The waters rise,
and what is held trembling
is spirited away–
and what is left is enclosed
behind layers and layers
of ice and fire.
Water becomes a weapon, fired,
swirled, and eddied–to rise
and then submerge and drown in frozen layers
of sorrow–a trembling
grief with no direction, enclosed
and then thrown away.
No place to go but away–
no beginning or end to this fire,
the intensity enclosed
inside deceptions rising
until they burst, trembling,
circling back into themselves as layers
that explode again—echoing layers
that gather far away
like stormclouds—trembling,
unable to shed anything but thunder and fire.
The waters rise,
and what is built disintegrates, enclosed
by distilled heat, frozen and enclosed
in layers
waiting to rise
from shallow graves, to fly away
on wings of fire–
released into the wind, trembling—
into this weary wind that trembles
with an unsteady rhythm both enclosed
and exposed, a soundless fire
that frays as the unstitched layers
turn away
from the sun–as it rises,
held trembling behind layers–
its songs enclosed and spirited away–
in ice and fire, the waters rise.
Always a glutton for punishment, I decided to attempt another sestina, the dVerse form of the moment, for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above. I approached it entirely differently this time, taking some lines I had written and just using the end words as they were for the rest of the poem. It actually seemed much easier, especially since I made no attempt to keep the lines the same length or rhythm.
As some have already pointed out, Sue gave us this image in 2016. I looked for my response after I had done my new art and poem. I was much more optimistic then, and yet the words come from a similar place.
At each stage, the path
lies untested—short, brittle
as the frozen grass.
Beyond, the sky waits—alive,
waking the young day with fire.
K. 
One of the things I don’t like about the sestina is that often the infliction of end words means the same ideas get repeated over and over. You have managed to transcend that constraint and made the repetition of ideas into a great rolling wave of powerful images. Wonderful!
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Thanks Jane. This approach worked really well for me–not trying to fit ideas to a form, but using the form to express the ideas.
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Much better way to approach it than the troubadour way, but then it loses the point, I guess. I much prefer your poem to the standard version though.
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There’s rules, and then there’s what works.
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You certainly made this form your own.
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Wow! Powerful especially poignant with Hurricane Dorian right now spinning and blasting away!
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Thanks Jodi. I hope it will stay at sea…
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A wonderful response, Kerfe… and a powerful interpretation. The repetition inherent in this form just reinforces the images you have created with words and paint.
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Thanks Sue.
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Wonderful! I didn’t even realize this was a sestina. I just got caught up in the words and flow.
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Thanks Merril. That’s the reaction I hope for. I do like repetitive forms (although this form is a bit long) but I don’t like the form to be so obvious.
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I still haven’t attempted this form.
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It’s daunting.
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Powerful stuff. I do appreciate the cadence as well, regardless of what it’s called 😉
The paintings are amazing as well. As Sue said, they definitely reciprocate with the words. Well done.
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Thanks Bela. Sue’s photos are always so evocative.
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They are! I need to respond to them more often. She’s a treasure.
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She is.
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It’s a great poem and effortlessly uses the end words without drawing attention to the repetition. Trembling for me seems the key motif and feeling. But I also like your ‘unstitched layers’.
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Thanks! That’s a good observation. We are all trembling these days. (K)
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This is a masterful poem. I felt swept away by it – chilled and at the same time fired up the intensity of it.
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Thanks Suzanne. I wanted to encompass the opposites, and I’m glad you felt it.
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Definitely 🙂
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I really liked this, Kerfe. It flows seamlessly, like the water that is at the core of the poem. The variation in lines works well and you chose end words wisely.
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Thanks Victoria. The interesting thing is that I didn’t choose the end words–I wrote six lines and worked with what was there. And strangely, it was much easier for me to write a sestina that way. It’s an approach I’m going to remember for other forms I have difficulty with.
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Kerfe, I think I’ve just realized that the art work is yours. Amazing!
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Thanks Victoria–yes, the art is integral to the words in most cases, or perhaps it’s the other way around. But I do them together.
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