Sestinas follow a strict pattern of the repetition of the initial six end-words of the first stanza through the remaining five six-line stanzas, culminating in a three-line envoi. (And, let me just say, this was trickier than I thought it would be and I'm not sure it's quite finished yet.) The form is as follows, where each numeral indicates the stanza position and the letters represent end-words:
The envoi, sometimes known as the tornada, must also include the remaining three end-words, BDF, in the course of the three lines so that all six recurring words appear in the final three lines. In place of a rhyme scheme, the sestina relies on end-word repetition to effect a sort of rhyme.
I don't usually write poetry and this is my first attempt at a sestina. The subject of sleepwalkers/living dead/sheeple has come up a couple of times lately, most recently in Cerberus' blog, so I thought I would post this poem. Freeback and critiques are always welcome. (Just be kind, please!)
Somnambulance
Not quite asleep, yet not quite awake;
They go through life like the living dead.
They don't even realize they're not alive
And never take the time to stop and think.
It's so much easier to perpetually sleep.
They can't even bring themselves to dream.
The living dead don't dare to dream
Because they're too afraid to be truly awake.
They don't know to be awake is better than to sleep,
But it's much more difficult than being dead.
Because when you're awake you have to think
And make a conscious effort to be alive.
The truly living prefer to be alive
But that doesn't mean they don't dream.
It simply means they choose to think
And they know the real value of being awake.
The truly living feel sorry for the living dead
And pray one day they'll wake from their sleep.
By going through life always asleep
They miss out on what makes us alive.
Sense is dulled and imagination dead
With no creativity to even dream.
For to live life fully is to be awake
And aware of things that make you think.
To look for deeper meanings, I think,
In subconscious dreams when you sleep
And in daydreams when you're awake,
Helps you to be open, aware and alive.
The truly living dare to dream
But that's too risky for the living dead.
So they continue living as if they're dead,
It's frightening when they're forced to think
And gods forbid they should dare to dream.
They think nothing at night when they go to sleep,
Not knowing what they're missing by not being alive
I started writing this story months ago. It isn't finished yet because I have no idea what happens. I thought I'd post the beginning in the hope that more will emerge. If anyone remembers the tiny fairy I saw this summer, this story was inspired by it. Here it is:
It was a day like any other: I was late for work and it seemed like the world was conspiring against me. As I hurried to my car, something buzzed in front of my face. I was already thinking about my day at work, so I waved it away and continued on. A giant white insect buzzed around my head a few times and I swear I heard tinkling laughter. I was really getting annoyed when the thing landed on top of my head. I flicked it off and felt a surge of satisfaction when I heard it bounce off the fence and then hit the ground.
My satisfaction was short-lived, though, because when I went to see what kind of bug it was, I found that it wasn't a bug at all. I'm not exactly sure what it was. It was small and humanoid, with a pointed face, wiry antennae, and delicate-looking wings. It was a silvery-white color and glowed as if lit from within, sort of like a pearl. It wasn't wearing clothes but it didn't seem to be naked either. It was just right the way it was. I felt downright guilty when I noticed that one of its beautiful, iridescent wings was crumpled. It appeared to be dead.
I gently picked it up and took it into the house. I found a box that once held earrings but was now empty, save for a small square of cotton, and I put the tiny body inside. I was seriously late for work now, so I left it on the kitchen table and hurried out the door. I thought about that tiny creature all day and couldn't wait to get home to see if it was still dead.
I completely forgot about my cat and her penchant for toying with insects until I got home that evening and found that the jewelry box was on the floor and the cotton square had been shredded. My immediate concern was for the cat who I found lashed into a basket with what looked like spiderweb silk. Once she was freed of the sticky stuff, she charged through the cat door and hid in the basement.
I forgot all about the cat when I heard a voice say, "Jhaeli ti thys si tar, shor o?"¹
I turned to find the silvery creature standing in a pot of African violets on the kitchen table. She, for it looked somewhat female to me, had her arms crossed over her tiny chest, one foot tapping furiously on the edge of the pot, and she seemed to be waiting for an answer. I noticed her wing was still crumpled.
I had no idea what she said so I wasn't sure if she could understand me but I thought I'd give it a try. "My name is Susan," I said to the tiny creature. "What's yours?"
"Suisan," she replied with a tinkling laugh.
"Yes," I said. "I'm Susan. Who are you?"
"Suisan," she said again.
I was beginning to lose patience. I pointed to myself and said slowly and loudly, the way one speaks to a foreign person. "Suuuusan," I informed.
She poked herself in the chest and in an exaggerated manner said, "Suuuuisan." And collapsed in a heap of laughter.
