villanelle

Free – An older villanelle

Since a lot of my poetry these days is written to my other blog, I thought it’d be nice to share here some of my less erotically themed pieces. I don’t write them as often, as I am one who finds his poetic skills work best with passionate play, but some of them I am very fond of. This one, a villanelle written shortly after the finalization of my divorce, is such a piece. I was at the time a bit overwhelmed by the feeling of freedom, much, I imagine, as a prisoner might feel when first released after a long, difficult sentence.

I give you “Free.”

How strange, the way that freedom seems to feel,
No longer shackled to miseries past
When once I suffered ‘neath another’s heel.

For when no more my will is made to kneel
On hurtful deeds that grind like shattered glass,
How strange, the way that freedom seems to feel!

Now freed, I find I can at last reveal
The inner scars I thought would ever last
When once I suffered ‘neath another’s heel.

No more these mortal wounds must I conceal
That e’en my will to live, nearly surpassed;
How strange, the way that freedom seems to feel.

But aired and breathing, now I find they heal,
No longer poked, where formerly harassed
When once I suffered ‘neath another’s heel.

Divorce, I fought so hard against, in zeal;
But now I see my efforts were miscast.
How strange, the way that freedom seems to feel,
When once I suffered ‘neath another’s heel.

 

 

 

A villanelle…

I kissed her on her alabaster skin,
Where sun-sent bronze had never staked its claim,
And marveled at the joys I found therein.

She did as well, as evidenced in grin.
And as a blush spread quick throughout her frame,
I kissed her on her alabaster skin.

Her form, less hourglass, more violin,
I stroked, love’s melodies seeking to tame,
And marveled at the joys I found therein.

Though ne’er a great composer have I been,
When played on her, a symphony became;
I kissed her on her alabaster skin.

With every cobbled note I did begin,
An aria of lust from out her came,
I marveled at the joys I found therein.

And then the great crescendo of our sin,
She shuddered, and as dully grew her flame,
I kissed her on her alabaster skin,
And marveled at the joys I found therein.

(About this poetic form, from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia: A villanelle (also known as villanesque)[1] 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. The word derives from Latin, then Italian, and is related to the initial subject of the form being the pastoral.The form started as a simple ballad-like song with no fixed form; this fixed quality would only come much later, from the poem “Villanelle (J’ay perdu ma Tourterelle)” (1606) by Jean Passerat. From this point, its evolution into the “fixed form” used in the present day is debated. Despite its French origins, the majority of villanelles have been written in English, a trend which began in the late nineteenth century. The villanelle has been noted as a form that frequently treats the subject of obsessions, and one which appeals to outsiders; its defining feature of repetition prevents it from having a conventional tone.)