S P O T P O T S O T P S T S O P S P T O P O S T O T S P T S O P
S O P T P T O S O S T P T P O S S O T P P T S O O S P T T P S O
S T O P P S O T O P T S T O S P S T P O P S T O O P S T T O P S
Typically, sestina end words aren't anagrams of each other. That this sestina's are is but one characteristic distinguishing it from less rigorous examples of the form.
Here each of the six end words is assigned a numeral: 'opts' > 1 'post' > 2 'stop' > 3 'tops' > 4 'pots' > 5 'spot' > 6
Here are the sequences in which the words will be permuted through the lines of the six stanzas.
1 2 3 4 5 6 first stanza 6 1 5 2 4 3 second stanza 3 6 4 1 2 5 third stanza
5 3 2 6 1 4 fourth stanza 4 5 1 3 6 2 fifth stanza 2 4 6 5 3 1 sixth stanza
Here are the six stanzas, plus the three lines of the envoi. Note that all lines are in alexandrines and that the whole, with the inclusion of the envoi, forms an acrostic. Note as well that the envoi employs all six end words both at ends of lines and internally halfway through each line.
So: Phoppe, who'd cop to "Best Sestin'er Ever," opts
to score 'n' share three pair o' anagrams on 'post.'
What's more, he'd bare such fare -- nor there'd he stop,
but, totting, syst'matize (verse-wise, sum guys be tops)
this list, then scribbl'it down. (Clowns flush theirs down pals' pots,
so hectorors their feckless anagrams won't spot.)
Exhibits Phoppe his heartware. Where? You'll know the spot:
Ru'de l'Oulipo, where each sestina author opts
to rake in (po'try's play'd like poker) all the pots.
He'd do it, too, were he to, on some off site, post
these "piroulipolettes" (his verse? Like spinning tops)
to collocate, curl, gyrate, twirl -- nor ne'er to stop.
Touts query Phoppe, when on his blog they chance to stop,
while fancy'ng not to put the poe' boy on the spot,
yet blown away how homeboy players' licks he tops
(though not, when each round's won, to lick his chops he opts):
"How so: your pluprose shows up in The Denver Post,
whose pages peddle pablum'd prose -- plus pans 'n' pots?"
To parry pryers' pot shots -- mots Phoppe knows as 'pots' --
he'll let roam po'ms where're, Lord knows, nor never stop
composing -- not (riposte) composting -- 'em, then post-
ing 'em on Fou.com
I'm wont to note: Der Phoppster, on occasion, opts
to smoke each po'm -- each toke (no joke) in lieu of Tops.)
Inhaling verse? Which Joes won't curse -- gross'd, toes to tops.
This even when Verlaine (the fave of whose? Pol Pot's)
goes up in smoke. Yup, jokester Phoppe, a loner, opts
to torch the French Romantics, though the cops cry, "Stop!"
Phoppe's lot -- Jane, Puff, Dick, Mother, Baby Sally, Spot --
rue scorching art. (Elsewise, though? Dumber than a post.)
Now omega looms; green rooms grown dim. The noon post
lies, unread, in stacks unshreded. Table tops
o'erflow with letters dead. Each missive bears this spot:
tre nightshades noir, ones never made by flame-scorch'd pots.
And although Phoppe, who, sensing denoument, shouts, "Stop,"
he chooses to continue -- like he always opts.
At close o' show, who'd spot a poetaster opts
to sift hot sand for potsherds Classic (pre- or post-),
and classify Phoppe "TOPS" -- and cherish Phoppe full stop.
