trenta-sei - interesting poetry form

[Cate]

these instructions were borrowed from Wild Poetry Form

I had this posted in a different thread and had some wonderful responses there so thought that I should post in a new thread in case anybody else wanted to give it a go or wanted to read peoples attempts.

A trenta-sei consists of six (6) stanzas, each with six (6) lines, for a total of 36 lines in the entire poem (hence, the name of the form). The first stanza, to some degree, controls each of the stanzas that follows it, in this fashion: The second line of the first stanza becomes the first line of the second stanza, the third line of the first stanza becomes the first line of the third stanza, the fourth line of the first stanza becomes the first line of the fourth stanza, the fifth line of the first stanza becomes the first line of the fifth stanza, and the sixth line of the first stanza becomes the first line of the sixth stanza. In other words, the schematic looks like this:

Schematic: Repetition scheme:
123456
2xxxxx
3xxxxx
4xxxxx
5xxxxx
6xxxxx

The trenta-sei also has a rhyme scheme which is ababcc.

[Cate]

a hot and fiery example from our resident ironer who proves she knows how to steam as well as press.
She brags that her effort took only 7 minutes.

MINUS 33

Tape me all my words and silent thought
stop me leaving and
bound to be distraught
shackled leg to shackled hand
freedom of movement lost
this is Freedom of Speech- the cost?

Stop me leaving and
you think you can tie a relationship together?
it's composed of sand
my going is when not whether
wave goodbye, shed a tear
exiled to the shed- you find me here

Bound to be distraught
just an act to make you repent-
you think I am the sort?
My feelings are on loan or lent,
only my insincerity is real
$5 an emotion is the deal


Shackled leg to shackled hand
chain mail sent en mass
turbation never banned
censorship is crass
fuck some sense
ory fice - tight and tense


Freedom of movement lost,
(popular reaction when dead)
body turned and tossed
res Erection from getting Head
transfer me to spirit from mind
gin and vodka cum from behind


This is Freedom of Speech - the cost?
Inflicted rudery.
Innocence lost,
abandoned prudery.
Eternal, fleeting, inconsequential, nought.
Disciplined sobriety? I ain't that sort.

[Cate]

Sue became so inamered by the form that she began to respond to other posters posting in it, she has vowed that if she ever finds herself in court she will only speak to judge and jury using this type of verse.

ROMANTIC TRENTA SEI FOR KARREN

Postby Sideways on Sun Jul 05, 2015 7:05 am
Yeah post it karren, post it
we need to see your form
chances are it ain't shit
well up to your norm
no point hiding like a little girl
stand up show off do a whirl

We need to see your Form
or you can not enter this State
illegal thunder unlawful storm
drowned like a rat at this rate
high heels low spark
Traffic left their mark

Chances are it ain't shit-
summat else blocks your pipes
your plumbing is unfit
try some cleaning wipes
get your passages moving
let your rhythm grooving


Well up for your Norm
cry for you darling Man
flood your heart, perform
he'll love you if he can
share this place
adore his face


No point hiding like a little girl
you want him to find you
a precious diamond, a precious pearl
tomfoolery, one, two
adored each other from the start
taking classes in marital art


Stand up, show off, do a whirl
it's your damn wedding
you're his damn girl
joy and legs you're spreading
won't be long til your special night
let's hope he's long, your Special Knight

[Cate]

Karren's romantic take on the form - metered and measured, soft and sensual

postby Karren B on Sun Jul 05, 2015 1:16 pm
Ok this is my Trenta sei offering. Not my usual style but I’ll try anything once!
Would appreciate any form of constructive or even destructive criticism…

Voyeur Moon

The moon watches from behind a lonely cloud
struggling hard to get a better view.
A woman stands there naked, nipples proud,
beside an icy lake of cobalt blue.
Dripping its light into the lake below
the moon prepares itself to watch the show.

Struggling hard to get a better view;
voyeurism clearly on his mind
Just waiting for the cloud to let him through,
the lonely cloud repeatedly declined.
The moon hung still and patient in the sky
knowing that the cloud would soon comply.

