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Rayma Sep 16
Devilish days do well to waste,
with blackout curtains and ink-stained hands,
waiting for sunset when time’s erased.

Those feeble floorboards you often paced,
will creak and moan ‘til you understand;
devilish days do well to waste.

Fight for the feelings that have been replaced,
fight to keep hold of those waning strands,
waiting for sunset when time’s erased.

The sun will set on all you’ve faced,
an eclipse which you cannot withstand;
devilish days do well to waste.

And *****-laced tear tracks chased
by broken glass that pours out sand,
waiting for sunset when time’s erased.

When your thoughts have been misplaced,
I’ll be there to take your hand.
Devilish days do well to waste,
waiting for sunset when time's erased.
written for the fifth Creative Writing prompt - any form! We discussed villanelles in class, and although I wanted to try something I hadn't heard of, my heart led me back here. I always tend for free form, so writing within very specific rules was different, fun, and super frustrating. I love the structure of a villanelle, but I ended up with three words for which it was super hard to find applicable rhymes, but I was determined to keep my opening stanza. It was like some crazy puzzle with words!
Emma Peterson Aug 13
We see the stars not empty space
When looking at the nighttime sky;
Dark will not win, it won't erase.

We turn our cheek, sun on our face
Through pain that we can not deny,
We see the stars not empty space.

And Mars can’t beat the human race
As he tempts with fake alibis.
Dark will not win, it won't erase.

With wonder, hopeless, we all chase
A comet, space dust, soaring by.
We see the stars not empty space.

When we get lost off in someplace
Our galaxy will soothe the cries.
Dark will not win, it won't erase.

The universe, a wondrous place
Doth gift the planets to our eyes,
We see the stars not empty space,
Dark will not win, it won't erase.
Inspired by the following quote from Ray Bradbury's "The Martian Chronicles":
“Love won over hate if you danced through the night and did not let sorrow steal your soul”
B D Caissie Aug 10
Your verbal volcano, ash falls like tainted snow.

You left me staring skyward, grey-streaked tears.

My smothered heart, entrusted to you in escrow.

All your late night exits put on quite a roadshow.

Left alone again in love, what an oxymoron.

Your verbal volcano, ash falls like tainted snow.

I looked for help, there best advice was to lie low.

One look at your broken smile, intoxicating, here we go again.

My smothered heart, entrusted to you in escrow.

This so-called love is a choke hold, will you ever let go.

Your loves a noose, my necks on the line and you're the rope.

Your verbal volcano, ash falls like tainted snow.

Said you love me more than life, but that your dead inside though.

Ironically, only you can save me, heal my soul, set me free.

My smothered heart, entrusted to you in escrow.

You're my bad habit, you're the hurt I'm in love with, who knows.

You shake things up good, but leave me broken inside.
Your verbal volcano, ash falls like tainted snow.

My smothered heart, entrusted to you in escrow.
A villanelle (also known as villanesque)is a nineteen-line poetic form consisting of five tercets followed by a quatrain. There are two refrains and two repeating rhymes, with the first and third line of the first tercet repeated alternately until the last stanza, which includes both repeated lines. The villanelle is an example of a fixed verse form.


Not sure if I got it all right. Please let me know if I missed something.
Breon Jul 15
The summer sun's an auger drilling deep
To sap my will and hasten my decline,
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep.
From when its faintest rays begin to creep
Beyond the long horizon's boundary line,
The summer sun's an auger, drilling deep.
When morning comes, I'll buy my living steep,
But living wilts me 'till I can recline
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep
As if I died, as if I'd get to keep
The scrapings that I'd earned, as if they're mine.
The summer sun's an auger, drilling deep.
Each moment sowing seeds I'll never reap
Comes twisting down around my brain and spine -
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep.
All wisdom, wits, and words ring hollow, cheap,
Some wilted offerings at a broken shrine.
The summer sun's an auger, drilling deep,
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep.
Eloisa Jul 15
You held my trembling hands, you hugged me tight
When I couldn’t feel and was so numb
You carried me throughout these sleepless nights

In my own chaotic mess that I’m trapped
I begged you to unsee what I’ve become
You held my trembling hands, you hugged me tight