I ran around the room pointing to different objects, hoping the poor confused creature would understand. "Lamp!" I shouted. "Table! Flowers!"
The thing buzzed crazily after me. "Lamp! Table! Flower!" she trilled, clapping tiny hands over her mouth to stifle her merry laughter.
I thought I'd give it one last shot. I pointed to myself and said, "Susan."
She finally lost patience with me. She pointed at me and said, "Susan." Then she pointed to herself and said, "Suisan! Suisan! Suisan!"
I gave up trying to figure out what her name was. She obviously couldn't understand me.
I'm not the most athletic person or the most graceful so I was surprised at the ease with which I picked up running on four legs. It's actually easier than running on two. I felt like I could run forever and never tire out. With my enhanced senses, the woods were a teeming riot of colors, sounds and smells. The sound of a woodpecker in the distance caught my attention and I found myself salivating at the thought of fresh eggs. I jumped over a log and, somehow, knew that there would be fat grubs underneath and the thought both disgusted and excited me.
The Phouka had given me a head start but I was so enchanted with my new senses, I hadn't made the best use of my time. I could hear him breathing behind me. "I'm gaining on you, little one! What will you do when I catch you?" he taunted. I ran faster, leaping over fallen trees. He was still gaining on me when I came to a fork in the path. Do I go left or right? I started right but then dodged left. He laughed and said, "Now you're thinking like a fox!" Thinking like a fox!?! I hadn't been thinking at all.
The Phouka was steadily gaining on me. I didn't really think he'd hurt me but I felt compelled to run away from him. The path we were on was fairly clear and, since his legs were longer than mine, he had an advantage. I was reluctant to leave the path, not knowing what was lurking in the woods, but decided it was the only way to lose him.
I dodged under a bush and ran for the closest big tree. I circled it a few times looking for a way to climb it but, without opposable thumbs, it was impossible. I continued on, using bushes and scrub as cover. I came to a stream and, since my feet were beginning to tire, I waded downstream a bit to cool my toes. I thought I saw a raspberry bush on the other side, so I crossed and climbed the bank. Off in the distance, I could hear the Phouka crashing around in the underbrush and calling to me. I snickered to myself, pleased with my newfound cleverness, and munched a few berries.
A few feet from me, I heard a strange sound emanating from a hole in the ground. It was as if the earth itself was moaning. Curious, I stuck my face down the hole but jumped back when I saw a pair of bright black button eyes staring back at me. A round opossum hissed at me as it waddled from its lair. "I'm sorry, Mr. ‘Possum!" I exclaimed in my yip-yip fox voice. "Didn't mean to intrude into your home!" He just glared at me and wandered down to the stream.
I was tired of running and didn't hear the Phouka behind me, so I strolled along and took in the sights. Springtime in the woods is so pretty and it had been far too long since I'd spent time outdoors like this. The May apples under their leafy umbrellas, sprays of purple violets, clusters of pink spring beauties and trout lilies - all so vibrant and alive to my heightened senses. I nosed around in the leaves on the ground and found a fat earthworm. Without letting myself think about what I was doing, I slurped it up and chewed. Not too bad ... sort of like a bacon-wrapped scallop, only not salty. I mosied on.
Eventually I came to a small stand of Oak trees. The pile of last year's leaves that were banked about their trunks was so inviting, I curled up with my tail wrapped around myself - it really was a most beautiful tail! - and dozed. I wanted to keep an ear out for the Phouka but the sun was so warm on my fur, before long I was snoozing away.
I bolted upright when I heard the Phouka baying. He was too close for my liking, so I scampered back into the safety of the underbrush. The sun seemed to be sinking and I wondered just how long I was going to remain a fox. It was fun and all but I didn't want to live out my days on a diet of berries and worms.
My attempt to evade the Phouka seemed to be failing and he was getting closer. I made my way back to the path and ran like the wind back to the clearing. I wasn't feeling so well and I really just wanted to go home. I was almost at the end of the trail when the Phouka burst from the undergrowth just a few feet behind me. "Aha!" He exclaimed. "Now I've got you!" He pounced and I sprang off to the left. He must have anticipated that I'd go left because he swept my legs out from under me and I went tumbling. He pounced again and we rolled into the clearing.
I was really feeling dizzy and disoriented now. The Phouka had me pinned on my back and was licking my face and growling into my ear. I could feel myself elongating as I yip-talked to him. "Get off me, ya big oaf!" I yipped. "I can't breathe," I finished in people-talk. I had turned back into myself at last. He eased off to the side, but still had me pinned down with a front paw. I closed my eyes as the last wave of vertigo passed through me and heard the now-familiar popping sound and I knew the Phouka was a man again.
"Um, Phouka," I said, looking at him.
