Poetry Friday: The Dichotomy of Villanelles

I wasn't sure about pairing villanelles with the theme of dichotomy. After all, the form is all about repetition, with the first and third lines echoing throughout the nineteen line poem. Didn't that make for an argument of accumulation rather than one of division?  

Of course, there are only two end rhymes---a and b---so maybe that could hold some opposites. Or not. I honestly was stumped, and had done zero prep for our ZOOM write-in. But when I opened my document to noodle around during our session, I found a gift---the "dud" line that Linda Mitchell had given me in last month's "clunker exchange:"  

"A year, or maybe a century ago"

Hey! That was, if not exactly a dichotomy, at least a contradiction. And as for the idea of time itself, that's also rife with paradoxical tropes...in fact, my first laughable line to pair with the so-called "clunker" was a bona fide stinker:  

Does time fly, or does it flow?  

Didn't matter. I was headed somewhere. I had words on the page. And eventually, I wrote my way into a villanelle, and perhaps some delicious dichotomy. 

A year, or maybe a century ago
we were bitter young; we were freshly old
our hearts a creek in overflow

what we might do, where we might go
too weak to bear, if not be bold
a year, or maybe a century ago

the questions stung, but blow by blow
answers came, not one pre-told
our hearts a creek in overflow

broken neat, we mended calico
embraced by time’s sweet stranglehold
a year, or maybe a century ago

we brightly sunk to yawning low
crested yet in rivulets of shadow-fold
our hearts a creek in overflow

making of the rocky earth an archipelago 
unbounded yet, a swelling unconsoled 
a year, or maybe a century ago  
our hearts a creek in overflow.

-----Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)  

                                                                   

My poetry sisters are here:

Mary Lee (welcome to the poetry sisters!)

Tricia

Kelly

Andi

Liz

Tanita

Laura

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Becky at Sloth Reads. 

Poetry Friday: A Villanelle to Winter's Chill

Tanita threw out this challenge:  A villanelle on a wintry topic, including a pair of words (or homonyms thereof) from the following: bleak, draft, gutter, chill, chime, glitter, gust, harsh, rime, nip, thaw.

Brrrrrr!  A chilling task...and yet...faced with this, I ended up with....

...a love poem. How'd that happen?


How close

How close are we to ice and avalanches?
Far! Far! These are but gusty jabs and powder stings;
for kiss of starling’s tail knocks snow from branches.

Landing there, in tree still quick with green, he stanches
this dusting of winter’s rime, and clears himself a seat.
How close are we to ice and avalanches

if tree, armed in white, shrugs? forgoes stern glances?
offers us, again, shelter for embraces sweet
while kiss of starling’s tail knocks snow from branches?

We laugh, walk on, our linked arms a pair of flanches
circling our summer hearts, which shudder and beat.
How close we are! To ice and avalanches,

we seal our eyes; instead, swear love. If then winter blanches
pale our days, rosy still our shielded heat.
How close we are to ice and avalanches!
Yet kisses knock snow from branches.

---Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)


My Poetry Sisters' glittering poems can be found here:

Tanita
Tricia
Laura
Liz


Poetry Friday is hosted today by Tabatha Yeats' The Opposite of Indifference.

Poetry Friday: A Villanelle Too Brief to be Believed

Brevity is the soul of wit, they say....

or perhaps it's only that too little time can make one punchy.

Whatever the case, when I realized The Poetry Sisters challenge was due this week---AND that the task was to compose a villanelle on the theme of the shortness of time---I, being actually VERY short of time---briefly (ha!) lost my mind and wrote the first thing that popped into my small brain.

(Or perhaps February always makes me get silly.)

In either case, it's no languid, genteel flow of words here today, folks---this poem is mercifully quick, and defectively concise.



A Villanelle Too Brief to be Believed

To rhyme "brevity"
requires no skill
but high levity;

forget grandevity--
it's years off your life; a pill
to rhyme brevity

with something shorter than longevity.
See? It’s no thrill.
But high levity

aside— yippee!—
wit is much more chill
to rhyme. Brevity,

to an alarming degree,
may be fast-acting, like NyQuil,
But high levity?

A truly jackrabbity
beast. Yet—what an ever so long-lasting thrill
to rhyme brevity
with high levity!

---Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)

I'm hoping my Poetry Sisters have put up something far more poignant.

Liz
Tanita
Laura
Kelly
Tricia

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Penny Parker Klostermann at A Penny and Her Jots.

Poetry Friday: Friends, Marrow Each to Each (A Villanelle)

I'm beginning to think that if Liz Garton Scanlon called for the moon to stay full an extra night or two, she would get it. Last year, she cajoled seven of us into writing a crown sonnet---even though the majority of us had never written a sonnet, crowned or uncrowned, before. This year, she eased up and requested but a villanelle apiece. Oh, with one rule: we had to use the words "friends" and "thanksgiving" in our repeating lines.

Again, I tumbled into the task; my first lines were atrociously weak. Again, I felt the rules of the form, the interlinking lines of the villanelle hold me up. And now? Now, I'm wishing for a lute to clutch so I could play minstrel and attempt to recite for my supper. I might be beaned with a stale roll for my trouble, but no matter. I'm a convert to villanelles, and no amount of heckling can dissuade me.

Here's my contribution to the seven villanelles posted today. You can find the links to each of them at Liz's place; it's astounding how varied and beautiful they all are.

Note: I tweaked Liz's rules and used "give thanks" rather than "thanksgiving." I did not, however, mess with "friends." That would've been foolish.


Friends, Marrow Each to Each


Friends, marrow each to each; else famine steals the feast;
Deck Brie in berries; fat the soup with heart-shaped clams;
Tho' light is gone, give thanks; in darkness, praise increase.

Gild lintels; silk-gird chairs; burn candles by the fist;
Salad greens dress in yolks and salted curls of ham;
Friends, marrow each to each; else famine steals the feast.

Honey-spike the squash; with silver eat, bright and greased;
Flood mouths with wine; potatoeswithbutter enjamb;
Tho' light is gone, give thanks; in darkness, praise increase.

Lift turkey, speckled trout and haunch of wilder beast;
From hand to hand, pass blessings with the loin of lamb;
Friends, marrow each to each; else famine steals the feast.

Cling to those beside you, crying, as for a priest;
Drench cake in cream; slather black bread with bursts of jam;
Tho' light is gone, give thanks; in darkness, praise increase.

If sing, full-throated keen; if dance, 'til dawn at least;
Hearts consumed by sorrow are hollowed gram by gram;
Friends, to all be marrow; else famine steals the feast;
Tho' light is gone, give thanks; in darkness, praise increase.


---Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)

*Marrow: 
1. A soft oleaginous substance contained in the cavities of animal bones.
2. The essence; the best part.
3. In the Scottish dialect, a companion; fellow; associate; match.
4. v.t. To fill with marrow or with fat; to glut.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Elaine at Wild Rose Reader.