Sitting between the sea and the buildings
He enjoyed painting the sea's portrait.
But just as children imagine a prayer
Is merely silence, he expected his subject
To rush up the sand, and, seizing the brush,
Plaster its own portrait on the canvas.

So there was never any paint on his canvas
Until the people who lived in the buildings
Put him to work: "Try using the brush
As a means to an end. Select, for a portrait,
Something less angry and large, and more subject
To a painter's moods, or, perhaps, to a prayer."

How could he explain to them his prayer
That nature, not art, might usurp the canvas?
He chose his wife for a new subject,
Making her vast, like ruined buildings,
As if, forgetting itself, the portrait
Had expressed itself without a brush.

Slightly encouraged, he dipped his brush
In the sea, murmuring a heartfelt prayer:
"My soul, when I paint this next portrait
Let it be you who wrecks the canvas."
The news spread like wildfire through the buildings:
He had gone back to the sea for his subject.

Imagine a painter crucified by his subject!
Too exhausted even to lift up his brush,
He provoked some artists leaning from the buildings
To malicious mirth: "We haven't a prayer
Now, of putting ourselves on canvas,
Or getting the sea to sit for a portrait!"

Others declared it a self-portrait.
Finally all indications of a subject
Began to fade, leaving the canvas
Perfectly white. He put down the brush.
At once a howl, that was also a prayer,
Arose from the overcrowded buildings.

They tossed him, the portrait, from the tallest of the buildings;
And the sea devoured the canvas and the brush
As though his subject had decided to remain a prayer.

-John Ashbery

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Trivia: Identify this pattern. Not by its correct term necessarily, but rather, by observing the poem.
Bonus points: Write a poem that follows this pattern.

The last word in the last line of each stanza is the same as the last word in the first line of the next.

yes, but that's a secondary pattern. think more.

Ah yes, the last words of all the stanzas are the same, just in different orders. Nice.

Oh giant frog,
So slimy green and big,
You ate the giant flies,
Great lakes of mashke
tequila and beer,
and chocolate cake.

Good ganja in a cake
And you're but a frog
Let's have some beer
and a sandwich, oh so big
Wash it down with mashke
As your cousin across the room - flies

Bad food, trash and flies
And really stale cake
Survived on mashke
and a grilled frog
The Ukraine's big
but there's no beer.

The last word of the first line in the first stanza becomes the last word of the second line in the next stanza.
The last word of the second line in the first stanza becomes the last word of the fourth line in the next stanza.
The last word of the third line in the first stanza becomes the last word of the sixth line in the next stanza.
The last word of the fourth line in the first stanza becomes the last word of the fifth line in the next stanza.
The last word of the fifth line in the first stanza becomes the last word of the third line in the next stanza.
The last word of the sixth line in the first stanza becomes the last word of the first line in the next stanza.

And so on.

Sestina of the Tramp-Royal

SPEAKIN' in general, I'ave tried 'em all
The 'appy roads that take you o'er the world.
Speakin' in general, I'ave found them good
For such as cannot use one bed too long,
But must get 'ence, the same as I'ave done,
An' go observin' matters till they die.

What do it matter where or 'ow we die,
So long as we've our 'ealth to watch it all --
The different ways that different things are done,
An' men an' women lovin' in this world;
Takin' our chances as they come along,
An' when they ain't, pretendin' they are good?

In cash or credit -- no, it aren't no good;
You've to 'ave the 'abit or you'd die,
Unless you lived your life but one day long,
Nor didn't prophesy nor fret at all,
But drew your tucker some'ow from the world,
An' never bothered what you might ha' done.

But, Gawd, what things are they I'aven't done?
I've turned my 'and to most, an' turned it good,
In various situations round the world
For 'im that doth not work must surely die;
But that's no reason man should labour all
'Is life on one same shift -- life's none so long.

Therefore, from job to job I've moved along.
Pay couldn't 'old me when my time was done,
For something in my 'ead upset it all,
Till I'ad dropped whatever 'twas for good,
An', out at sea, be'eld the dock-lights die,
An' met my mate -- the wind that tramps the world!

It's like a book, I think, this bloomin, world,
Which you can read and care for just so long,
But presently you feel that you will die
Unless you get the page you're readi'n' done,
An' turn another -- likely not so good;
But what you're after is to turn'em all.

Gawd bless this world! Whatever she'oth done --
Excep' When awful long -- I've found it good.
So write, before I die, "'E liked it all!"

Rudyard Kipling