Here's one I wrote but posted on another thread. I'll put it here to keep the momentum of this thread.
The ocean, moonbright, a mirror, clear,
Nightpulsing, offers up the Lake of Dreams
reflected on black currents. I draw near
toward the midnight breakers, and I hear
strange echoes where the dreampool moon begleams
The ocean, moonbright, a mirror, clear.
Strange echoes sound: Cliffstranded cries of fear
from nightlost cattle storm the void with screams
reflected on black currents. I draw near
To where the knifing surf strikes up to tear
the stranded bog bare from its fielded seams.
The ocean, moonbright, a mirror, clear
rests as a chance of sleep to end this drear
of fraught seawanderings: Thoughtbroken streams,
relected on black currents. I draw near
Toward the mirror moon, to disappear
Beneath the shifting pulse of dreamspun beams
reflected on black currents. I draw near
The ocean, moonbright, a mirror, clear.
obviously I'm planning on reworking it, but this is what I came up with over the last hour, and I really like where its going.
I'm shaking off the shakes again
with a Black hair from a Velvet dog.
Swimming with the combination spins.
A Crystal haze over a Palace river of gin,
covered with the pine trees--lost in fog.
I'm ignoring these relentless shakes again.
The fifth day straight with Russian kings.
True potato-flavored for this Irish slob.
Drowning in the combination spins.
Southern jail with worms if I win.
Slurping agave azul from a trough.
I'm fighting off the demon shakes again.
The desperate Captain orders the plank in
spite of the witless captive's sobs.
The circling fins, and their barrel-bound spins.
My halved eyes are doomed to this sting.
The door in my nose was my very last shot.
So now I'm giving in to the shakes again.
I'm giving in to contemplation's spins.
The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway, is that its you, and that you're standing in the doorway.
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
Yes, fine so far. If the exercise is to produce a precise villanelle, you'll have to make sure the entire line is repeated and not just the line ending; but I really like it so far.
....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
The dim boy claps because the others clap.
The polite word, handicapped, is muttered in the stands.
Isn't it wrong, the way the mind moves back.
One whole day I sit, contrite, dirt, L.A.
Union Station, '46, sweating through last night.
The dim boy claps because the others clap.
Score, 5 to 3. Pitcher fading badly in the heat.
Isn't it wrong to be or not be spastic?
Isn't it wrong, the way the mind moves back.
I'm laughing at a neighbor girl beaten to scream
by a savage father and I'm ashamed to look.
The dim boy claps because the others clap.
The score is always close, the rally always short.
I've left more wreckage than a quake.
Isn't it wrong, the way the mind moves back.
The afflicted never cheer in unison.
Isn't it wrong, the way the mind moves back
to stammering pastures where the picnic should have worked.
The dim boy claps because the others clap.
The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway, is that its you, and that you're standing in the doorway.
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
As grains of sand form dunes,
blown from shore to shore,
a bone dry smoothness blooms.
Still trails dance over crescent moons
to a sun beat silent score.
As grains of sand form dunes
The wind sculpts to a whistled tune,
above whispered exchanges of folklore.
A bone dry smoothness blooms.
But, should wind leave too soon,
the dune will lie unsure.
As grains of sand form dunes.
In time, the journey will resume.
A sea is seen once more!
A bone dry smoothness blooms.
Wonder. To cross as a seabird's plume
or to return to its first shore?
A bone dry smoothness blooms,
as grains of sand form dunes.
To hell with the villanelle, for a while at least.
I will be the first to post that this is an excellent poem!!
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
Here's my revision, I took some of fins advice, and I would like some more. Do you think endstopping every line(but 1) makes it too slow?
Revision:
I'm shaking off the shakes again,
with a Black hair from a Velvet dog.
Swimming with the combination spins.
A Crystal haze over a Palace river of gin,
covered with the pine trees--lost in fog.
I'm shaking off the shakes again.
The fifth day straight with Russian kings.
True potato flavor for this Irish slob.
Swimming with the combination spins.
Southern jail with worms if I win.
Slurping blue agave from a trough.
I'm shaking off the shakes again.
The desperate Captain orders the plank in
spite of the witless captive's sobs.
Swimming with the combination spins.
All along she was just some illusion.
Hope for her cure was the only shot.
So now I'm giving in to the shakes again.
I'm giving in to contemplation's spins.
Here's one for nast with all the I's removed :
Shaking off the shakes again,
with a Black hair from a Velvet dog.
Swimming with the combination spins.
A Crystal haze over a Palace river of gin,
covered with the pine trees--lost in fog.
Shaking off the shakes again.
The fifth day straight with Russian kings.
True potato flavor for the Irish slob.
Swimming with the combination spins.
Southern jail with worms if one wins.
Slurping blue agave from a trough.
Shaking off the shakes again.
The desperate Captain orders the plank in
spite of the witless captive's sobs.
