Lucky Number Sestina

I have a new writer friend. Writer friends are always interesting because once I read their stuff (stalk their blog) it forces me to take a harder look at my own style.  Writer Friend writes like I do in that our content and thought processes are vaguely similar, but our execution is vastly different. Interesting how you can get the same answer with two different equations as it were, but I digress.

We recently talked about what we write when we aren't writing writing. Yes, we writers still have to write even if it's not for a specific purpose. Crazy, I know.  Most of us can just jot down ideas and scribbled musings in a quiet corner at home.  Others have to don their most indie hipster cardigans and horn-rimmed non-prescription glasses to type on their Mac at Starbucks or Panera, all the while sipping some soy milk fair trade bullshit and nibbling on a strawberry scone like a complete fucking tool.  I am not of the latter group, but again, I digress.


In my off sessions, I experiment with poetry.  Not the Sylvia Plath I'm going to cut myself no one understands me garbage. I dig on set forms or meters that offer unyielding structure. (This isn't 'Nam, there are rules!)  Back when I was much more disciplined, I took a shot at a Sestina. It's a very specific form, and might I add, extremely fucking difficult. In fact, it's probably one of the most technically difficult things I've ever written. There are six end-words that repeat in a very specific order over seven stanzas. It goes like this:

1. ABCDEF
2. FAEBDC
3. CFDABE
4. ECBFAD
5. DEACFB
6. BDFECA
7. FB/AD/EC

For a better explanation, check out this super legit website. I challenged Writer Friend to try writing one; I hope he accepts the challenge (don't get shown up by a girl, pussy) and it's only fair that I share mine as well.


Even in the middle of summer
we had blazing fires
in different backyards across town.
We carefully tended to the bright sparks,
laughing smugly as we sat watching
shadows dance to the moon and back.

And now we're ready to go back
because we fought our way to another summer
as our families stood by cheering and watching
while we stoked the intellectual fires
that started in high school as tiny sparks
in this dingy little town.

What I wouldn't give to see you in this town
like I did before there was no going back.
But when I visit, bright sparks
threaten to ignite the volatile summer
so I douse all the old fires,
smiling when the neighbors are watching.

But when no one is watching
we still own this lackluster town
and each other. Because we control the fires
and we brought them back
to these stale surroundings. Summer
is our time, you say, stirring up those familiar sparks.

But finally the static between us sparks
and this time everyone is watching.
This is the last summer
I'll spend in this rundown town
you tell me to calm down, come back.
But now you're fueling all the wrong fires.

I quietly extinguish my secret fires
built up strong from the first sparks-
they flicker as I turn my back,
giving an ashy sigh while I'm not watching
because they too hate this dreary town
but return every summer.

Going back now wouldn't rekindle the fires
that died that summer like flickering sparks,
but I bet those watching saw fireworks all over town.

I don't get pretentious about much, but this is one of the few things I can point to while instructing others to suck it.  I think everyone should give it a try. It only consumed my life for a few days :)

Happy writing!