Let's look at The House on the Hill, by E. A. Robinson. Here it is, in full:

"They are all gone away,
The house is shut and still,
There is nothing more to say.

Through broken walls and gray
The winds blow bleak and shrill;
They are all gone away.

Nor is there one today
To speak them good or ill:
There is nothing more to say.

Why is it then we stray
Around that shrunken sill?
They are all gone away.

And our poor fancy-play
For them is wasted skill:
There is nothing more to say.

There is ruin and decay
In the House on the Hill:
They are all gone away,
There is nothing more to say."

How is this done?

Start with a pair of rhyming lines.

"They are all gone away
There is nothing more to say."

Now, put an unrhymed line between these two.

"They are all gone away,
The House is shut and still,
There is nothing more to say."

Next
- a line that rhymes with the basic couplet
- a line that rhymes with the middle line, and
- the first line of the couplet repeated.

"Through broken walls and gray
The winds blow bleak and shrill:
They are all gone away."

Next
- a first line rhyming with "away" and "say" and "gray"
- a line rhyming with "still", and
- the second line of the couplet repeated.

"Nor is there one today
To speak them good or ill:
There is nothing more to say."

Keep going this way for a total of five three-line stanzas, alternating the two base lines.

Finish with a sixth stanza that has an extra line, making four. The last two lines are the pair of rhyming lines you started with.




OK. That's the basics. Nineteen lines. Who would like a go?

Stephen

Villanelles are really killers to write--way harder than sonnets! The key is to get really strong anchor lines for the two lines that have to be repeated allatime.

Here's a great one by Dylan Thomas.

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Stanley J Sharp was able to explain the rules in a villanelle.


The Villanelle


There are strict rules you cannot misconstrue:
Five three-line stanzas, capped with a quatrain,
With only two rhymes all the poem through.

A verse-form very difficult to do,
And though you may be bored by the refrain,
There are strict rules you cannot misconstrue.

There's quite a lot of repetition, too;
Annoyingly, that's what the rules ordain,
With only two rhymes all the poem through.

The villanelle's a Muse that's hard to woo;
Though you may feel it's driving you insane,
There are strict rules you cannot misconstrue.

Of course, free-versifiers will pooh-pooh;
They never could withstand the fearful strain,
With only two rhymes all the poem through.

A test for any bard, no matter who,
Because - let me remind you once again -
There are strict rules you cannot misconstrue,
With only two rhymes all the poem through.

But then again....

Found a free verse villanelle among my dusty books. This one is by Frances Stillman:

Melvin

Small boy following small girl home, kicking leaves
Heaped red and brown and crackling in the gutters,
I remember you well, I remember your name, Melvin.

And in the autumn sunlight, somewhere in a midwest city,
Is there another like you in the burnt-out afternoon,
Small boy following small girl home, kicking leaves?

Where is the small girl whose name I have forgotten
Or mislaid somewhere? She has gone irretrieveably, but
I remember you well, I remember your name, Melvin.

You whom I have never seen again across many years
Are transfixed in my mind, trapped in time's terrible lava,
Small boy following small girl home, kicking leaves.

It is as if you had never lived anywhere else
But that sunlit city, that sunlit year, full of the smells of home.
I remember you well, I remember your name, Melvin.

And as I look back down the long track from there to here
I cannot see you behind me, but I know you are there,
Small boy following small girl home, kicking leaves.
I remember you well, I remember your name, Melvin.



I have certainly read far worse - though "time's terrible lava " is a horrible metaphor.

It does seem a strange exercise without the rhyme, but all's fair in love and poetry!

and a final example, one by Sylvia Plath written in 1954 when she was still a student.

The Mad Girl's Song

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary darkness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you betwitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)


Not sure about rhyming fade with dead.

No no chesil. Take it away. Confusion confusion. Let's stick to the rules to begin with, otherwise chaos will reign. Later, if you're good, I'll let you freeversify.

Here's a nice one

Wendy Cope

Summer Villanelle

You know exactly what to do -
Your kiss, your fingers on my thigh -
I think of little else but you.