Swimming with the combination spins.
All along she was just some illusion.
Hope for her cure was the only shot.
Giving in to the shakes again.
Giving in to contemplation's spins.
The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway, is that its you, and that you're standing in the doorway.
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
THE PARADE
He walked with me in circles of grace
Though pain ensued-
He never lost his place.
The parade was long,quite a bore
We drank some beer-
Walked through an open door.
The door was tall and lean,
He squoze through-
The bar was immaculately clean.
We bumped into the crew
And drank and drank-
What more could we do?
The women and men came and went
clinging onto us all-
All we could do was vent.
"Let's get the hell out of here!"
"I feel like a whore!"
He drank his beer
We left the parade...with nothing to fear.
Does it go something like that?aba aba aba aba aba abaa?
Very nice.Ingenious Finns...good call.
A whisper and a thrill
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
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.
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
Well...a girl can try....it is aba aba aba aba aba abaa...isn't it?
the a's and b's all have to be the same rhyme.
it's kind of hard to explain.
it goes
blah blah blah blah red
something something dog
blah blah blah blah fred
blah blah blah blah dead
something something log
blah blah blah blah red
blah blah blah blah head
something something fog
blah blah blah blah fred
and so on. The first and last lines of the first stanza act as a refrain. In the second stanza, you end with the first line of the first stanza. in the 2nd stanza, you end with the last line of the first stanza and then alternate.
The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway, is that its you, and that you're standing in the doorway.
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
blah blah blah blah red
something something dog
blah blah blah blah fred
blah blah blah blah dead
something something log
blah blah blah blah red
blah blah blah blah head
something something fog
blah blah blah blah fred
you may not have meant this to be funny, however, LMAO!
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
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.
That's the best I've seen yet, or at least my favourite so far.
If I could find the shade or hue,
It wouldn't be pink,
It would be blue.
If I could whisper out my love for you,
It would not be mistaken,
It would not be askew.
If I could paint you a dream or two,
It wouldn't be a thousand words,
It would be quite a few.
If I could touch the budding dew,
It would not be beyond you,
It would not be out of view.
If I could be an actress without a cue,
It wouldn't be so subtle a loss,
It would be worse without you.
If I could profess my love for you,
Then I wouldn't feel so lonely,
It wouldn't be the same to woo,
And I wouldn't feel for you the love I always knew.
ADV 4-12-05 12:41am
A whisper and a thrill
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
its to actually repeat the same line again. Look at the other examples.
Thtas it Kwyjibo...I quit.I like my poem.I'm publishing it.Forget the villanelles.
I get it..but it seems so gitchy with the repetition if I were to put it in my poem.I dont know...maybe I'll try it some other time.I quit.I've craeted my own style of villanelle!
Thanks.:)
A whisper and a thrill
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
Comments
The ocean, moonbright, a mirror, clear,
Nightpulsing, offers up the Lake of Dreams
reflected on black currents. I draw near
toward the midnight breakers, and I hear
strange echoes where the dreampool moon begleams
The ocean, moonbright, a mirror, clear.
Strange echoes sound: Cliffstranded cries of fear
from nightlost cattle storm the void with screams
reflected on black currents. I draw near
To where the knifing surf strikes up to tear
the stranded bog bare from its fielded seams.
The ocean, moonbright, a mirror, clear
rests as a chance of sleep to end this drear
of fraught seawanderings: Thoughtbroken streams,
relected on black currents. I draw near
Toward the mirror moon, to disappear
Beneath the shifting pulse of dreamspun beams
reflected on black currents. I draw near
The ocean, moonbright, a mirror, clear.
I'm shaking off the shakes again
with a Black hair from a Velvet dog.
Swimming with the combination spins.
A Crystal haze over a Palace river of gin,
covered with the pine trees--lost in fog.
I'm ignoring these relentless shakes again.
The fifth day straight with Russian kings.
True potato-flavored for this Irish slob.
Drowning in the combination spins.
Southern jail with worms if I win.
Slurping agave azul from a trough.
I'm fighting off the demon shakes again.
The desperate Captain orders the plank in
spite of the witless captive's sobs.
The circling fins, and their barrel-bound spins.
My halved eyes are doomed to this sting.
The door in my nose was my very last shot.
So now I'm giving in to the shakes again.
I'm giving in to contemplation's spins.
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
I might in my revision change it.
Doesn't a precise villanelle need 10 syllables per line, and be in iambic pentameter?
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
See here.
The Freaks at Spurgin Road Field
The dim boy claps because the others clap.
The polite word, handicapped, is muttered in the stands.
Isn't it wrong, the way the mind moves back.
One whole day I sit, contrite, dirt, L.A.
Union Station, '46, sweating through last night.
The dim boy claps because the others clap.
Score, 5 to 3. Pitcher fading badly in the heat.
Isn't it wrong to be or not be spastic?
Isn't it wrong, the way the mind moves back.