A woman stands there naked, nipples proud,
vulnerable, voluptuous, unveiled.
Protected only by the lonely cloud;
the moons perpetual ardour he’d curtailed.
The cloud was going nowhere at this rate.
The moon could only hang around and wait.

Beside an icy lake of cobalt blue,
she bends to touch the water with her hand,
a gasp escapes her lips as she withdrew
from icy water far too cold to stand.
Despite the shock to system and to mind,
her body to the water she consigned.

Dripping its light into the lake below
he finally reveals himself to her,
tempting her to step into his glow
and dance with him till they are just a blur.
He shone his light onto her lithesome form
as she got herself ready to perform.

The moon prepares itself to watch the show.
He bathes her naked body with his light,
She moves her body sensually and slow
and dances with the moon all through the night.
They writhe together naked all night long,
but sadly in the morning he has gone!

[Karren B]

Hi Cate,

Glad you gave this it's own thread, it's a very interesting form of poetry (though I'm not sure I've quite got it yet)

As Sue was kind enough to write a trenta sei for moi, I thought I’d like to dedicate this one to her.

Trenta Sei for Sideways Sue the Naked Ironing Champion.

Poised with guile and great anticipation
with tool she treasures firmly grasped in hand,
Sue knew she must go via aggravation
to reach the very special promised land.
She felt the prize was almost in her grasp
but the flag was only half way up the mast.

With tool she treasures firmly grasped in hand,
demur and in her known state of undress
she spied someone she thought the judge had banned,
twas Karren and her giant double f’s.
As Karren turned to take her rightful place
her breasts smacked both the judges in the face.

She knew she must go via aggravation
as Karren she could aggravate the best,
we don’t know what gave her the inclination
‘My god I wish that K had worn a vest’
but she found her tool was moving twice as fast
and soon her quickest record she’d surpass.

To reach the very special promised land
Sue knew that she must hold on to the end,
but things for sue did not go quite as planned
as K, over the ironing board did bend.
With Hollywood in sight (that was the prize)
Sue desssssperately tried to shield her eyes.

She felt the prize was almost in her grasp,
dirty tactics now she would pursue,
so grabbing panties virginal yet vast
over Karrens ironing board she threw.
Distracted as she diligently pressed
the iron caught K’s ample double F’s

But the flag was only half way up the mast
and Sue was at the point of no return,
but Karren wasn’t going to come last
so tugging at Sue’s tool without concern
She hit the trigger spraying them with steam,
And the judge disqualified them for the scene!...

Oh well, I never did like ironing anyway!
xx

[Sideways]

Well Done, Karren. Respect!

[Cate]

hummm
maybe ironing is more fun then I thought

well done Karren!

[Karren B]

Sideways wrote

Well Done, Karren. Respect!

From you Sue, that is very much appreciated. Thank You!

Cate wrote

hummm
maybe ironing is more fun then I thought

well done Karren!

No Ironing is no fun at all Cate, naked or otherwise.
I think you may have started the Great Poetry Revival of the forum...
Thanks a lot Cate.
xx

[Cate]

okay, my first try at this out of the way - 27 word story told in 270


The house waits

for the calm of his heavy whiskey snore.
Wood wakes and settles down the hall,
down the steps, towards the back door.
Wind pushes the swing, the dogs old ball,
upstairs a man rolls unto his side,
he doesn't hear the gate outside.

Wood, wakes and settles down the hall.
Nailed together eighty years ago,
she's coming apart from the wall.
Neglect and age have started to show,
her once beautiful floor now worn
from a Mothers pace with each new born.

Down the steps, towards the back door
sleeps a little collie
that kids don't play with anymore.
The carpet cushions sweet old Mollie.
Family pictures keep her guard
while she dreams of boys in the backyard.

Wind pushes the swing, the dogs lost ball,
the window looks out. What was rural
has now become urban sprawl.
City lights blend into a mural,
traffic sounds become a murmur
taxi lights turn the corner.

The man rolls unto his side
beside him is an empty space,
Wood longs to be back outside
freed from this closed in place.
The window whispers, 'the forest's gone
stay with me, we'll carry on.'