It's bliss to have a lover who,
Touching one shoulder, makes me sigh -
You know exactly what to do.

You make me happy through and through,
The way the sun lights up the sky -
I think of little else but you.

I hardly sleep - an hour or two;
I can't eat much and this is why -
You know exactly what to do.

The movie in my mind is blue -
As June runs into warm July
I think of little else but you.

But is it love? And is it true?
Who cares? This much I can't deny;
You know exactly what to do;
I think of little else but you.

Stephen

Chesil, I meant take away the Stillman. The Plath is fine.

Stephen

Stephen,
You just had to start with the most difficult one of all, a haiku would have been much simpler.
Well here's my first attempt, quite pathetic really. I have cookies to bake, and shopping to do, instead my throat feels like a hot potato. JP

It’s Christmastime again,
I’ve lights to hang up still,
But I am in such pain.

It’s really quite a strain,
My throat is raw, I’m ill,
It’s Christmastime again.

I really shouldn’t complain,
‘Tis the season of goodwill,
But I am in such pain.

It’s driving me insane,
I’ve wishes to fulfill,
It’s Christmastime again.

I think it is quite plain,
I do not have the will,
And I am in such pain.

The strep would go away,
If I just had a pill,
It’s Christmastime again
And I am in such pain.

Yep, Chesil's right about not getting away unscathed. This is really awful, my apologies, maybe someone else can take a stab at one, because I don't want to be the only one held up as a bad example.
JP
p.s. It's really hard to find rhymes and make sense out of them.

Villanelles, like teenage angst poems, are often attempted, but virtually none successfully so. Surely, no more than a handful can be counted as being excellent. I suspect the problem is finding a theme that can withstand the repetitions withough becoming overpowering.


One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

-- Elizabeth Bishop


The Waking

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

-- Theodore Roethke

Attempt at Villanelle

Faces captured frame by frame
Familiar smiles frozen in laughter
Page after page memories arranged

Catching expressions – none the same
Special times remembered ever after--
Faces captured frame by frame

Birthday parties, playing games
First time riding horses in a pasture
Page after page memories arranged

At the house with friends who came
Carving pumpkins-egg dying at Easter
Faces captured frame by frame

Family gatherings – never mundane
Our lovely daughters kissing their sister
Page after page memories arranged

Tears always fall-don’t think me insane
The past is past-may never go back there
Faces captured frame by frame
Page after page memories arranged

eek--later

This thread has been a joy to read!

I have very little time to visit the forum at this time. Do know all who contributed their own attempts, as well as the wonderful examples by other authors ( 'tis wonderful to know somebody else is a fan of Elizabeth Bishop, or at least recognises her talent) has been appreciated and enjoyed!

Sunshine and Laughter,
Michelle

Well, at least yours isn't so pathetic and self absorbing Ell.
JP

JP- You are not so pathetic--it tis annoying to not feel energetic at this time of year..lots to do. I found this format very difficult--I am used to writing what flows out of my head--I want to try again later...so very choppy...but fun---now I feel really challenged...........Ell

So where's the Challenger?

This was the message written on the wall
Before the vandal hand demolished it -
We’re only human, we can’t do it all.

Traditions are all lies. Your truths appal.
These rituals are dead things, make us spit.
This was the message written on the wall.

What’s copperplate, when what we do is scrawl?
It’s time to recognise we’ve done our bit.
We’re only human, we can’t do it all.

Our mission here’s accomplished, you may fall
Down on your knees, beseech us as we sit.
This was the message written on the wall.

Your gods in hiding, who now can you call?
Your culture derelict, it just won’t fit.
We’re only human, we can’t do it all.

A wall is all that’s left now of your hall
Of mirrors. They were elegantly lit.
This was the message written on the wall
We’re only human, we can’t do it all.

Stephen

Stephen I love yours. I was trying to find a way to start one but I just can't do it! Oh well....

