Another Sestina

Last week I posted a poem about my witch ancestors. It happened to be a sestina poem but was somewhat modified in form.

As I have nothing else planned, I thought I would post another sestina I wrote. This one follows the traditional pattern of repeating the end words at the end of the lines and not within them.

I hope you enjoy it.

A Lost Dialogue

What brings you out ‘neath this tall pine, Socrates?

My legs, good Philiapoesis, and my desire for better thought.

I see, Socrates, you appear to be in good form.

I would be better to hear of your mind

for it is clear you are delighting in much pleasure.

I am doing what I do best. Writing a poem.

How wonderful to write a poem!

Yes, it is a gift of the gods. Do you write, Socrates?

No, the gods have given me different pleasures.

Would you read my poem? I desire your thought.

In a moment. Right now something else comes to mind.

What is a poem? Is its beauty in the sentiment or the form?

Ah, Socrates, the beauty is in the form!

I see. Form alone, this is the meaning of the poem?

I do not understand. What is on your mind?

Do you question the beauty of the form, Socrates?

If it is form alone, my friend, and not the heart and thought

of mind, could poetry reach the heights of true pleasure?

The discipline of restricting words to form pleasures

the mind. It is a puzzle—the words in their proper form.

It does puzzle me that you think thus—I would have thought

that beauty dwells in the structure and truth of the poem.

Do you find no truth in mere form, Socrates?

May I read your poem? Do you mind?

Not at all! What an honor to be understood by your mind.

Many of your words are repeated several times, like “pleasure.”

Those are the rules of the poem! Do you like it, Socrates?

What does it mean,? Reveal its truth, if you don’t mind.

Truth, Socrates? Follow the rules! That is the truth of the poem.

One shelves words like one shelves books? Is that your thought?

Well, perhaps I have not given enough thought

to the importance of the heart as well as the mind

So there is more than form to the good poem?

The form conveys to the heart and mind pleasures.

But beauty and truth may lie elsewhere than the form?

You may be right, Socrates.

We must try harder if the truth we seek is to come to mind.

Some other day, Socrates, right now I desire other pleasures.

Good day. I will give more thought to your words about a poem.