I drowned in the dark secrets of my heart
Like a child, you cradled me in your arms
You carried me throughout these sleepless nights

I’ve spent years of dreaming on lonely nights
In this prison cell that I’d like to burn
You held my trembling hands, you hugged me tight

It felt so untrue but it seemed so right
You healed the turbulence beneath my skin
You carried me throughout these sleepless nights

Though my life presented a dreadful sight
An **** past I’ve tried to leave behind
You held my trembling hands, you hugged me tight
You carried me throughout these sleepless nights
sharpcastuser Jun 30
Upon the arrival of spring
He waits patiently by her side
The news of a marriage we bring

In the chapel, the bells doth ring
The young groom announces his bride
Upon the arrival of spring

To mark this occasion we sing
As friends gather from far and wide
The news of a marriage we bring

O Angel of love spread your wings
Forever here, may love reside
Upon the arrival of spring

The day is marked with their wedding
On this path, together they stride
The news of a marriage we bring

A new leaf their hearts be turning
Passions no longer will they hide
Upon the arrival of spring
The news of a marriage we bring

© 2004 - Pres  Hello-Poetry.com - All Rights Reserved
A Villanelle About Spring Romance
sharpcastuser Jun 30
God has hope for us in His world.
Can't let their egos get me down.
Love for him in my heart I hold.

His trust is what makes me feel bold.
Makes me wear His strength like a crown.
God has hope for us in his world.

With His Faith like shimmering gold.
In his sea of peace, I will drown.
Love for him in my heart I hold.

Time and again, we have been told.
In times of sorrow, to hold ground.
God has hope for us in his world.

Lies dissolve, the truth will unfold.
Pain and suffering are unbound.
Love for him in my heart I hold.

Without Him, my conscience was cold.
In His Love, my soul I have found.
God has hope for us in his world.
Love for him in my heart I hold.

© 2004 - Pres  Hello-Poetry.com - All Rights Reserved
Villanelle spiritual
A villanelle about having hope in times of trouble.
Who lives in this kingdom on the cloud?
Come down; come here; show your form!
If you're all that mighty-proud...

Why whisper when you say that you are loud?
You claim, "If tempted, I'll bring down a storm."
Who lives in this kingdom on the cloud?

Are you alone, or centred by a crowd?
Do your trick; go awe me and perform!
If you're all that mighty-proud...

In your kingdom, is thought allowed,
Or will your voodoo help the world transform?
Who lives in this kingdom on the cloud?

You are proving that you have not wowed;
Your heart is weak and isn't warm.
Who lives on this kingdom on the cloud––
If you're all that "mighty-proud"?
Hehehe, just a villanelle from when I was bored in biology.
David Adamson May 31
We are travelers all our lives.
Like the sun and moon, never come to rest.
When the body stops, the motion survives.

Time twists inside me.  I buried two wives,
their love spent on an endless road.  My quest  
consumed them, traveling all their lives.

Profligate summer mocks my waning drives.
Riddles of the road languish here, unguessed,
where my body stops. The motion survives

In my art’s vigor, you say, derives
force from what now seems the bitter  jest
that we are travelers all our lives.

My friend, before the end arrives
There must be time to seek again the west
beyond the sunset, where motion survives

in the dying sun, blazing, as it revives  
inhuman tongues that said it best
that we are travelers all our lives.
When the body stops, the motion survives.
David Adamson May 29
Patiently waiting for the perfect light.
Glassy lake, wind, clouds, perfection’s near
as the moment dwindles into night.

Captured moments prove that you’re alive, a height
of feeling between depths of time and fear
that living casts only imperfect light.

But the moment missed is like a face out of sight
that against all logic you hope will appear
from around a corner, framed by the night.

Technology offers consolation in its sleight
of hand:  Digitally correct the analog here
and now, counterfeit the perfect light.

Yet you want more than the remastered byte.
You want the flash between waiting and souvenir,
Self and spectacle fused, reality felt right.

And so you wait for what’s passing out of sight,
the collision between soon and too late, sheer
threads connecting to the perfect light
before the moment dwindles into night.
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