Nicely done! (maybe haikus next?)

pam

I wrote one in August and posted it. I don't know if you read it Stephen, but I'd love to hear your thoughts one it. Here it is again:

Do not let winter fade,
from your soft, supple skin,
where your beauty’s most conveyed.

Here you stand in the glade,
with snowflakes falling, calling:
do not let winter fade.

In a glowing, flowing dress you are arrayed
like a snow-white princess at a ball,
where your beauty’s most conveyed.

From a hilt unseen comes a blade.
In shock I squall and call:
do not let winter fade.

Your own self betrayed
as you lie in red, in the snow
where your beauty's most conveyed.

As the storm gathers 'round you afraid
so am I, as I whisper in your ear:
Do not let winter fade,
where your beauty's most conveyed.

Ok... I'm mad now. Never wrote one of those vinilla things. Going to though, in cowboy.
Dylan Thomas also said my most oft used plagurised quote.
"When I was a young man, studying for the gallows"
Stephen ya done good.

Terry

Terry,

There's one written by Joe Haldeman that you'd enjoy, called 'Saul's Death. Not available on the web, so I'll have to go looking for it. (It was in an anthology called 'There Will Be War.' Can't remember the volume.)

pam

I thought I'd try writing a villanelle someday, but this thread is awfully impressive... and daunting!

I know I could come up with a few lines that can be read in any order... but the art of it seems to be finding lines that GAIN or CHANGE meaning as they appear in different sequences.

Oy!

I did a parody of the Thomas one above once. I would think the Roethke rhyme would also lend itself well to parody, but I do not believe any has yet been done.


Dylanelle
========

Do not go gentle once the green's in sight,
The traffic signal will not wait all day;
Rage, rage against the changing of the light.

Though wise men in their hearts know chance is slight,
Because the waiting's always hateful, they
Do not go gentle once the green's in sight.

Good men will floor it every time despite
The intersection's awfully far away:
Rage, rage against the changing of the light.

Wild men who speed away from work in flight,
And hungry for their supper's strong bouquet
Do not go gentle once the green's in sight.

Grave men, with thirst for wine of red or white,
Their throats so parched for even vin rosé
Rage, rage against the changing of the light.

And you, my reader, there must know the plight;
Please understand my tip for you today:
Do not go gentle once the green's in sight.
Rage, rage against the changing of the light.

Stephen

Pam,

If it is the same man, Joe Haldeman wrote one of my favourite books, called "The Forever War," which was brilliant hard Sci-fi.

I think that Terry would relate very well to it.

I too plan on giving the Villenelle a try soon.

Stephen

Stephen,
OK, then I'm done. A villanelle isn't one of my favorite things to do, and not one of my best.
JP

I’d love to write a villanelle, it’s true,
Iambic verse is my first choice I know,
But I’d do anything for you.

It never fails to thrill me through and through,
The blissful lilt of language, so
I’d love to write a villanelle for you.

It isn’t the easiest thing I know to do,
To use two rhymes and make them flow,
But I’d do anything for you.

I hope this is iambic verse, I do,
Pentameter is questionable, although
I’d love to write a villanelle, it’s true.

And so with these few words I write anew,
The hope that you can surely know,
That I’d do anything for you.

There are some things I just can’t do
As this will only serve to show,
I’d love to write a villanelle, it’s true
For I’d do anything for you.

Ok Stephen--I changed the second line in the last stanza---was waaaay out there---what do you think---is that better..........want to do this again---
after some thought.....thanks for the advice....Ell





Faces captured frame by frame
Familiar smiles frozen in laughter
Page after page memories arranged

Catching expressions – none the same
Special times remembered ever after--
Faces captured frame by frame

Birthday parties, playing games
First time riding horses in a pasture
Page after page memories arranged

At the house with friends who came
Carving pumpkins-egg dying at Easter
Faces captured frame by frame

Family gatherings – never mundane
Our lovely daughters kissing their sister
Page after page memories arranged

Tears always fall-don’t think me insane
The past is past-The future comes faster
Faces captured frame by frame
Page after page memories arranged

JP, ell. As I mount the stairs with a smile on my face ...

