ㅁ The plan was: travel southward, fast. So airplanes did their thing, and cars. The crowds were large; the city's vast. The plan was: travel southward, fast. The traffic's not to be outclassed: so many headlights - rushing stars. The plan was: travel southward, fast. So airplanes did their thing, and cars.
– a triolet.
ㅁ The light was saved for half a year the sun, it goes along, it seems: we play with clocks, quite cavalier. The light was saved for half a year with so much light, things will be clear: no more of those annoying dreams. The light was saved for half a year the sun, it goes along, it seems.
– a triolet.
ㅁ Regardless, texts will justify beliefs we hold ex ante, so... let's make a text, the words will fly! Regardless, texts will justify and warp our minds, we can't defy... our own unreasoned meanings flow. Regardless, texts will justify beliefs we hold ex ante, so!
– a triolet.
ㅁ The seagull sat, observing things. The tide, the rocks, a swimming fish. A duck that ducked, some rippling rings. The seagull sat, observing things. I wonder if the bird might wish that Fall was slower with its wings. The seagull sat, observing things. The tide, the rocks, a swimming fish.
– a triolet.
ㅁ The wind whipped rain, and caused a feeling: a vague, pathetic fallacy took hold of me, and left me reeling. The storm pushed rain, and gave a feeling: nostalgia gripped, my soul was dealing, bowed down to nature's papacy. The storm pushed rain, and gave a feeling: a vague, pathetic fallacy.
– a triolet.
ㅁ The otherworld unleashed its dogs; they chased us through the timeless trees. We fled and jumped those ancient logs. The otherworld unleashed its dogs. We fell and tasted moss and bogs. The murky water grasped our knees. The otherworld unleashed its dogs; they chased us through the timeless trees.
– a triolet.
ㅁ I try to think about my brain, but thing comes to mind, it seems. Perception stops outside, it's plain. I try to think about my brain. The soul and body split in twain. A language rules inside, in streams. I try to think about my brain, but thing comes to mind, it seems.
– a triolet.
ㅁ The summer's nearly ended: yay. I'm glad when summer's mandate's done. You know: you see the shortened day. The summer's nearly ended: yay. The endless tasks have gone away. The night, its moon, that's now the one. The summer's nearly ended: yay. I'm glad when summer's mandate's done.
– a triolet.
ㅁ The years fall down like drops of rain. And soon you're just a muddy road. You learn to overlook the pain. The years fall down like drops of rain. You write cliches, the words are plain, 'Cause life deserves an aimless ode. The years fall down like drops of rain. And soon you're just a muddy road.
– a triolet.
ㅁ I think the silence isn't there. Instead, the world is random sound, but all inside, a constant blare. I think the silence isn't there. A buzzing rules the inner air, all meaning's lost, like sailors drowned. I think the silence isn't there. Instead, the world is random sound.
– a triolet.
ㅁ With August not yet over, now, a fall-like day arrives, as rain. The light has changed. I'm not sure how. With August not yet over, now, it's like a pause in time. The tao of things; the seasons shifting, vain. With August not yet over, now, a fall-like day arrives, as rain.
– a triolet.
ㅁ No time like now for dull despair, for setting up bland rationales. We architect our disrepair. No time like now for dull despair. Our moodiness disturbs the air, our monologues destroy morale. No time like now for dull despair, for setting up bland rationales.
– a triolet.
ㅁ I love it when the storms pull in, they swing around the point and park their blowy winds, like ghostly grin... I love it when the storms pull in, the trees' broad branches dance and spin and whitecaps thrash the predawn's dark... I love it when the storms pull in, they swing around the point and park.
– a triolet.
ㅁ A Sunday came, all wan and dull, the sky was clear, the ridge turned gold. The dawn assaulted winds at lull. A Sunday came, all wan and dull, the tide was in, the bay was full. The sea was still and, always, cold. A Sunday came, all wan and dull, the sky was clear, the ridge turned gold.
– a triolet.
ㅁ Computers often fail to work. The ghost inside is dumb as rocks. The dull machine is just a jerk. Computers often fail to work. And when they do, that's like a perk. It's unexpected: dog that talks. Computers often fail to work. The ghost inside is dumb as rocks.
– a triolet.
ㅁ As I am talking to the man... then up he gets. He leaves the room. Attention issues steal his plan. As I am talking to the man... dementia makes so no words scan. My uncle's brain has met its doom. As I am talking to the man... then up he gets. He leaves the room.
– a triolet.
ㅁ Regrets pile up like drifts of snow and nothing's ever gonna change. I burn through time by saying "No." Regrets pile up like drifts of snow denying things to make them go... As strategy it's rather strange. Regrets pile up like drifts of snow and nothing's ever gonna change.
– a triolet.
ㅁ The king was old and filled with rage. Pretenders came and stole his crown. They made mean jokes about his age. The king was old and filled with rage. His speeches often left the page. Words wandered off, and up, and down. The king was old and filled with rage. Pretenders came and stole his crown.
– a triolet.
ㅁ The sky was gray, the mist hung low. I walked the road and saw the trees. Some rocks recalled the winter's snow. The sky was gray, the mist hung low. The water, distant, seemed to glow. The bits of light, waves touched by breeze. The sky was gray, the mist hung low. I walked the road and saw the trees.
– a triolet.
ㅁ I start my journey up the stairs, my outlook bold: I'm upward bound. The sun's not shining - no one cares. I start my journey up the stairs: the steps, they lurk, like little snares. I stumble then, a frightening sound. I start my journey up the stairs, my outlook bold: I'm upward bound.
– a triolet.
ㅁ The silence deafens, coats the world, as if the head's been filled with earth. The clouds above are curly, pearled. The silence deafens, coats the world, as if, all round, broad wings unfurled - all covering - a whole sky's worth. The silence deafens, coats the world, as if the head's been filled with earth.
– a triolet.
ㅁ A morning's drizzle paints the sea with spots and roundish dapples, green. The gray, cold sky confounds, unfree. A morning's drizzle paints the sea, while trees absorb the gray - that's key - and fish and whales swim deep, unseen, A morning's drizzle paints the sea with spots and roundish dapples, green.
– a triolet. This is something new – I’ve never tried this particular genre of short poem before. It’s pretty highly constrained, which I tend to like, but also repetitive by design, which I tend not to like.
