Double Sestina?! The Behemoth of Structured Poems…

by James Randall

Let me tell you write now that this is by all means a work in progress. A Double Sestina, depending on its particular form as used by the poet, is essentially a Sestina or Sestinas. Using the same set of twelve words to end the lines of each verse, only in different order each time (which I’ve already calculated so that part of the work is done), it is eventually twelve verses long. Similarly, the Crown Sonnet or Sonnet of Sonnets is of similar difficulty.

So far, I have three of the twelve verses completed. So far, I am trying to base it off the Dreamtime stories of the Rainbow Serpent. Feel free to critique it, that I may continue this endeavour anew. Cheers!

In bursting light now flies this enigma,
Longing for this land’s spirit to fall back
Over golden glades of Baw Baw Plateau.
Victors are we? So shall end our tale’s arc?
Embrace these folks, be they Irish or Thai,
Save those who’d dare spread new faith here again.
He, the native, has no cause to lament;
Instead, we’re told, he causes false drama,
Not to reinvigorate, but to mark
Their reintegration to this idea,
If one will, of our land defined by them
And ruled by none. Now it lies before you.

A land that harvests drought and fire; dare you
To sweep this land as rains, in spite of them
Whose roots run deep, whose song, the enigma,
Has crossed this land as a web? An idea
At such power can only sung back
To gumbuya and forth to streams. Its mark
Can dance from the Mallee to the Plateau
Of Jargungal, Kosciuszko. The drama
Sings on, upon the serpent’s spine, its arc
Traversing shores, slopes and gullies, to tie
A people to their land. They shan’t lament.
Their nations live, to one day sing again. 

So long as this spirit rises again,
We remember this land, not to lament
Its passing nor its death. Know that for you
I fight despite my shortcomings. No tie
Of colony nor nationhood binds them
To cause or hope. My venomed words they’ll hark.
Give pause. So dream that ashen enigma,
A land born in fire, for no small drama
Is creation, yet a dance, an idea
Borne from a trance, a dream. Let it plateau
And flow over plains, then rise and vault back
To soaring heights beyond your previous mark.

© James “Abdulmalik” Randall, 2014.