(Oh poo, I live in a bungalow.)

Stephen

yes, same guy. He's written a fair amount of poetry.

pam

well, stephen, shall have to sit down and write one that obeys that rule. some of the american published villanelles did not obey that rule, so i was unaware of it.

It's Stephen's rule, which is probably why you were unaware. There are a lot of free verse villanelles out there - and some where the lines change a little too.

scuttles off to bed, weeping

Stephen

No Boats Sail

Our longing for the summer birds is strong
and fishing boats are still in port today.
The winter gales have blown both wild and long

The starving children keen their mournful song,
their parents paint themselves in the old way.
Our longing for the summer birds is strong.

The village floods the harbor, strikes the gong,
sun-dancers whirl with hope to calm the bay.
The winter gales have blown both wild and long.

A thousand eyes look seaward and the throng
breathes in but boats will not bring fish this day.
Our longing for the summer birds is strong

Their eyes cast down, the dancers edge along
this battered wharf, a storm gusts on the bay,
the winter gales have blown both wild and long.

The pots and nets lie empty, before long
the first starved child will die, perhaps today.
The winter gales have blown both wild and long,
our longing for the summer birds is strong.

That is both moving, and technically faultless.

Stephen

This is soooo good, it should have its own thread.
I think you should have a comma after breathes in.
It's hauntingly beautiful.

JP

Thanks Stephen and JP.

JP, you are right about the comma - I usually do in front of but to accentuate the pause but missed it here. Thanks for the pointer.

I missed a full stop at the end of the first tercet too, it isn't meant to be a run on line.

I also want to thank northcountrywoman who spent a lot of time with me yesterday critiquing the various revisions that were created throughout the day!

I wake from sleep and take my waking slow.
I feel a hand begin to stroke my spear.
She learns by going where she wants to go.

So hungry is her touch I can't say, whoa!
I take a peek and see she's cuddled near.
I wake from sleep and take my waking slow.

Her body heat provides an ardent glow,
And I can feel she's wearing no brassiere.
She learns by going where she wants to go.

My lowly worm begins to plump and grow,
And soon my motor shifts to second gear.
I wake from sleep and take my waking slow.

Her ardent efforts now have worked and, Oh!
My ache to press the flesh becomes severe.
She learns by going where she wants to go.

I take my place and claim the prize below,
Obsessed completely with the now and here.
I wake from sleep and take my waking slow.
She learns by going where she wants to go.

I suspect Theo would be amused!

Nice work.

Thanks. By the way, I enjoyed your interesting shift on,

their parents paint themselves in the old way.

Nice selection of repetends for No Boats also. As Marian mentioned, somehow one must find a fresh and plausible reason for repeating the lines each time. They make one start by stating the conclusion in the first stanza, then proving it in 4 times, only to recapitulate at the end!

Having so many rhymes on the same two sounds is frustrating as well. 'Strong' was a good choice.

Hugh, you silver-tongued devil, you!

pam

Hugh Clary wrote:

Having so many rhymes on the same two sounds is frustrating
as well. 'Strong' was a good choice.

Thanks Hugh. It was a frustrating one, too. It is only when you start this sort of thing, that you suddenly realise how very few rhymes there are for ong. But it adds to the challenge.

Hugh--both your villanelles are hilarious, and beautifully done! Kudos!

Hey, Chesil! Thanks for thanking me, but I was simply a sounding board during the creation of this beautiful piece. Actually, I was desperately trying to think of a way to steal it and claim it as my own...but, oh well... I agree with JP as to its having a haunting quality. Can't quite put my finger on why, but that was an excellent word.

I can't let this thread escape without posting another one by Wendy Cope. Luckily, Google had it stashed in cache, since the U/T Dallas site seems to have purged the page.


Reading Scheme

Here is Peter. Here is Jane. They like fun.
Jane has a big doll. Peter has a ball.
Look, Jane, look! Look at the dog! See him run!

