Before I forget.

I do keep forgetting to post this, and I've had it written for weeks.  Poetry school continues!  Tonight, I bring to you the sestina, possibly the most irritating form ever.  It is a thirty-nine line poem.  The first 36 lines are grouped in six stanzas of six lines each, then a three-line "tercet," also called the "envoy."  Envoys are usually addressed directly to the person or thing that the rest of the poem is about--but not always.

The sestina becomes more difficult in that you choose six words as "ending" words for each line.  You have to use them in a set sequence, like so:

123456--first stanza
615243--second stanza
364125
532614
451362
246531
And for the last three-line stanza, it's 2/5, 4/3, 6/1.  Though you can do other forms, that's the one I used.  And to make it harder on myself, I chose to make rhyming pairs of words.  Most sestinas don't rhyme.  It's just far too difficult, because you want to try to choose words that have more than one meaning, so you don't sound like you're repeating yourself.  The best sestinas don't sound like they are using the same words over and over.



This one's a bit rough, but I've rarely written one I liked, and at least I liked this one.  Here you are:

You've got me cornered--nowhere to run
You're only out for whatever you can get
I'm on my knees in mud and dust and grit
You're the man who holds the gun
I'm the girl who won't get far
I'm the girl with no way to protect her heart.


But then, all I ever did was paint my heart
as a target on my sleeve.  The colors bleed and run,
the coat flakes, and the pieces spread so far.
But try as I might, I cannot forget
Every time I false-started or jumped the gun
Each failure makes me grit


my teeth.  They tell me I should have more backbone, more grit,
more guts.  All I have is too much heart
and inevitably, I end up under the gun.
But really, I'm a winner; I have such an unbroken run
Of those who take and take, and then get
While the getting's good, when they've gotten so far.


Leaving me to stare after them from afar
Watch them kick up clouds of sand and grit
That mask their destinations, and get
In my eyes.  But also in my heart.
And never to follow!  That's how these things run.
I'm always at the mercy of the man with the gun.


Always the target, always the one they gun
for, always they hit the mark, no matter how far.
The bullseye--always they race, they run
Compete for a trophy they leave to gather grit
They play a hand of spades and hearts
For whatever chips they can get.


And I know that I will never get
even, never have the power to avoid the gun.
The point is, I won't learn.  The heart.
of the matter is that I'll never get far.
I know that I don't have the grit
To become the kind of person who could run.


So what do you get?--well, so far
everything.  You have the gun--I have no grit
Just take my heart.  It's been a good run.