Letters from the Other Side of the Rain.

Dear Humanity,

We are in Utah, skiing. It is very white.

I was bored last night so decided to torture myself by writing some more sestinas. I asked my mother to give me a theme and six key words. She gave me "love conquers all," and the words hate, blood, fire, hope, care, and peace. I was feeling cynical and had been reading V for Vendetta, the comic book, so I was in the mood to write something full of blood and guts, and the sestina turned out very violently. See DISCLAIMER for further explanation.

If you haven't read V for Vendetta, let me take a moment to tell you something: You're a complete idiot. Go buy it this instant, and read it from cover to cover. I was a complete idiot myself until just yesterday, at which point I performed the recommended actions. Twice. (The reading, not the buying, though hey, you might as well buy two, I'm not against it.) I believe that V's obsession with the letter V got into the sestina, too.

Valhalla Sestina

"Love conquers all," they say. Means more than blood,
Than savage joy in haunting, hunting hate
More than old loyalties, born from white fire
And struck into shape, as smiths strike, with care.
But there are those who say, "There is no hope."
They have my lot. I don't believe in peace.

Life was simpler before we thought that fire
Would be our end. Before the thought of hope,
The endless war was not top full with hate,
For then we had an aim that made us care.
To kill! To kill! Just that - "to kill," was peace -
Our mantra and our state of mind was blood.

At least we had a mantra then, could care,
Instead of stewing in our own thick blood.
Someday I'll burst, and show the world my peace -
Valhalla, God of Gallows, Lord of Hate.
The world would understand. Oh, but I hope
Their instinct is recalled, sensing the hate.

Do you remember the Valhalla fire?
I remember how, in those times sans care,
We had such youthful, treasured, warlike hope
The world belonged to us, sang in our blood
Like sirens. It was strange, what drove us, hate
And yet not so. Love, maybe? It was peace.

Well, Orwell's party said that war was peace
I'll go further - war is our life, our blood,
It is our innocence, that we trust - hope -
That we'll regenerate in pheonix fire.
Eden was a battlefield fueled by hate
And yet not so. The apple - have a care!

We bite the apple. It tastes not of peace
But of indignity. Doomed to vague hope
Instead of battle waged on those we hate.
A cat declawed, and we have lost our fire.
Gods play tiddlywinks, don't seem to care
For a race that lost its love for songs of blood.

I've waited for the blood to wake, to care
Again for honest hate, but there's no hope
For hairless apes who found "peace," and lost fire.

Whew. Exhausted, much? Sestinas tire me out, seriously. It's like a math problem. Six stanzas, six lines, six key words, each line ending in a key word, and the whole bloody thing in iambic pentameter. I may just be a poetic masochist.

I was exhausted after that, so a palate cleanser was in order. Yay for limerick. They take little effort if you just want to screw around, so they're nice after sestinas. Yes, poetry writing is like working out. Ha. I should get a trainer. My brother was there, and we were writing limerick about our corresponding obsessions.

Darth Vader: The Limerick

There once was a Sith lord named Vader
And the gangstas all called him a hater
He had a black mask
And he killed with one grasp
Girls agreed that he was a bad dater.

Oh, hahahahaahahaha. Madly funny, I know, but not as good as -

Gerry!Phantom: The Limerick

I know this guy named Gerry!Phantom
With good hair, and a nice - this I'll grant - bum.
His fangirls are impressed
But the purists - depressed!
So they'll go watch Kay!Erik schtup Chris and mum.

Get it? 'Cos of Kay!Erik's Oedipus complex? Oh, come on. Hahaha. It's funny. Tough crowd, you.

And now for something a bit more depressing to send you on your way. Have some fruitcake, you'll be thankful for it soon. I'll wrap it up nicely and send you on your way with this poem. It's cold out there, don't think you won't need it, young 'un. Your Auntie Kat knows what's best for you.

Aces

You're holding all the aces, love,
But they're behind your back.
The ace of clubs, the ace of hearts
The ace of all you lack.

You're holding all the aces, love,
Blowing smoke into my eyes
With my powers of observation
This should have come as no surprise.

You're holding all the aces, love
I fell into your arms
You as innocent as I
Unaware of your own charms.

You're holding all the aces, love,
And cards aren't all you've touch'd
But also me, my very soul
Could tell you, true, as much.

You're holding all the aces, love
And now you want to leave
I haven't got the strength in me
To grant you a reprieve.

You're holding all the aces, love
A royal flush. I die.
I hope my corpse is cremated,
Ash rising to the sky.

Since I started this letter, it hasn't gotten any less white. I wonder if the rest of the world has disappeared, and it's just me in a ski lodge, typing a letter to no one.

Whitely,

Kat