Here is Mummy. She has baked a bun.
Here is the milkman. He has come to call.
Here is Peter.Here is Jane. They like fun

Go Peter! Go Jane! Come, milkman, come!
The milkman likes Mummy. She likes them all
Look, Jane, look! Look at the dog! See him run!

Here are the curtains. They shut out the sun.
Let us peep! On tiptoe Jane! You are small!
Here is Peter. Here is Jane. They like fun.

I hear a car, Jane. The milkman looks glum.
Here is Daddy in his car. Daddy is tall.
Look, Jane, look! Look at the dog! See him run!

Daddy looks very cross. has he a gun?
Up milkman1 Up milkman1 Over the wall!
Here is Jane. They like fun.
Look, Jane, look! Look at the dog! See him run!

Hugh, I have a request. Will you please start a thread on this forum "How to use Google" and give us some basics?

Stephen

I like Vivisimo's clustering engine too:

[vivisimo.com] />
the way they cluster the results seems to make some searches easier in sorting what is relevant from what is not.

Stephen, try browing this stuff:

[www.google.com] />
[www.google.com]

Vivisimo looks interesting, thanks Chesil. One thing to add about Google: I always click on the "Cached" link, instead of the first line, if for no other reason than they highlight my search words in color on the results, making it easier to scan the pages for what I want.

I thought I'd post this one, which I've just found.

Alex Milloy


Villanelle

Half the allotted span: too young to die,
You should have lived, not turned away your head,
Leaving so much undone and still to try.

A young child full of promise, and the high
Hopes of parents not yet aware of dread -
Half the allotted span: too young to die

Becomes a youth familiar with the lie,
Who fell into a life with danger spread,
Leaving so much undone and still to try.

A separate life ensues, without the tie
That binds and might have healed the rupture red;
Half the allotted span: too young to die.

The path continues down, soft as a sigh
The drugs take over, soon all sense is sped,
Leaving so much undone and still to try.

The struggle grows too hard, breath but a sigh,
The body yields at last - a man is dead;
Half the allotted span: too young to die,
Leaving so much undone and still to try.

Stephen

Stephen-

You hit close to home on this one.




Jack

i thought you guys might need cheering up, so here is the villanelle I have submitted as part of my portfolio for university. Doncha just love it when smartarse can'twritefortoffee posers are caught making eejits of themselves?

Final Sentence

As she’s heading back to prison one last time,
walking the final steps down from the dock -
she can no longer live a life of crime.

At school, the teachers thought they saw the signs –
borrowed items never given back.
As she’s heading back to prison one last time,

the memories flood in, the first cheap fines -
easy to pay. Techniques of love: so slick.
She can no longer live a life of crime

but she was young then, knew there was a line,
how she could cross it, pull just one more trick.
As she’s heading back to prison one last time,

regrets claw at her. She can’t see the gains.
Thought she would thrive on profitable sex.
She can no longer live a life of crime,

she’s old, exhausted, past it; and now pain
racks her body. Cancer’s struck.
As she’s heading back to prison one last time,
she can no longer live a life of crime.

Stephen

Woo-Hoo!

This really DID brighten my day!

It's a hard truth that nobody can make eejits of us but ourselves.
No. I'm not implying any eejits were made with this one. I'm still not entirely clear on the rules of this form. I thought the recurring lines were supposed to appear in more than just the last line of each stanza. Since I had never heard the term Villanelle before my grasp of it is only what I have read here.

I for one, appreciate the 'lessons' you present Stephen. I know others do too. I have learned a lot lately. Please continue as long as you feel like it.


Jack

(As)/ she’s hea/ding back/ to pris/on one/last time,
walking the final steps down from the dock - (And walks/the fin/al steps/down to/the dock)
she can/ no long/er live/ a life/ of crime.

