this bastard
villanelle
wont let me write about wild flowers on rooftops or
coal loading staithes, absent
grandfathers
so I shrug
and I sulk
waiting for the bolder to roll
it's territorial teeth
bared and bold
backing me into a corner
a cul
de
sac
this bastard
villanelle
clay feet
mid air
she's in between
she's almost there
what is unbearable she must bear
the constant now
clay feet mid air
this taciturn communion air
the fallen...fell
she's almost there
this vaudeville unending prayer
his bone dry womb
clay feet mid air
straw men collide with excess flare
a shrug a wink
she's almost there
this bastard villanelle laid bare
a slip of form
clay feet mid air
she's almost
there
6 comments:
form does the same to me as well...damn form...haha...some wicked flow in this and amazing imagery....smiles.
Ha! Very clever. Well done. k.
Such a clever write--form always ties me up in knots!
Nicely done !
Dry and witty twisted villanelle that works very well--and what's unbearable she must bear is a most appropriate line here. Form can confine, but pressure also makes diamonds. ;_)
an intense struggle lies here,
but in the end she made it there.
I think bastard might be a strong word, but I too find form frustrating (and yet quite rewarding. nice piece.
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