Finalist in the "Trio of Triolets" contest: Judith Pacht

The final finalist in the "Trio of Triolets" contest is Judith Pacht.

Enjoy her take on the form below:

The Year of the Heart (of the House)

The room exposed, the twisted pieces

warm.  The year of the heart of the house

alive but cold, age-bitten, reaches

a room exposed, the twisted pieces

ugly but loved.  Re-creased creases   

in reread books.  A grieving mouse,

his room exposed.  The twisted pieces

warm, this year of the heart of the house.

From the table’s secret parts,

the room eviscerated now,

the homeless mouse bewildered starts

(from the table’s secret parts)

to build another home, his heart

still willing, his head confused asks how

from the table’s secret parts,

the room eviscerated now.

I know that mouse too well.  Somehow  

the yellowed ugly wallboard’s loved.

Its past has passed.  Light strikes the now.          

I know that mouse too well.  Somehow

a bird’s flown in.  Her brooding eye allows    

a kind of inside sight.  A dove.

I know that mouse too well.   Somehow    

the yellowed ugly wallboard’s loved.

Bio: Judith Pacht’s Summer Hunger (Tebot Bach), won the 2011 PEN Southwest Book Award for Poetry.  Her chapbooks, User’s Guide and St. Louis Suite (Finishing Line Press) were published in 2009 and 2010.   Her first chapbook and poetry collection, Falcon), was published in 2004. 

Finalist in the "Trio of Triolets" contest: Jake Sheff

Jake Sheff's three triolets below earned him finalist status in the "Trio of Triolets" contest! Check them out below:

I heard the sunshine fly its pole…

The bee is heaven’s eye. Its buzz

evacuates the sky. Its soul

is solar-sized in scope. Its fuzz

is heaven’s eyebrow. Why? Its buzz-

cut – striped with coal and hollandaise –

equips the pollen’s article

of faith and role. The busy bees

evacuate the sky and soul.

Leave your bedroom’s little fold

Love me brittle, leave me strong.

Love your burden we are told.

Death is undersold but wrong.

Love me, till me, leave me long.

Death is never old in song.

Nothing hurts just to behold.

Love’s rebuttal leaves my tongue:

Love's a burden, young and cold. 

It's awful

how a stop sign makes you stop.

Your slow emotions race. You spot

the post; suspended like a drop

of fallen upward blood… You stop

to ask how that could be. Your top

is bottomed out. It's gone to pot –

the heart’s design (and how!) – to stop

your heart; the law’s unlawful spot.

Bio: Jake Sheff is a major and pediatrician in the US Air Force, married with a daughter and three pets. Currently home is the Mojave Desert. Poems of Jake’s are in Marathon Literary Review, Jet Fuel Review, The Cossack Review and elsewhere. His chapbook is “Looting Versailles” (Alabaster Leaves Publishing). He considers life an impossible sit-up, but plausible. 

First Prize Winner in the "Trio of Triolets" Contest: Laura Bandy

The "Trio of Triolets" contest yielded a lot of wonderful entries! Thanks to all who
entered for such a great contest!

Congrats to the first-prize winner, Laura Bandy, whose winning triolets are below!

Triolet 007

There are always two girls in a Bond flick,

One who will make it, the other who won’t.

Deciding which one you are is the trick.

There are always two girls in a bind. Be quick

Because James wants to put out the lights, click —

Are you twin sets and sock hops, or safe words and chokes?

There are always two girls. Tick tock tick.

One who will make it, the other who won’t.

Pick-Up Line Triolet with Cocaine: Elbo Room, Chicago

She likes a line now and again, that’s all.

Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

he asks, then if she wants to party in the stalls.

She‘d like a line now.  And again. That’s all

it takes to hit the ceiling, star the neon, small

the world beneath. Red-lit faces, cracked shot glass

held at fractured lines again. She likes it all.

How everything hurts when she falls!  Heaven.

Tom Petty’s American Girl

You have to take it easy, baby, and make it last all night

to be a real American girl. To be a real boy, everyone knows

takes bravado and no more nose-growing, Pinocchio. Lighten

up, take it easy, don’t be a baby, baby. Gender is fluid all night,

you could be anyone under the stars. Stripes, spots, let’s get this right —

girls will be boys and boys will kills girls. We count the rows.

Baby, you’ll take it. It’s easy.  We make it all feel like night.

Girl? Boy? Everyone knows America isn’t real. 

Bio: Laura Bandy teaches at the University of Illinois-Springfield. 
She lives in Jacksonville, Illinois, home of the Ferris Wheel.