At school/, the teach/ers thought /they saw/ the signs –
(With)borr/owed it/ems nev/er giv/en back.
As /she’s head/ing back/ to pris/on one /last time,

the mem/ories/ flood in/, the first /cheap fines -
(easy)/ to pay./ Techniques/ of love/: so slick.
She can /no long/er live/ a life/ of crime

but she/ was young /then, knew /there was/ a line,
how she/ could cross/ it, pull/ just one /more trick.
As/ she’s head/ing back/to pris/on one/ last time,

regrets/ claw at/ her. She/ can’t see/ the (gains.)?
Thought she/ would thrive/ on prof/itab/le sex.
She can /no long/er live/ a life/ of crime,

she’s old/ exhaus/ted, past/ it; and/ now pain
racks her body. Cancer’s struck. (That racks/her bod/y…I dunno Canc/er’s struck/……. you need another couple of syllables)
As/ she’s head/ing back/ to pris/on one/ last time,
she can/ no long/er live/ a life /of crime.



VILLANELLE
A poem in a fixed form, consisting of five three-line stanzas followed by a quatrain and having only two rhymes. In the stanzas following the first, the first and third lines of the first stanza are repeated alternately as refrains. They are the final two lines of the concluding quatrain.

Iambic pentameter - is off in a couple of places, and you’re short in a couple of lines. I don’t know about substitutions, ‘easy’ being trochaic, but it sounds fine to me. You’d have to get someone like Hugh to scan it. You have an extra syllable with ‘as’ but that sound OK to me too. Gains doesn’t rhyme with crime, you could knock the ‘s’ off signs and fines. I thought the middle lines were supposed to rhyme too, but I’m sure there are variants to the standard form.


Hope you don’t mind, you’re always asking for something more than, great, or well done. I liked the poem, it has a worn and weary sound to it, just as I imagine she would feel.

JP

Sorry, I meant down from the dock as you had put it.

JP, how could you, here I am, sobbing into my beer, cutthroatrazor at my wrist, my beloved poem littered across cyberspace, backslashes everywhere. Another gin and harpic, landlord!!

Your critique is excellent. You have noticed all the variations I have introduced into the form: the villanelle rules have been followed to the letter, but I've taken liberties with rhyme and metre, for effect. It might help if I set out below the commentary I sent to my tutor to accompany the submitted poem. The caning takes place shortly, so if you could send me something first class post to stuff down my trousers, I'd be grateful.
Unless Jack will take my place, Sydney Carton-style?

'The couplet should ‘stand alone’ at the heart of the meaning, and I think that mine does: but the reader perhaps assumes that the life of crime has come to an end because of remorse or regret - rather than the death which is the twist in the last stanza.

Avoiding the iambic bongos: the couplet starts with an anapaest; the second lines of the stanzas start with either a trochee or a dactyl; and some continue in that metre. All the lines are pentameters, with the exception of the second line of the last stanza: a tetrameter starting with a molossus for effect – because that’s when death is mentioned and I wanted thudding feet.

The rhyme scheme is aba but I have taken liberties with some near-rhymes - perhaps stretching them quite a way with ‘gains’ and ‘pain’ - and the second lines all end differently with a variation on the ‘ck’ sound.

The title grew from the poem, and has the ambiguity, the hint of ‘death sentence’.

Stephen

To explain the 'iambic bongos' reference:


Sonnet:

All we need is fourteen lines, well, thirteen now,
and after this one just a dozen,
to launch a little ship on love's storm-tossed seas,
then only ten more left like rows of beans.
How easily it goes unless you get Elizabethan
and insist the iambic bongos must be played
and rhymes positioned at the ends of lines,
one for every station of the cross.
But hang on here while we make the turn,
into the final six where all will be resolved,
where longing and heartache will find an end,
where Laura will tell Petrarch to put down his pen,
take off those crazy medieval tights,
blow out the lights, and come at last to bed.

Billy Collins

Take off those crazy medieval tights? Never! This is England!!

Stephen

Stephen-

Whatever you must shove down your pants, take it like a man.
I usually yawn as I pass by anything that smells like a sonnet. This one was a real hoot!


Jack

How could I spend all that time trying to do a critique, when you meant to write it like that all along? I think it's I who should be crying in my beer. You deserve a beating, and I won't send you anything to stuff down your tights.
Next time would you kindly preface your work with an explanation of trochees, dactyls and the like.
Now wipe the molossus off your face and post your next one.
JP

Almost ayear has passed since I started this thread. Maybe one of the newbies would like to try the villanelle form?