I'm laughing at a neighbor girl beaten to scream
by a savage father and I'm ashamed to look.
The dim boy claps because the others clap.
The score is always close, the rally always short.
I've left more wreckage than a quake.
Isn't it wrong, the way the mind moves back.
The afflicted never cheer in unison.
Isn't it wrong, the way the mind moves back
to stammering pastures where the picnic should have worked.
The dim boy claps because the others clap.
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
As grains of sand form dunes,
blown from shore to shore,
a bone dry smoothness blooms.
Still trails dance over crescent moons
to a sun beat silent score.
As grains of sand form dunes
The wind sculpts to a whistled tune,
above whispered exchanges of folklore.
A bone dry smoothness blooms.
But, should wind leave too soon,
the dune will lie unsure.
As grains of sand form dunes.
In time, the journey will resume.
A sea is seen once more!
A bone dry smoothness blooms.
Wonder. To cross as a seabird's plume
or to return to its first shore?
A bone dry smoothness blooms,
as grains of sand form dunes.
To hell with the villanelle, for a while at least.
I will be the first to post that this is an excellent poem!!
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
This is a fine piece. What striking imagery! A blooming, bone dry smoothness. Well done indeed.
Revision:
I'm shaking off the shakes again,
with a Black hair from a Velvet dog.
Swimming with the combination spins.
A Crystal haze over a Palace river of gin,
covered with the pine trees--lost in fog.
I'm shaking off the shakes again.
The fifth day straight with Russian kings.
True potato flavor for this Irish slob.
Swimming with the combination spins.
Southern jail with worms if I win.
Slurping blue agave from a trough.
I'm shaking off the shakes again.
The desperate Captain orders the plank in
spite of the witless captive's sobs.
Swimming with the combination spins.
All along she was just some illusion.
Hope for her cure was the only shot.
So now I'm giving in to the shakes again.
I'm giving in to contemplation's spins.
Here's one for nast with all the I's removed
Shaking off the shakes again,
with a Black hair from a Velvet dog.
Swimming with the combination spins.
A Crystal haze over a Palace river of gin,
covered with the pine trees--lost in fog.
Shaking off the shakes again.
The fifth day straight with Russian kings.
True potato flavor for the Irish slob.
Swimming with the combination spins.
Southern jail with worms if one wins.
Slurping blue agave from a trough.
Shaking off the shakes again.
The desperate Captain orders the plank in
spite of the witless captive's sobs.
Swimming with the combination spins.
All along she was just some illusion.
Hope for her cure was the only shot.
Giving in to the shakes again.
Giving in to contemplation's spins.
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
He walked with me in circles of grace
Though pain ensued-
He never lost his place.
The parade was long,quite a bore
We drank some beer-
Walked through an open door.
The door was tall and lean,
He squoze through-
The bar was immaculately clean.
We bumped into the crew
And drank and drank-
What more could we do?
The women and men came and went
clinging onto us all-
All we could do was vent.
"Let's get the hell out of here!"
"I feel like a whore!"
He drank his beer
We left the parade...with nothing to fear.
Does it go something like that?aba aba aba aba aba abaa?
Very nice.Ingenious Finns...good call.
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
I screw up on it constantly, infact the only way I got the last one right was by re-reading correct ones posted earlier.
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.
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
the a's and b's all have to be the same rhyme.
it's kind of hard to explain.
it goes
blah blah blah blah red
something something dog
blah blah blah blah fred
blah blah blah blah dead
something something log
blah blah blah blah red
blah blah blah blah head
something something fog
blah blah blah blah fred
and so on. The first and last lines of the first stanza act as a refrain. In the second stanza, you end with the first line of the first stanza. in the 2nd stanza, you end with the last line of the first stanza and then alternate.
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
you may not have meant this to be funny, however, LMAO!
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
maybe I'll just turn that in to class for my villanelle!
ha
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
That's the best I've seen yet, or at least my favourite so far.
It wouldn't be pink,
It would be blue.
If I could whisper out my love for you,
It would not be mistaken,
It would not be askew.
If I could paint you a dream or two,
It wouldn't be a thousand words,
It would be quite a few.
If I could touch the budding dew,
It would not be beyond you,
It would not be out of view.
If I could be an actress without a cue,
It wouldn't be so subtle a loss,
It would be worse without you.
If I could profess my love for you,
Then I wouldn't feel so lonely,
It wouldn't be the same to woo,
And I wouldn't feel for you the love I always knew.
ADV 4-12-05 12:41am
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
its to actually repeat the same line again. Look at the other examples.
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
Thtas it Kwyjibo...I quit.I like my poem.I'm publishing it.Forget the villanelles.
I get it..but it seems so gitchy with the repetition if I were to put it in my poem.I dont know...maybe I'll try it some other time.I quit.I've craeted my own style of villanelle!
Thanks.:)
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?