"Yessss?" he drawled.
"I seem to have lost my clothes," I said.
His eyes raked down my body. "Why, so you have," he leered. "I believe I have misplaced mine too." He waggled his eyebrows at me. We stared deeply into each other's eyes and I was starting to think we were about to have an "interlude" when that lemur-thing began chattering madly and pelting us with pixie pears. The moment was past and I realized I was bone tired.
I pushed the Phouka's arm away and sat up, pulling my hair down over my chest. I felt very self-conscious and couldn't make eye contact. He ogled me for a bit longer and then crossed the clearing to retrieve our clothes, which had fallen away on the other side. It was my turn to ogle him. For a dog, he had a mighty fine backside.
He unceremoniously tossed my clothes to me, turned his back to me so I could dress, and said, "I guess we had best get you back home now. Mary's going to be sick with worry."
Before we left, I impulsively hugged him and said, "Thank you for one of the best days of my life."
He chuckled and said, "You're easy to please. A couple of mealy apples and an earthworm and you're happy as a lark!"
I blushed crimson, horrified that he knew. "How did you know I ate a worm?" I asked.
"You've got dirt on your breath," he said with a smile and pulled my hat down over my eyes. "Come on, little fox-girl; let's go home." He grabbed my hand and we left through the portal together.
I woke up the next morning just as the sun peeked through the trees. In daylight, the Hawthorns were truly beautiful. I found that the blossoms weren't white at all but a soft blush-pink. The Phouka, man-shaped again, sat Indian style watching me. When he saw me stir, he sang out, "The fair maid, who on the first of May/Goes to the fields at the break of day/And bathes in the dew from the Hawthorn tree/Will ever strong and handsome be!"
He laughed when I shot him a baleful glare. I am not a morning person. "Morning, Sleepyhead!" he said. "Mary says the coast is clear and we can come back home anytime we're ready."
I groaned and sat up. Every part of my body ached from the fall and from sleeping on the cold, hard ground. "We have to leave here already? I haven't even had a chance to look around yet!" I exclaimed.
The Phouka rolled his eyes. "Have your look around, then, but don't leave the circle of the trees."
A slight breeze swayed the trees and with each movement showers of petals fell to the ground. Each tree looked like it was surrounded by a small drift of snow. They smelled faintly of apple blossoms. I heard bird song as I approached the trees. I had never seen birds like these before. They looked like small peacocks but with long, thin tail feathers which had a rainbow iridescence not found in Mundania. They were beautiful.
From the corner of my eye, I saw movement but when I looked, nothing was there. This happened several times and always just outside of my vision and just outside the line of trees. I walked more slowly and as quietly as I could. I spied a furry tail sticking out from behind a tree, so I sneaked up slowly and stepped on it.
The tail belonged to a smallish creature that looked sort of like a lemur, only human-ish, too. The little thing wasn't happy. He dropped the fruit he was eating and latched onto the toe of my shoe with his sharp little teeth. He looked up at my face and hissed as he pulled on my shoe. My curiosity was satisfied and, truthfully, I felt a bit like a bully, so I let him go. He ran off into the woods, chattering madly. I'm sure he was cursing me in his lemur language.
I picked up the fruit he had dropped. It looked like a small, misshapen apple - bright red and stone-hard. I looked around and found that it had come from the Hawthorn trees! I thought it was odd that the trees would be flowering and fruiting at the same time but, heck, we weren't in Kansas anymore. I pulled a couple of the small fruits from the nearest tree. At the same time I bit into the first one, I heard the Phouka's voice but from a long way off say, "Don't eat the fruit!" But it was too late.
The Phouka stood beside me and knocked the fruit from my hand. "Are you completely mad?" he shouted at me. "Why are you eating those?"
"Well, that little lemur-thing was eating them so they can't be poisonous," I said lamely.
The Phouka shook his head slowly. "Well, I guess we'll stay here a little bit longer than planned."
I was starting to argue with him when I realized the earth was tilting. The ground and I met solidly and my legs felt all tingly. I looked down and could not believe my eyes. My legs! Where did they go? From the waist down, my body had turned into what appeared to be the hind end of a fox! "Phouka!" I cried out in fear. "What's happening?"
"I tried to warn you," he said, not unkindly. "It's the effects of the fruit. We call them "pixie pears". Want to guess why?" His smile faded when he saw my distress. "Well, there's nothing for it now; you might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Come on, tell me you never wanted to be a woodland creature, my little fox-girl!" He handed me another fruit.
"They don't even taste good, you know," I said as I bit into it. "They're dry and mealy."
"What do you want?" He asked. "Flavorful fruit or a luxurious tail? Now, eat up and let's have some fun!"
