Villanelle 6

I must apologize for being away from the poetry posting for nearly a month. Other writing missions have eclipsed the poetry aspects of my writing lately. Plus villanelles are very time and energy consuming. I need to set aside specific, uninterrupted time to compose these poems. Even more so than the sonnets, I think. A villanelle is not the sort of poem one can simply whip up while waiting for dinner to cool.

Indeed, exploring the villanelle has caused me to depart somewhat from a longstanding custom I have of starting and finishing each of my poems all in one sitting. Believe it or not, that has been what I have done for 99% of my poems, but with these I've found it easier to come up with the refrain first, and then come back to fill in the refrain with verses later. In this last case, quite a bit of time passed between developing the refrain key and composing the poem itself. (I still compose the body of the poem all in one sitting, however.)

Time got away from me, but now I am caught up to this latest villanelle, and I present it here at last.

*

For a moment I can see her still.
(Though I never hear her speak.)
She was more to me than just a passing thrill.

I'm swallowing a bitter pill.
Prospects of her coming back are bleak.
For a moment I can see her still.

It was mostly physical until,
She let me see her weep when she was weak.
She was more to me than just a passing thrill.

But she had longings I could not fulfill.
I am an average man. She is unique.
For a moment I can see her still.

Most men who look like me would kill
To move their hands across her form-so sleek.
She was more to me than just a passing thrill.

I simply couldn't summon up the will
To leave my peaceful valley for her peak.
For a moment I can see her still.
She was more to me than just a passing thrill.

Villanelle 5

For my fifth villanelle in this exploration, I went darker, or at least angrier. Again, I've been free with my meter.

The repetitive nature of the alternating refrains of the villanelle do, as I have mention previously, lend themselves to obsession, or fevered memory. In this piece I wanted to utilize that refraining style to illicit thoughts of anger, (in this case over a damaged relationship of some kind). We tend to be repetitive when we fight, or when we are angry about something, and we tend to emphasize the things that have angered or hurt us the most, sometimes to the exclusion of other, more productive thoughts.

Who is at fault within the relationship on which this poem is based? I'll let you decide.

*

I refuse to take the blame,
(Though I'm the one you will indict.)
I always lose this stupid game.

I think that it's a crying shame;
You never think I could be right.
I refuse to take the blame.

For years and years it's been the same;
No longer will I choose to fight.
I always lose this stupid game.

I wonder when exactly you became
So cold. So angry. So full of spite.
I refuse to take the blame.

Your bitter, raging heart, I've tried to tame,
But you won't accept the light.
I always lose this stupid game.

Well, I shall never speak your name!
Remain here in your manufactured night!
I refuse to take the blame!
I always lose this stupid game.

Villanelle 4

For this, my fourth villanelle of this exploration, I have once again been loose with the meter of any given line. I am finding that the form offers much more depth of feeling when it isn't limited to iambic pentameter and other specified meters. It's becoming clear to me that the potency of this form lies almost completely in the rhyme scheme and the refrain structure, and not in the meter itself, so I'm likely from here on out to write lines in a more free-metre.

All that being said, I think this poem is my best villanelle so far in this exploration. I made an effort to step outside of the usual rhymes. (The same sounds tend to show up in most villanelles I write for some reason.) I think I've achieved something that is both emotionally resonant but also familiar and coherent. You be the judge for yourself.

*

There's still a voice that I can hear,
A memory that won't escape detection.
When I feel pleasure, pain is near.

A haunting. Not so loud, but clear.
A love not gone despite its imperfection.
There's still a voice that I can hear.

The people and the things I once held dear
Remain in pieces in my heart's collection.
When I feel pleasure, pain is near.

Like black mud stains to bright white robes adhere,
So to the soul a lost love's recollection.
There's still a voice that I can hear.

Though numbed a little more each passing year,
Some fits of pain remain, like an infection.
When I feel pleasure, pain is near.

My present and my future course, I steer.
But there's a periodic interjection;
There's still a voice that I can hear.
When I feel pleasure, pain is near.

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.