He doesn't hear the gate outside,
the opened latch, the springs low moan
the returning sounds of the woman's stride
softly stepping over the stone.
Only Molly lifts her head
as woman enters and heads to bed.

[Sideways]

A plagiarism on both your houses, so-called "Cate".

you wrote this

The house waits

for the calm of his heavy whiskey snore.
Wood wakes and settles down the hall,
down the steps, towards the back door.
Wind pushes the swing, the dogs old ball,
upstairs a man rolls unto his side,
he doesn't hear the gate outside.

and so many years ago, I wrote this



The Mouse and Tom Waits

“Mrs Palm” and the heavy-breathing whispy whore.
“Wood !” and wanks, and settles down the balls,
down the steps, towards the “back door”
Wind pushes out his thing, the dog’s cold tool,
upstairs a man rolls onto his snide,
he opens her gate wide.



J'accuse!

[Cate]

A plagiarism on both your houses, so-called "Cate".

you wrote this

The house waits

for the calm of his heavy whiskey snore.
Wood wakes and settles down the hall,
down the steps, towards the back door.
Wind pushes the swing, the dogs old ball,
upstairs a man rolls unto his side,
he doesn't hear the gate outside.

and so many years ago, I wrote this



The Mouse and Tom Waits

“Mrs Palm” and the heavy-breathing whispy whore.
“Wood !” and wanks, and settles down the balls,
down the steps, towards the “back door”
Wind pushes out his thing, the dog’s cold tool,
upstairs a man rolls onto his snide,
he opens her gate wide.



J'accuse!

Ridiculous - I remember that poem Sue and it's nothing at all like mine - yours is like 6 lines and obviously a Tom Waits fan letter, while mine is 36 lines and without any specific theme at all.

J'accuse!

I've had a jury slip sitting on my desk now for a couple of months that says I legally have to send it in but it doesn't say when so I'm waiting until the fall when I'm less busy doing things that I like, but now I'm thinking jury duty may not be all that dull. I could sit with the fantastic 'Jaccuse' word waiting for a pivotal moment to make best use of it.

[Sideways]

The idea of a so-called Cate sitting in judgment on her fellow geezer is truly scary and exposes America for the extraordinary country it is.

In semi-amateur Ironing free-style regional competitions, the minimum requirements for a juror are as follows


1. must own your own ironing board, or ouija board
2. must own most of your own teeth, or all the teeth of a close relative
3. must have no convictions, or beliefs

That's democracy

[Karren B]

okay, my first try at this out of the way - 27 word story told in 270


The house waits

for the calm of his heavy whiskey snore.
Wood wakes and settles down the hall,
down the steps, towards the back door.
Wind pushes the swing, the dogs old ball,
upstairs a man rolls unto his side,
he doesn't hear the gate outside.

Wood, wakes and settles down the hall.
Nailed together eighty years ago,
she's coming apart from the wall.
Neglect and age have started to show,
her once beautiful floor now worn
from a Mothers pace with each new born.

Down the steps, towards the back door
sleeps a little collie
that kids don't play with anymore.
The carpet cushions sweet old Mollie.
Family pictures keep her guard
while she dreams of boys in the backyard.

Wind pushes the swing, the dogs lost ball,
the window looks out. What was rural
has now become urban sprawl.
City lights blend into a mural,
traffic sounds become a murmur
taxi lights turn the corner.

The man rolls unto his side
beside him is an empty space,
Wood longs to be back outside
freed from this closed in place.
The window whispers, 'the forest's gone
stay with me, we'll carry on.'

He doesn't hear the gate outside,
the opened latch, the springs low moan
the returning sounds of the woman's stride
softly stepping over the stone.
Only Molly lifts her head
as woman enters and climbs the bed.

Now that’s how it should be done… It was well worth the wait Cate!

This conjures up some wonderful images, it’s like reading a painting… I love it!

Great rhyming... I would have hated to try and work rural in!

He may not hear the gate in the last stanza but we all surely do!

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this Cate!

xx

[Cate]

Thanks Karren, the rhyming was painful (I don't have the same ear for it that you do) but I do like the form.