It only took one more pixie pear for the transformation to be complete. I asked the Phouka how long the effects would last and my voice came out in little yips, which made me laugh. The Phouka's response sounded like a dog barking playfully, for he was in his dog-shape now, but he was perfectly understandable. "I'm not sure. This is a first for me, too," he said. "However, you are now a fox and I am a dog. I am the hunter and you, the hunted. I suggest you run."
I was so interested in looking at the world from my new viewpoint that I didn't hear him. He startled me when he came close and shouted, "Run, little fox! Run!" To my ears, he sounded like a dog on the hunt. I couldn't tell from the look on his face if he was playing or if he really wanted to eat me. I ran, just in case.
"It's easier if you don't fight it. Sometimes the transition between worlds can be a bit bumpy," the Phouka explained, while rubbing at a grass stain on his elbow. He looked behind us to the traffic which was still visible through the portal.
"I'm supposed to quietly allow myself to be decapitated by a rampaging stallion that doesn't have the sense to stay off the freeway and out of drainage ditches?" I snorted derisively. "I don't think so."
The Phouka sighed. "I wasn't rampaging and, if I didn't cross the freeway, how were we going to get to the drainage ditch and the portal?"
"There's a portal in the drainage ditch?" I asked.
The Phouka sighed again. I think he was getting tired of my inability to keep up with events. "It's clearly marked."
"It is?" I said. I went to the opening and stuck my head out. Attached to the top of the ditch tunnel was a small sign written in fancy script that read "Portal Entrance, This Way". "Well, I'll be," I muttered. To the Phouka, I said, "Is it a good idea to mark them like that? What if the wrong sort crosses over?"
"There are so many of them that we found it's easier to find them if they're marked. As for the "wrong sort" finding them - did you see the sign before I pointed it out?" I shook my head. "They're designed that way. No one sees them who aren't supposed to see them."
As I mulled that over, I looked around. We had landed in a clearing of trees. The grass underfoot was lush, soft, and green. It was the perfect grass for bare feet. I started to kick off my shoes but the Phouka stopped me. "Hawthorn," he cautioned. "You could get a nasty stick."
I peered closely at the trees. They were nicely shaped with one inch thorns all along the branches and small white flowers. In the gathering dark, they glowed like a scattering of stars. I picked up a fallen branch and looked at the sharp thorns, glad I hadn't stepped on it. "Why didn't we just use the portal in Mary's room?" I asked.
"Well," he said thoughtfully. "I suspect that Jack and his friends know about that one. This one is my little secret and no one else knows about this clearing in the Hagedorn Wood."
"I'm in the Hagedorn Wood of Fairie?" I asked. "Cool!"
He took the branch from me just as I was starting to pop the thorns off of it. "That's not such a good idea," he cautioned. I started to argue but he put his hand up and cut me off. "This clearing is circled entirely with Hawthorn trees, which are sacred to the Fey. In fact, it's often called Fairy Bush. A circle of them is also a fairy trysting place," he said with a leer.
I looked at him sideways. "And you come here often?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," he said. I narrowed my eyes at him, preparing to get huffy. "Alone! Geez, lighten up, will you? I'm just trying to teach you a little of our lore." He motioned me beside him and, when he saw me shiver, he put his arm around me and pulled me close. "Hawthorns often guard wells and, if you ever see one covered in scraps of bright cloth, you'll know that it's a wishing tree and each bit of cloth represents a wish. It's also associated with Beltaine, so it's timely that we're here right now." I settled in closer, so he continued. "Oak, Ash, and Thorn comprise the fairy tree triad. Historically, a lone hawthorn tree marked a portal to Fairy but that's changed a bit nowadays. Hawthorns, along with many other trees, just aren't as abundant as they once were. And sometimes we don't want the portals to be so obvious, you know?"
I was thinking about something. "At Jack's house, his portal is an Oak tree, right?"
The Phouka nodded in affirmation. "Our word for Oak is "Duir", from which the word "door" is derived. It's probably Jack's little joke that he's got what amounts to a door in his Duir. It would be nice if we could shut his portal down."
I covered a yawn with my hand but the Phouka noticed. "I guess we'll be sleeping here tonight. At least it's not raining." We spooned together with his arms around me. He hesitated. "Um ... it's a bit cool here ... what would you have for a sleeping companion? A rampaging stallion, perhaps?" His smile was leering.
I looked back at him for a moment and sighed. "I'm cold, sore, and tired, Phouka. Can I have a dog to keep me warm?" He held me closer for a minute and then, with that same soft popping sound, I was encircled by dog. I squeezed his big paws and whispered, "G'night, Dogbreath," which earned me a wet nose in my ear. I giggled and soon fell fast asleep.
