From the archives, and in recognition of the opening of ModPo 2022

Blues Villanelle
(After King Hedley II)

This love song is a villanelle:

The format makes it easy to recall –

Poetry in two shades of blue.

Repeating sends the thoughts aflight:

The lines of text emerge in time –

This love song is a villanelle.

The words and sounds convey their truth,

The essence lies inside the tune –

Poetry in two shades of blue.

The blues they wail at disco night

Become the Sunday morning hymn –

This love song is a villanelle.

Our wanderings are all askew:
Our feet are painted backwards bound –
Poetry in two shades of blue.

We celebrate in loss or gain
In joy, in sadness, and between –
This love song is a villanelle:
Poetry in two shades of blue.

********************************

Flashback! Some stanzas from the 2021 Emily Dickinson Reading Marathon:

Day #2

I noticed –
when I read –
the time seems
not enough.
But when just listening –
the last half hour
seems to last forever.

I’d like to see
my own self read –
and hear me, too,
but for such vanity –
there’s not technology –
except do-it-yourself.

The voices, the faces,
and the white garments
of my fellow readers
bring me joy, pause.
Alas, my shirt – striped
and embroidered –
from my village –
will suffice.

Day #3

I love Emily’s mention of mills –
Of course, the mills all moved
From New England to NC
After the war – where labor was cheaper.
Then the same mills all moved
From NC to Vietnam – after that war.
When mills move, jobs also depart –
And that’s how we know who lost.
I found a 14-liner among the rest.
I dare not call it a sonnet – the experts
Might protest. But it was there,
Plain as day to any eyes that see
Or minds that count. It even had a volta
In its place. I read my sentence – steadily –

Day #7

She often mentions bumble bees
And many purple things –
She’s clearly been in love
A time or two.

She speaks of business deals
And such. You’d think
She has an MBA at least.

She must live near
A shipping port. She knows
That trade as well.

She also loves geometry!
And all her threads
On immortality suggest
she has a strategy
for her escape at last.

Poems I read at #ModPoOpenMic 10162021

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This poem has short lines.
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And your cell phone screen.

Your face still haunts me.

It second guesses my actions
And double checks all I say.

We live in lockdown.

I miss the freedom to travel,
Occasional lunch with friends.

But things could be worse.
It could be death by fire
Or flooding without an ark.

These lines are getting longer.
It’s a natural progression.
And I overran the 14-line limit:
Now it cannot be a sonnet.

Not a concrete poem sonnet

This poem defies the concept of concreteness.
It bubbles over the top of the walls
Of its container, like a boiling liquid –
Then flashes to steam, releasing its perfume.
Would that that were its final material state.
The perfume gets distilled into haiku,
Then changes state to sound, to melody,
Seeking eager and open noses and ears
Simultaneously in asynchronous effect.

It is still not at its end. Invisible
Atoms infiltrate the blood-brain barrier
And find a resting place. There it awaits
Retrieval as an oral combination, a word,
A passing thought, a feeling unexpressed.

To Filomena – my wife is watching

My wife says she can tell
When I’m writing poetry.
She says she sees me moving
In and out of space and time
And she wonders where it is I go.

I tell her I cross a mighty river

Again and again. One that separates
The temples of life’s renewal,
On the west coast facing east,
catching the first rays of sunrise –
From the tombs that guard the past,
On the east coast facing west,
basking in sunset’s glow.

Both a library and an archive,

A moving feast inside my mind.
Crossing back and forth between
Those two worlds creates an energy

source and a drug for my addiction.

She does that thing where she
Points two fingers at her eyes
And then at me. She’s watching.

Lockdown sonnet #11 – To Rona (AKA, the corona virus, COVID19), with love

Rona, you were never a passing thing,
Never a good time girl who tiptoed daintily
Through the sweetness of our days,
Leaving a faint trace of a summer memory.
OH. HELL. NAW! Rona, you came upending
All our ho-hum lives, taking us
To new levels of thinking and being.
Rona, you were never a sinful one-night stand.
I knew you were trouble when you
stuck your head in the doorway
And flashed that cunning smile.
My mother warned me about girls
Like you. Still, instead of chasing you away,
I brought you fully into my embrace.

Blues Villanelle for Seven Guitars

This love song is a villanelle:
The format makes it easy to recall –
Poetry in two shades of blue.

Repeating sends the thoughts aflight:
The lines of text emerge in time –
This love song is a villanelle.

The words and sounds convey their truth,
The essence lies inside the tune –
Poetry in two shades of blue.

The blues they wail at disco night

Become the Sunday morning hymn –
This love song is a villanelle.

Our wanderings are all askew:
Our feet are painted backwards bound –
Poetry in two shades of blue.

We celebrate in loss or gain,
In joy, in sadness, and between –
This love song is a villanelle:
Poetry in two shades of blue.
 

My wife’s favorite poem – Blues Villanelle for Seven Guitars

Blues Villanelle is my wife’s favorite poem in my collection, though she still refers to Invitation as my masterpiece. What do you think? Inspired by August Wilson’s Seven Guitars.

Blues Villanelle

This love song is a villanelle:

The format makes it easy to recall –

Poetry in two shades of blue.

Repeating sends the thoughts aflight:

The lines of text emerge in time –

This love song is a villanelle.

The words and sounds convey their truth,

The essence lies inside the tune –

Poetry in two shades of blue.

The blues they wail at disco night

Become the Sunday morning hymn –

This love song is a villanelle.

Our wanderings are all askew:

Our feet are painted backwards bound –

Poetry in two shades of blue.

We celebrate in loss or gain,
In joy, in sadness, and between –
This love song is a villanelle:
Poetry in two shades of blue.

#NaPoWriMo #8 – Villanelle

Blues Villanelle

This love song is a villanelle:
The format makes it easy to recall –
Poetry in two shades of blue.

Repeating sends the thoughts aflight:
The lines of text emerge in time –
This love song is a villanelle.

The words and sounds convey their truth,
The essence lies inside the tune –
Poetry in two shades of blue.

The blues they wail at disco night
Become the Sunday morning hymn –
This love song is a villanelle.

Our wanderings are all askew:
Our feet are painted backwards bound –
Poetry in two shades of blue.

We celebrate in loss or gain
In joy, in sadness, and between –
This love song is a villanelle:
Poetry in two shades of blue.