Stephen

A refresher course, Stephen. There for a minute I thought you and Jack had merged into one person!


Les

omg, no. Just good friends.

Stephen

Bump for newbies

                NIGHT SHIFTS<br />

The lake is cold when the ducks have flown.
What goes away is what you can't retrieve.
Night shifts a little closer to the bone.

Dreams glisten like feathers and are blown
against the shore. You see and hear them leave.
The lake is cold when the ducks have flown.

The time has come to question all you own;
small things are gone and bright things can deceive.
Night shifts a little closer to the bone.

Is it enough to claim you've been alone?
You tighten into what you must perceive:
the lake is cold when the ducks have flown.

This landscape is as true as all you've known.
Some time is spent in learning how to grieve.
Night shifts a little closer to the bone.

Slack gone, you cherish water, air and stone.
At dusk and dawn you focus and believe
the lake is cold when the ducks have flown.
Night shifts a little closer to the bone.

WOW Northcountry. By George, I think you did it! Did she Stephen?
I was working on one myself this morning (I like this homework stuff),
but must call it a flop now that I've read Northcountry's. I'll keep at it.
This is fun.
Great job Northcountry!

Marty

I haven't posted any poems here before, but this one is a kind of 'spur of the moment' thing.



The Morning After

There’s never been a rose without a thorn;
Lie here beneath the leaves, the storm will pass;
The petals from the bloom have all been torn.

The dew is in your eyes, I could have sworn
Light scintillates in shards of coloured glass;
There’s never been a rose without a thorn.

This sweet decay looks silver in the dawn;
The weather-vane has fallen in the grass,
The petals from the bloom have all been torn.

Each gentle beast is forced to raise his horn
When brambles bind him into an impasse;
There’s never been a rose without a thorn.

A pink-eyed pigeon heralds the pale morn,
Rain lies in scattered pools of molten brass,
The petals from the bloom have all been torn.

From tiny seeds all tangled growth is born,
This crumbling soil the seasons will surpass;
There’s never been a rose without a thorn,
The petals from the bloom have all been torn.

Thanks for the kind comments, Marty! I hope you carried on with yours and will post it soon.

Rikki--if this is spur of the moment, I can't even imagine what you might do if you took lots of time! This is a fine poem, a lovely villanelle. You have two strong 'anchor' lines, and just carried on beautifully! Although the rhyme scheme and format are probably more obvious in a villanelle than any other form I can think of, this has a nice flow and a kind of sweet, gentle sadness. Kudos!

ncw

Very nicely done, Rikki. A great example of the form.

Les

NCW, I like yours as well. I'll have to think about a good repetitive line before I dare attempt one of these. Perhaps I'll have to go back and read some more of Will's work to become so inspired.

Les

ncw, your poem is lovely; it has a subtle, poignant sense of loss, of shifting values - maybe to do with growing older, or the end of a relationship? It's very effective, I can feel the chill.

Thanks for your comments too!

rikki.

Thank you, Les.

rikki

Good ol' post holiday try. Gobble Gobble!

FOWL'S DRESS

Fowl is tasteful when properly dressed
A girth with salt and bread to stuff
The naked eye is not impressed.

From inside out his flavor's blessed
Looks alone are never enough
Fowl is tasteful when properly dressed.

Rubbery skin over sagging breast
At first glance, is met with rebuff
The naked eye is not impressed.

The table will be the final test
If we stay in, to call the bluff
Fowl is tasteful when properly dressed.

Feathers matted, bouffant bird's nest
Stuttering voice of a sailor, rough
The naked eye is not impressed.

The butcher's block is bloody messed
Death by murder, always tough
Fowl is tasteful when properly dressed
The naked eye is not impressed.

some nice replies here.

more of ncw's artistry, 'Night Shifts.'

Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 04/02/2013 06:31PM by petersz.