Jackal Heart
and several other triolets
Earlier this month, J. Tullius announced the winners of his second annual triolet contest, and his selections featured some really love work (read them here). I can say that without ulterior motive because, sadly, his selections also stripped me of the title “reigning triolet champion.” As you may suspect, the loss of income effected by my failure to move Tullius sufficiently has quite thrown off my budget. If you would like to remedy this situation, there is a way…
Did I mention that Thursday is my birthday?
Now that we have that out of the way, let’s talk about poetry. I wrote about fourteen triolets leading up to the deadline for Tullius’s contest and found myself in a real starving-in-the-middle-of-an-orchard situation, especially once I realized that J’s submission guidelines called for “a triolet or two” and not the three best to which I was hoping to narrow down my triolets. I sent three anyway… to no avail.
Most of my triolets were poor attempts at jokes or treated the subject of existential dread. I honestly don’t remember which three I submitted, but I’d be interested to hear which two stood out to you.
Into the Age-Old Night
I fear the cold and empty sheets when you are gone. Into the age-old night, the primordial spark descended, yet I feel these cold and empty sheets. When you have sung your final song, passed through the veil, who'll keep me warm 'gainst winter's bite? I'll fear the cold and empty sheets when you depart into the age-old night.
Jackal Heart
Ask me not with jackal heart to rise. Although the memory is honey sweet, how could her memory alone suffice? So ask me not. My jackal heart won't rise except to curse the god whom I despise and whom she worshiped until death's defeat. No, ask me not with jackal heart to rise while still her memory is bittersweet.
Where Worm Never Dies
She longed to serve before his throne. I balked outside the door, but now I've come to see the one she gladly serves before. His throne has for its seat the sun; the ocean is its floor. I gnash my teeth to charcoaled bone and weep: Will he restore all those who'd serve before his throne, who plead outside his door?
I intended these three to be thematically connected, but I don’t think they came together as well as I was hoping. The link was too tenuous. Doing a corona cycle of triolets would have been a more effective way to signal the connection (which Zina Gomez-Liss most notably did, receiving special mention from Tullius here).
Here are some more triolets treating crises of faith/existential dread:
With Empty Lamp, Improper Clothes
With empty lamp, improper clothes I wait. In darkness, Lord, you'll come, eternal light to those with empty lamps. Improper clothes betray me, my unrighteousness expose. Would you admit me through the door with empty lamp, improper clothes? I wait in darkness, Lord.
Beside a Crimson Fount
Beside a crimson fount, the east wind sings. Forgotten melodies I knew of old wash over me about a once-dead king beside a crimson fount. The east wind's sing- song voice has split the tomb whence flows a spring of life. Will I be worthy to behold His side, whose crimson fount made east winds sing forgotten melodies? He knew of old.
The Blood of Longinus
The blood of Longinus converted kings when spilled and caused the blind to see. As my eyes dim, I'd be one such. Who brings the blood of Longinus? Converted kings and monks got loose with facts while copying these tales. Can I trust hagiography? Did Longinus's blood convert those kings? The gospel said the blind would see...
Side note: I may have gotten carried away with textual variations in the triolet refrains this year.
Here are some theological triolets of a more hopeful strain:
The Violent Bear It Away
Unwilling to partake in evil deeds, no one can drink the cup of heaven's wine. With violent hands, ascend the hill that meets God's will. When you partake in evil deeds, you walk upon the road down which Christ leads. He did not spare himself the cattails nine, unwilling to partake in evil deeds. Now all can drink the cup of heaven's wine.
The Same Air
When the sun set in the west, the left hand joined the right in prayer; they met as mirror greeting fist. Although the sunset in the west may paint the sunrise colors east as disparate, it's the same air. So when the sun sets in the west, may left and right hands join in prayer.
A Song for the Solstice-buried Sun
I saw the thrice-graved shade of winter part in over-mountain-light the sun cast down. 'Tween Magpies' blue-black wings, white feathered dart, I saw the thrice-graved shade of winter part. From dancing milk-thick-air, a mist-caught shard of light cut thorns to make a gemstone crown. I saw the thrice-graved shade of winter part in over-mountain-light the sun cast down.
Hyphens much?
And finally, here are a few poor attempts at making jokes work in a form that necessarily gives you the punchline in the first two lines:
Carwreck in California
Considering the state I'm in, I'm lucky to be alive. I'm headed home, but I'll be late. Consider this: I tried to state my case on the Golden Gate, "Good officer, these folks can't drive! Considering the State I'm in, I'm lucky to be alive."
A Crooked Box
I built a crooked box, my dear, to catch a crafty fox. My architecture was off, I fear, building that crooked box. My dear, the canid bit my rear; it hurts too much to fix that crooked box I built, my dear. Please catch that blasted fox!
A Divine Comedy
A leopard, spangled like star, a lion, and a wolf approach a poet in a bar. The leopard spangled like a star looks at the Florentine, says, "sir, Hell's second circle...that inn booked full?" (The leopard spangled like a star 'd been lyin' with the wolf.)
If you made it this far, you’re a real one. Thank you for indulging me with these triolets. I hope you found something in them worth contemplation or at least enjoyable.
I think "Beside a Crimson Fount" is my favorite.
I really like the empty lamp one. Haunting.