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 Apr 2016 v V v
Joel M Frye
I tried to write a villanelle
The words come easier
when they're pretty,
form and meter
can be salves.
There is no relief
when writing
of family,
the three-sided dagger
leaves a wound
that must be packed
and never closes.

I tried to write a villanelle,
to package the truth
with enough honey
to make the bitter-roots
palatable;
it wouldn't go down easy,
wouldn't come out either.

This poem a finger
on the back
of my throat
to purge
to flush
to rinse my mouth
from the acid
regurgitated
The couplet of the proposed villanelle:

"No beauty in a family poem at all;
a portrait's empty space is on the wall."

NaPoWriMo 2016 day 2 - a family poem.
 Apr 2016 v V v
Nat Lipstadt
alliteration intervening invasion,
a bed-throned life journey summarily unasked for, reviewing

follow behind the collected beaming seams,
to the discolored end-of-a-whiting rainbow of writings

sack in hand, sack'd yet surfeiting,
gleaning the falling bits,
inventoried stories, the poor and the glorious

light droppings,
stir'd and stor'd in hopsack bag,
woven intervals of clashing fabrics

trilogy of
me, myself and I,
following falling, trailing, failing flalings

cross currenting, swirling,
disheartened chest heaving cursing
if only, a mite more sipping
of courage everlasting

here a memory,
there a visionary,
happy haunting,
glaceing eye dreams

keepsakes of a life
modesty and poorly lived
error prone, choices weak,
father confessor to the supremity of oneself

played safety first,
thirst quenching
with the unsatisfying yellowed bursts
of "it could be worse"

but these stuffing,
gleanings of a life,
uprighted night, declining days, admixture of son and moon,
women's flashing eyes inviting
happy danger and ending disaster inevitability

this sifted treasure chest
of self-selected retained
cursings and blessings,
the measuring cup of a tragedy
well acted, quantifiable pathos superb aplenty

a play veined with comedic relief,
a Falstaff for every Hal,
compare and contrast
your essays on the container storage
of dusted cells morning-mourning

summarizing gleams gleaned from a life well....dissatisfaction satisfied...truth in poetry
 Mar 2016 v V v
Joel M Frye
missing
 Mar 2016 v V v
Joel M Frye
your body yearns
for my feathering
fingers on your thighs,
for a mouth full
of tongues
and the fullness
you once had
,
what I once could give.
the fear of
not being enough
keeps me from
giving anything.
how selfish...
to keep what pleasure
can be had
from you
to keep from facing
what's been lost.
Just airing the stench from myself.
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