blest--his Apostle.
Wind beat a slime to a sandy shore
There I began to hear of his word.
And from a dead-empty, bloody Hell
All the eyes glossy-dull by a hurt
The Rats fled; became his Apostles
So he promised to remove the grey.
Said he: No one can refute my Word
There I said: Amen! Ruin this Hell
Dr. Hubert!  Destroy my deep hurt!
He smiled: follow me, my Apostles.
Showing us how to survive the grey
Leading us to a candy-green shore.
Dancing, we were far from any Hell
Hoping, we failed to feel any hurt
Loving, thus were we his Apostles.
Plastic melted; we denied the grey
Eyes flickering/reflecting a shore
Free, happily alive with his Word.
Under a rock, the centipede hurts,
And he crawls, to sting an Apostle
Leaping, then he dies cadaver-grey
He's left to rot on a slimy store.
I run; I search for His holy Word,
The rats return whispering of Hell
For Hope, thus I became an Apostle
Then the rat-emperor came in grey,
And drove us to a cadavered shore,
Erected a cross for harmless Words
Removed the candy, revealed a Hell
No! Not Dr. Hubert.  Not the Hurt!
He brought Apostles to the shores,
He destroyed hurt with his Words--
But Hell revealed the Grey within.

– this is a “guest poem” – not by another author, but by me, but written 37 years ago, in the fall of 1982. It is a sestina, in form, with an additional constraint revealed in the use (abuse) of the mono-spaced font. The poem was “lost” for most of the intervening years, but turned up in a box that I was sorting through in recent weeks.

Kiamon's soul was abandoned, adrift.
She had decided on change, more controlled, 
Reining in aimless and angry desires.
Now she just stood, and surrounded by trees,
Body at rest, both contained and enclosed,
Mind sought to grasp the unreachable sky.
Movement, just then, made her glance at that sky.
Eagles sketched circles, with wingtips adrift.
One of them turned, and then dove, so controlled,
Swooping down. Kiamon felt its desires.
Tilting, the bird made a feint toward some trees,
Darkness obscured what might be there, enclosed.
Gripping the hem of her coat that enclosed
Pockets of fugitive warmness, the sky
Shared bits of nothing, like signs set adrift.
Yes. Apophenical dreams, uncontrolled.
Truth becomes burdened by lazy desires.
Greenery elevates angels as trees.
Kiamon thought on those infinite trees.
Naked and stark, their wide branches enclosed
Negative fragments of daydreaming sky.
Mist slanted groundward. Some clouds were adrift.
Water met heaven: embracing, controlled,
Tossing out wishes, suggesting desires.
Self-analytically, she then considered desires.
How did they differ from yearnings of trees?
Down in the earth, their bold roots are enclosed.
Raised up above, their arms hug the sky.
So many seedlings they send out, adrift,
Thusly ensuring the future's controlled.
What is a heart if it can't be controlled?
What is the use of unending desires?
Why? she sighed, shrugging, sad. Let's be like trees.
They're self-assured, with their feelings enclosed.
Pausing, she gazed at the gray-visaged sky.
Birds volunteered for the wind, souls adrift.
Still, all adrift, she controlled her desires.
Trees clothed the slopes, all enclosed by the sky.

– this is a sestina in dactylic tetrameter; I think sestinas are difficult to make non-monotonous, because of their rigid repitition of words. They are just plain difficult, too – especially with a meter. I made this one killing time waiting for the ferry yesterday.