Poetry Challenge

OK, I'm diving in. This is going out on a limb for me. I love poetry; I read it; I adore studying it; I enjoy writing it, though I don't do it often enough. But I ran into Miss Rumphius Effect's poetry challenge via Cloudscome's site, and I couldn't resist trying my hand at it today. It seemed time to get off my ass and do some poetry.

A terza rima is written in iambic pentameter. As Miss Rumphius explains, "Terza rima (an Italian phrase meaning 'third rhyme') consists of a series of three-line stanzas (tercets) with the rhyme scheme aba bcb cdc ded and so on. It can go on as long as the poet wishes. At the end of the poem an extra line is often added to complete the structure: yzy z." I include that so you know what I was trying to do.

All the standard excuses, caveats, and apologies apply (my first time, haven't had any other readers look at it, I know it sucks, etc.). A few non-standards apply, too (it's Holy Week, and I've had Jesus on the brain). I hope it's not cheesy. I hate cheesy poetry. If it is, you can tell me. Please be constructive and kind.

Terza Rima – Trinitas

A rhyme in three – a perfect form to write
about the holy trinity; and ho-
ly week the perfect time, with fitting light.

‘Twas holy week two thousand years ago
in which the triune God lost one of three;
‘twas Friday Good the middle had to go

away in isolation on a tree.
The fragmentation of the holy One
a visceral and shocking surgery.

An amputation bearable to none,
but only this division made us free.
And so we sing our worship of the Son,

on this the Saturday before our Ea-
ster dawns with lilies, hope, and sun and joy.
We cannot say we know the mystery

of separated God; we can’t play coy
and say we comprehend the love that caused
his humbling himself in master ploy

the devil’s power to destroy; he paused
earth’s time, and Lucifer, frustrated by
his loss, could not prevent the corpse engauzed

from changing, waking, walking, op’ning eye.
We cannot claim we understand; we on-
ly bow our heads and lift our hands up high

to take the holy gift. Unbroken bone,
bled out, with broken heart and punctured side;
the perfect form of selfless love we’re shown.

And thus we sing our hymns this Eastertide.