Villanelle 3

For this piece I have held on to the traditional rhyme scheme that makes this form so unique. But I have allowed myself more free reign with the meter. No specific syllable count and such for this one.

As I mentioned in previous posts, the villanelle tends to lend itself well toward obsessive thoughts, and obsessive thoughts in turn trend somewhat dark or melancholy, at least in this context. That being said, I'm a bit surprised at how brooding and somewhat depressing my villanelle have been so far. Is it me as a poet, or does the scheme truly, by its nature tend to direct one towards darker narratives?

Think on that as you read my latest.

*

My heart is hidden by a kind of smoke.
I pray that smoke is taken by a breeze.
I fear the better part of me will choke.

There are happy memories I could invoke.
I could extract some joy from anywhere I please.
My heart is hidden by a kind of smoke.

Today my spirit's voice is but a croak.
The songs within my heart are but a wheeze.
I fear the better part of me will choke.

My intellect stands solid, like an oak.
Analysis of facts, I perform with ease.
My heart is hidden by a kind of smoke.

I whistle and I smile at a joke.
(I'm not completely lost to things like these.)
I fear the better part of me will choke.

I hope at least it hasn't broke.
That someone out there holds the keys.
My heart is hidden by a kind of smoke.
I fear the better part of me will choke.

Villanelle 2

Here is my second villanelle. This time a more depressing tone. I was hoping to capture the obsessive thoughts nature that many people have associated with the form.

This time I use iambic pentameter. I'm satisfied with the results, though there are some weaker spots. I think I've done better with rhyme in this one than the last, though.

*

The ones who do not live in fear are blessed.

They live in paradises they design.

My trembling spirit never gets to rest.

To know the swell of courage in my breast...

And never to my cowardice resign.

The ones who do not live in fear are blessed.

So many dark, depressing thoughts molest

This tortured, tired, tender heart of mine.

My trembling spirit never gets to rest.

Despite the many times I have confessed,

I'm granted no relief by the Divine.

The ones who do not live in fear are blessed.

And now with doom I find myself obsessed.

I find my very life force in decline.

My trembling spirit never gets to rest.

I wonder what the brave ones would suggest.

Can nothing in my life be anodyne?

The ones who do not live in fear are blessed.

My trembling spirit never gets to rest.