22 XI 2001 - 04:11 - poema_malum6

Well, I did it. I finished my poetica-collab entry, and I did it before 12:00 AM on 1 December. This is not bad.

Well, the poem is, but the fact that I'm done with it isn't.

Uh, a bit of explanation, I suppose, is due: see, this is part of the Poetica-Collab project, which every month announces a new topic. This month's subject was actually a first line - the poem can be about anything and can be in any form; it just has to start with the line "Laughing, she danced across the moonlit bridge." Actually, I explained most of this in a previous entry. So I don't think I should repeat myself.

Quasi-Sestina on Lust, Desire, Twisted Relationships, A Bridge, Five Women, Three Men, and UST - All In Six. (Yeah, I thought that was a long title, too. But it's descriptive, if a little bit obvious. Abbreviate it "Quasi-Sestina," or even just "QS."

Quasi-Sestina

I
laughing, she danced across the moonlit bridge
enchanting her woman with airy sirensong
the moon playing over her with wondering silk-smooth light
and then (the spell having been cast) a dance, together:
a kiss and exploration //a whispered cry at hidden beauty//
and the hope that there's a them rises within -

II
the first stirrings were felt within
a few moments after his crossing of the bridge:
he marveled in her beauty
and ignored the sirensong
of destruction as he burned his past behind him together
with all that drew him back (away!) from the light -

III
he said the other's eyes shone with wondrous light
kindling something (the phlogiston of them) within
which drew them (as dark to light, good to bad) together:
easy enough (as they touched), to blame it on the bridge
easy enough to lay it (as they kissed) on stubble and baritone sirensong
but easier still to find (as they fell to the floor) in that other man a simpler beauty -

IV
you stand, shift, unaware of your beauty
and of what you inherit from the light -
of your face, what you engage in with sirensong
so unaware of what others see (the scars?) within
and of what you do every day as you cross the bridge
(that in some way our fates must come together:)

V
it's been so long (a period of never) since we were together
and yet it's obvious, that something of everything expresses beauty
in you; you see that in the worst of times you're the bridge
between the warring nations, the guiding light -
and yet you, too, know something just off right, within
and you, like me, are fascinated by her sirensong -

VI
You, sixth, and jewel of my thoughts - you resist all sirensong
of hers and trade it for an elusive Together
which seems to come at too great cost; within
the space of a few days it seems you doubt beauty
(even yours) and its existence, the fact of light
and the possibility of (between troubled spirits) a bridge:

VII
You last, reader, see perhaps the sirensong of beauty:
how it blinds us (together with love, dear Psyche) at times to light -
and what it will bridge, that we might create such exquisite works - within -

----------------

Well then, that's it. It's 4:30 AM and I think I'm going to go to bed now. Something about B. popped up on the side, unavoidable at the moment, maybe I'll post it later -

Cheers.

alea, ae f. die (pl. dice), game of dice, game of chance; chance, hazard, uncertainty
Hence: Alea iacta est, The die has been cast, words said by Caesar when he crossed the Rubicon.