languid quarry
Hi, I had read your discussion
with @jovial olive
that it interested me to try your template
("How to Win Poetry Competitions")
Here it goes:
(Roughly inspired by Michael Dutt's epic,
the Slaying of Meghanada concept )
not sure if I made sestinia, it's quite hard
My son, can you hear well?
Where a slave feet's on dune
Afar the merchants' from chill
Like a deer—ran to its home
A monk's walking—to non pasture's green
O father, what in a-stone-ishing?
Son, the desert was—a slave's tombstone
If only the pilgrims—so knew well
That deer, to king's arrows', out dune him
As monk crossed ruins, his spine got chilled
Why, father, telling now this broken home?
How much to tell—as I'm too green?
To the sun, O son, we thank for greens
A servant's relief from desert's stone
Their sun god casted—storm with a well
Hunter, where's your deer—duning away?
Did he not pray, father, at midnight's chill?
Indeed, they all, four, were homecoming
Father, one of them never homeward!
Indeed one, son, with eyes turned green
That now free-man made a cornerstone
Merchants drank then stayed—in City Well
The king so awed—to find Duneland
Ghosts appeared, but monk's stayed chill
Aye, that happiest man's chilling
& they found a home sweet home!
But woe be the mind—of "Money's Green"
Such a king, father, should be stoned!
O my son, if only justice—being that swell
For ruins of a pasture—screamed a dune
Father, nomore a city existed but dune?
This desert city, without any chilly?
Yes, son, it's now just—a homing sound
Where laid now ancestor slave's greenless
Today, we called it—Stonebound
By greedy king—who destroyed dwelling
Is that why we try, to make it well, father?
To heal our—ancestor's—unduneness?
& rebuild, my son, into—a Chill Town
Since monk's exorcism—this "hometown"
So merchants may return—greentifulls
O father, indeed be gone a stumbling stone!
lusty dagger
bleak zenith
cosmic cipher