Villanelle

Beneath Brambles A villanelle Beneath the tangled brambles, look around. Vines creeping, smothering, create the dark. A trillium insists her bloom be found. Canes strangle, branches slip to ghastly ground from hemlocks cased by thorns that puncture bark. Beneath the tangled brambles, look around. The sun strains, searching through a...

A Villanelle  “The further a society drifts from the truth, the more it will hate those that speak it.” —George Orwell From the first green grass we navigate— Through days & nights of wake & sleep— Down this road that leads to our house of hate. When the wise are...

George and the Dragon In the Yorkshire dialect “Nah, sithee,” said Granny, “Just set thee dahn ‘ere, An’ I’ll tell thee a tale old and true, Of ‘ow good Saint George slew a dragon one day An’ all dressed in a metal suit too. It were like this…” she said...

A Villanelle To breathe the beaming silence of the sky I long, when dawn’s chill wakes my eyes, and see The oft-unseen yet boundless peace on high. When slumber’s velvety dim moments die, Pale crowds rush back and forth, although unfree To breathe the beaming silence of the sky; For...

After the Peloponnesian Wars: a Microcosm A Villanelle At last I grasp what I could never get: As long as man has heart, hope can exist. Doom’s not your only master, then. And yet for years I thought―thought hard, without regret― the reverse, as fatalist and humanist. But now I...

  Déja Do you remember when a piece of art Held truth or meaning in its oil or stone— And beauty even?  Paintings would impart Aesthetic truth and not just some sweet tone Of glowing like a Rothko, luminous But void like Close Encounters of the Third Kind’s shimmer.  Artefacts were numinous Like...

  A Villanelle My grandma smiled as I walked in the door pretending to overpower her pain because I came ... to see her once more. Black-and-blue I.V.-bruised arms, stiff and sore, rose to greet me, and despite the strain, my grandma smiled as I walked in the door. With...

Sonnet for an Arabian Autumn After William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 73 This time of year you will in me perceive When all things green take on their second growth, The sun at last agrees to a reprieve, And birds return to keep their migrant’s oath. You’ll see a certain lightness in...

  Says Simon Cowell (A Villanelle) “Which came first, the egg or fowl? This is what I’d like to know.” “Who cares?” says Simon Cowell. (Not so much “says” as speaks in growl) I care, I think, and tell him so -- “Which came first, the egg or fowl? An...

The Speaker Unaccustomed to Such Oratory Feats The speaker - unaccustomed to such oratory feats - cleared his throat, a bit too loudly, while he fumbled through his sheets. The crowd sensed, early on, that they were in for a rough ride - when he called the "ladies" "laddies" and...

by Dusty Grein Hailing from 15th and 16th century French and Italian roots, the villanelle is arguably one of the strongest repeating refrain forms in classical poetry. Related How to Write a Sonnet How to Write a Haiku How to Write a Limerick How to Write Rondeau Its use of...

If You're a Beggar, Be a Chooser Too (Villanelle) If you're a beggar, be a chooser too, For less is more and more can be a curse. The world will offer anything to you. You must discern the useful from the dross. With patience, judge, for better or for worse....

  Our paths vanish; our footsteps fade From forest glades, from wave-damp sands From sunlight’s dazzle and twilight’s shade. Babes and toddlers, not yet afraid, We reach and roll and often stumble From sunlight’s dazzle to twilight’s shade. In youth we lie ‘neath moonlight’s blade, Cut by love; like kisses...

Free me from wars? Make my debut? Oh, Mr. Handsome G.I. Joe— your face and a blanket won’t do. Sift flour from Mama’s ashes, melt glue from Papa’s bones. Knead them into dough— free of wars, rising for my debut. Am I marble pale and girlish thin enough for you—...

Confection Connection The girls were bored and at a loss To find a treat that did not cost An arm, a leg, no more a dime They chose confectionary dross They pulled two nickels from the grime And gave them to the clerk part-time He took the coins, he let...

The Playground The playground stands beside itself In grey, and waits upon the hill. The books are stones upon the shelf, Their spines are sealed against the chill. Still, the forgotten souls might try To steal away, when light of day Recedes, and float upon a sigh, To climb the...