[Jim Hayes]

A Few Lines
(On the efficacy of television advertising)

That anti-wrinkle cream by L’Oreal,
I bought ( the TV ad said I was worth it,)
and dolloped on my skin to try and stall
old age-- at great expense did bugger all.
They can screw that worthless tube into a ball
and where the sun don’t shine they may insert it.
That anti-wrinkle crap by L’Oreal-
I bought-- the TV ad said I was worth it!!




[This message has been edited by Jim Hayes (edited September 28, 2007).]

[Michael Juster]

Chelsea Rathburn has a bunch of nice ones in her Wilbur Award book, but I'm away from my library so I can't post a sample.

[Maryann Corbett]

I can't seem to link directly to the Rathburn triolets, but on one of the Formalista pages, there's a link under her name to "Anniversary Triolets" in the Hudson Review. Try looking here .

[R E Bolick]

Thanks, everyone. Keep them coming. I am pulling everything I find into a single Word doc for personal use.

I won't attach it here. Too many copyright issues. No, not MY copyright (I wish), but others'.

I've been in touch with Michael (traveling at the moment) to ask if he'd send his Summer Island.

Gail, I spotted yours over at Carol Rumens' Guardian columns, as well as David's. Well done, both of you. Carol Rumens' extended comments on the submissions and the form is spectacular. I urge all to check it out.
http://books.guardian.co.uk/poetrywo...051118,00.html

Cheers,
BobB

[Catherine Chandler]

Bob,

I have one coming out in The Raintown Review. If you'd like I can send it to you.

Catherine

[R E Bolick]

Yes, please. Thanks, Catherine.

You know the only anthologies of triolets I can find date back to the late 1890s. Two of them.

Cheers,
BobB

[Susan McLean]

Here are some triolets I wrote. The first two appeared in The Lyric and the last one in Light.

Transit

I swim above a web of light,
a shadow passing through. The pool
is empty, but for me, and bright.
I swim above a web of light,
delighting like a bird in flight
through blue expanses, deep and cool.
I swim above a web of light,
a shadow passing through the pool.


Prize-winning Young Poet on a Treadmill

Knowing how quickly fame speeds past,
she runs to stay in place.
A minor talent’s soon outclassed.
Knowing how quickly fame speeds past,
she runs to save her face. Too fast
she’ll lose her wispy grace.
Knowing how quickly fame speeds past,
she runs to stay in place.


Hypothetical

If I were to kill her, this is how
I’d do it. Late at night, I’d take a knife.
I’d strike as she and Pretty Boy said Ciao--
if I were to kill her. This is how
I’d beat the rap, then smile and take a bow,
erasing alimony and a wife.
If I were to kill her, this is how.
I’d do it late at night. I’d take a knife.

[Janet Kenny]

Here's one that has just appeared on Eratosphere

Triolet à ma façon

Another silly triolet.
So anally retentive
To rhyme in that prescriptive way.
Another silly triolet.
I could be more inventive.
I find the oeuvre is quite passé.
It leaves one no incentive.
Another silly triolet.
So anally retentive.

[Mike Slippkauskas]

Since we're posting our own . . . This, in a slightly different version, was anathematized here at Erato and much better received over at Quincy's WhupAss site.

The Addicts


Neurotransmitters flood the brain.
The imprint of exactest pleasure
impels us toward the deluged plain,
neurotransmitters’ flood. The brain,
once deluged, knows each further gain
as loss; it can’t exact full-measure.
Neurotransmitters, flood the brain!
The imprint of exactest pleasure . . .


Michael Slipp

[Roger Slater]

Here's one of mine (a triolet sequence) posted here a few months ago.

TO A PITCHER

The count's three and two
with one out to go
till the ballgame is through.
The count's three and two
and it's all up to you.
You wind up and throw.
The count's three and two
with one out to go.

The bat hits the ball!
It flies through the air!
But where will it fall?
The bat hits the ball
to the centerfield wall!
The fielder runs where
the bat hits the ball.
He flies through the air

to stop, if he can,
a game-winning hit.
At least that's his plan.
To stop, if he can,
what the batter began.
He holds out his mitt
to stop, if he can,
a game-winning hit,

but your job is done.
It's out of your hands.
You lost, or you won,
but your job is done.
Did he hit a home run?
Watch with the fans.
Your job is done.
It's out of your hands.