A Poke of Gold to the Lady that's Known as Lou
A transforming poem


Gold Miner's poke - nineteenth century

I saw the sigh in your pretty eye when you dreamed
That I’d be yours, but those who steal me fast
Reveal in my shine is the start of wars. First I passed
Through the purse of a miner who nursed a chill. He seemed
To be just a helping of hurt in a flannelette shirt
From Plumtree, Tennessee. It’s the goal of gold
To be bought and sold and melted and poured in a mould.
From the day they scratched me out of that patch of dirt,
I’ve been near as cold. Now again I change hands, and again
The sands run out, and men lie dead. Good chances,
I’d rate, that the heftier weight is a couple of rounds
Of lead. I’ve been sought by those men—half a dozen or ten—
Who flash gold in pokes and pounds, who begged you for dances
And killed for your glances—It’s not as nice as it sounds.

Daniel Galef

This loosely metred Petrarchan sonnet can transform into a ballad in the style of Robert Service’s poems “The Shooting of Dan McGrew” and “The Cremation of Sam McGee”, with new end-rhymes.

To see the ballad
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If you have any thoughts on this poetic transformer, Daniel Galef would be pleased to hear them.