INFORM POETS – VILLONNET
The Villonnet was created by D. Allen Jenkins.
A Villonnet is a hybrid of the Villanelle and the Sonnet. It has the Iambic Pentameter of both, but holds the four-stanza/line structure of the sonnet, while utilizing the two-line rhyme nature of the villanelle. The final stanza replaces the sonnet couplet with a typical villanelle tercet.
WALT’S VILLONNET:
MEDICAL INCONVENIENCE
Another bout of illness I must deal,
an inconvenient ailment for sure.
A sudden droop of facial malcontent,
another course of chemicals to heal.
The slur, though not pronounced is very real,
the left eye sags as if it were asleep.
The numbness in the arm, it does annoy,
another bout of illness I must deal.
A “mini” episode, it bears that seal,
a precursor to more destructive things.
A Transient Ischemia Assault,
another set of symptoms to reveal.
Another bout of illness I must deal,
existence always comes at quite the cost,
another course of chemicals to heal.
(C) Walter J Wojtanik, 2014
*** In the category of “shameless plug” I had announced recently that my first full poetry collection is now available. Entitled “DEAD POET… Once Removed”, it searches through various stages of life with all that you’ve come to expect from my work. And I am looking for feedback (positive or otherwise) which may end up on the rear cover of my next Volume. Follow the link below (book cover) for more information and a quick look!
Thanks for your inspiration and support!
~Walt
Oh, Walt, if this is autobiographical, I send my prayers…
Adding my prayers to Hen’s…
(“Where two or three are gathered…”) ❤
I’m joining the prayer chain. There is power in numbers.
I am not a praying person, but your poem places you in my thoughts, if indeed this is autobiographical. I hope all is, or will be, well. Is your book available through any means otehr than Amazon?
Prayers and congrats together.
Dreams of our Persian Kitten
Blue-eyed kitty, with fur of white
You look at us with mocking eyes
Are you pretending to be wise
And able to see in darkest night!
I who with my mortal claim
Taught you to come at my every call
Though you quickly understood not all
The results of my summons might be the same.
You with your exotic name
Still dreaming of the caliph’s tower
The silken robes that formed your bower
A life of luxury and fame…
Today you are content to take a nap
On a warm and loving human lap
And a food-bowl filled four times a day.
This is such a warm poem.
Poor Walt – I hope the TIA doesn’t recur. You’ve given us an excellent example of the villanet. The form is one to try later. OctPoWriMo and a Future Learn course are all I can cope with at the moment.
Love,
ViV
There are symptoms there that remind me of what a Stroke would do…..
Holding you up in prayer that answers and solutions will be found.
Bitter-sweet, this post…I hold you in my prayers and hope that you’ll be well soon with no recurrences.
I’m so proud of you to see this amazing collection, Walt…living and breathing, such an accomplishment, truly.
Warm smiles and wishes for wellness and continued success with your endeavors. 🙂
The Mountain Pass
The fierce winds blew the snow across the road
The posts along the way, her only guide
Her windshield cracked that morning at the side
Beneath the empty air, the river flowed
She carefully ascended up the pass
She thought of her two children in the back
For them she must continue on the track
Her reverie, for certain, didn’t last
The snow and wind blasts whittled on her nerves
Her life before just seemed to fade away
She pictured her car plunging in the gray
As she prevailed upon the mountain curves
The fierce winds blew the snow across the road
The hungry mountain pass had been denied
Beneath the empty air, the river flowed
This is what driving across Wolf Creek Pass in the winter is like.
Your words made it real, regardless of the name of the pass.
THE FIRST AND THE LAST
The last will sweat to make it through the gate.
The first are sure that when the end draws near,
There’ll be no need for them to cut a deal.
They will not on long lines be forced to wait,
For they expect that heaven is their fate.
But Jesus said, “The first will be the last,
The last, the first.” which brings a brand new spin.
The last will sweat to make it through the gate.
The first on earth can easily fill their plate.
The earthly last have gone without the bread,
But try their best to shun the lures of sin.
They will not on long lines be forced to wait.
The last will sweat to make it through the gate.
The truly first have mansions in God’s Land.
They will not on long lines be forced to wait.
#
THE POET’S PLIGHT
Before each prompt, I quietly inhale
to clear my head and focus on the need
to build a written puzzle from my mind
but even so, my words will sometimes fail.
I worry that my thoughts will somehow pale
when writing what my heart would like to say.
To overcome debilitating fear
before each prompt, I quietly inhale.
It’s difficult maneuvering this trail
to find a way to perfectly release
the images held captive in my brain
but even so, my words will sometimes fail.
Before each prompt, I quietly inhale
and pray my muses haven’t yet escaped
but even so, my words will sometimes fail.
© Susan Schoeffield
I think this is a wonderful, if subtle, paean to poetry. The phrase, ” build a written puzzle from my mind,” is so apt.
The use of repetition in this is so effective. Lovely poem.
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LEAF
The autumn season opens with a leaf
First one, then two, they pave a path of gold
Death celebrated with a glorious burst
With riotous joy, what room is there for grief?
Cold weather calls inside to book and leaf
To savor precious words in well-worn tomes
Turn the page and rediscover gems
Of autumn’s many joys, to read is chief
For harvest feasts, the table needs a leaf
To make more room for family and friends
An alphabet of wonders overfills
Unbuckle belts and take a nap, relief
Through autumn’s memories, take time to leaf
Remember laughter, tears and faith and joy
Both good and bad, don’t lose them to a thief
The use of “leaf” is subtly powerful here, in my opinion.
Oh Walt, I feel so sad about this illness. Although I am not a prayer person, know that you are in my thoughts. Get well.
Congratulations on your book! I can’t wait to read it.
Walt: Shoulders squared. Prayers lifted. Hugs en route.
Stranded
She strolled along the stranded winter beach.
A screech of seagulls rang inside her ears.
Another wave of brackish water wailed,
and rolled her way, yet not within her reach.
Her mind was far away, the colors bleached.
A pale sun hid behind a threatening cloud.
The seashells strewn at ocean’s hem lie broken
by February’s bitter winds. They each
said words too terrible–a quarrel that leached
all love–a draining mind, an empty heart.
Still young enough to see through starry eyes,
she felt all pledges they had made were breached.
She strolled along the stranded winter beach,
and turned to see the turbulence abate.
Waves rolled her way, yet not within her reach.
I think this is superb, and especially the phrase, “a quarrel that leached / all love.”
Thanks so much for your lovely comment. I found this form to be a difficult challenge, but am glad I followed through.
LINES COMPOSED ON A PARK BENCH
The asters all are in their glory days,
gleaming purple amidst the rust and gold
as autumn introduces warmth to cold
and I am reconciled to waning ways.
In former times I sang a song of praise
when orange seemed to pixelate the land,
but now the autumn bears a blush of bland;
the asters all are in their glory days
and Concord grapes are in their bursting phase
but, nonetheless, the days are trending short
and winter waits, to add the last retort,
and I am reconciled to waning ways.
The asters all are in their glory days
but you are gone, and so has laughter flown,
and I am reconciled to waning ways.
copyright 2014, William Preston
Wonderful villinettes, beautiful form. Walt you are in my prayers as well. God bless you w peace and ease and help. Your courage is inspiring.