Archive for the ‘villanelle’ category

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“Villanelle to Glasses”

March 11, 2012

20120311-025505.jpg

Another week beginning, and here’s a new picture prompt from Tess Kincaid of Magpie Tales.  The real photograph by Uzengia Aleksander Nedic  is somewhat blurry;  my version (not blurry enough) is above, and my poem below.  I am also linking this poem to “Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads” for their Monday Open Link Day.

Villanelle to Glasses

Without glasses, the edges of my world are furred
like the ending of an echo, crush of shale.
Ideas are seen as if through water, blurred,

trooping muzzily through head, not shaped by word,
as if mind’s eye can’t make out thought’s detail
without glasses, the edges of my world so furred.

Then, too, I find my verbal memory’s slurred:
I’ll say this “peach” for onion, “kite” for sail;
ideas are seen as if through water, blurred,

and though I tell myself I’m quite absurd–
my mind’s still good, it’s only eyes that fail–
without glasses, the edges of my world are furred.

Even corrected vision’s not assured,
each type of lens its own peculiar jail,
where ideas are seen as if through water, blurred,

and I must make a choice between page or bird,
eternal grain of sand/horizon’s trail.
Without glasses, the edges of my world inferred, 
ideas are seen as if through water, blurred.

Have a nice (fully-lit and clear) Sunday.  And, if you get a chance, check out:  comic novel,NOSE DIVE,  book of poetry, GOING ON SOMEWHERE, or children’s counting book 1 MISSISSIPPI. )

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized, villanelle
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Comments: 21 Comments

Ode Not To Autumn -Eau’d Not to Autumn (“Swimming in Summer”)

January 12, 2012
The wonderful dVerse Poets Pub has a “form for all” challenge tonight to write an ode.  The prompt hosted by Gay Reiser Cannon cites Keats’ “Ode to Autumn.”  I’m not in great circumstances to write a new poem today, but the Keats brought up the closest thing I have to an Ode. Or should I say,”eau’d.”   (Sorry! And sorry too that some of you may have seen this villanelle before.  It is from my poetry book Going on Somewhere.  Check it out, and with it, my new comic novel NOSE DIVE.)

Swimming in Summer

Our palms grew pale as paws in northern climes
as water soaked right through our outer skin.
In summers past, how brightly water shines,

its surface sparked by countless solar mimes,
an aurora only fragmented by limb.
Our palms grew pale as paws in northern climes

as we played hide and seek with sunken dimes,
diving beneath the waves of echoed din;
in summers past, how brightly water shines.

My mother sat at poolside with the Times’
Sunday magazine; I swam by her shin,
my palms as pale as paws in northern climes,

sculpting her ivory leg, the only signs
of life the hair strands barely there, so prim
in summers past.  How brightly water shines

in that lost pool; and all that filled our minds
frozen now, the glimmer petrified within
palms, grown pale as paws in northern climes.
In summers past, how brightly water shines.

Categories: poetry, villanelle
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Comments: 12 Comments

Open Link – Another Villanelle – Things Past and Present –

December 27, 2011

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The Christmas season frequently brings up the ghosts of Christmases past. (Charles Dickens really hit on something there!)  Here’s a villanelle I am posting for dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night, which concerns that focus on the past.

As a preliminary note, I’d like to say that my mother’s mind keeps its objects in a very clear array.  (Seriously, Mom, “disarray” sounds more poetic!)   Also, the painting above, very poorly cropped in my photo, was made by one of my grandmothers.

My mother’s mind

My mother’s mind’s a disarray of lives
she tries to sort like bank statements or socks,
the memories of grandfathers, farms, old wives.

Land sold, cash lost–those tales as sharp as knives
that wound the dead–bringing anger that unlocks
my mother’s mind.  A disarray of lives

whose weave she’s sure will warp without her tithes,
her tributes to hard work (also hard knocks),
the memories of grandfathers, farms, old wives.

She rallies around their wits–ambition drives
her past more than her future-as time’s tick rocks
my mother’s mind, a disarray of lives.

Can’t bring them back; no, that’s not what she tries.
Simply to make them last, pry from pine box
those memories of grandfathers, farms, old wives–

substantiating them–so she too thrives.
Throat fills with tears she seeks, with fears she blocks–
my mother’s mind, a disarray of lives,
memories of grandfathers, farms, old wives.

(If you are interested in villanelles, check out my comic “Villain-elle” with elephants.  If you are interesting in checking out, then look up NOSE DIVE, my new comic novel, illustrated with Jonathan Segal.  A lot of fun!)

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized, villanelle
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Comments: 20 Comments

Contrast/Villanelles/”Villain-elle” (With Watercolors and Elephants)

December 22, 2011

I am a great lover of villanelles.  I am reposting “Villain-elle” today because it illustrates an important tool in villanelle writing: contrast. 

Contrast in poetry, the subject of a thoughtful prompt by Victoria C. Slotto for dVerse Poets Pub , is a useful tool for effects in all poetry, but it is especially useful in the repeating, and potentially static,  lines of a villanelle.  Contrast in a villanelle can come through changes in meaning, homonyms, enjambment (the breaking up and running over of lines), elephants.   (Note that I tried to put the lines of the poem in the drawings but they are incomplete and blurry so I’ve put them below each drawing, and the full poem below that.)  (I am also linking this poem to the poets’ rally.)

He twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see
and kept away from rope and railroad track,
for a cartoon villain was not what he would be–

what he sought was originality.
Wearing a hat that was not quite white, nor black,
he twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see,

until the day he met that Miss Bonnee,
whose single smile made all his knees go slack.

Though a cartoon villain was not what he would be,

she steered him to a classic robbery,
a bank heist with a gun, a car out back,

He twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see,

but see they could, if only digitally.

She whispered, as she relieved him of the sack,
that cartoon villain was not what he would be,

“my hero,” and other murmured fiddle-dee,


till his bent head received a good hard whack.

She twirled her stash when she thought no one could see.
A cartoon villain was not what she would be.

Here’s the poem without elephants!

VILLAIN-ELLE

He twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see
and kept away from rope and railroad track,
for a cartoon villain was not what he would be–

what he sought was originality.
Wearing a hat that was not quite white, nor black,
he twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see,

until the day he met that Miss Bonnee,
whose single smile made all his knees go slack.
Though a cartoon villain was not what he would be,

she steered him to a classic robbery,
a bank heist with a gun, a car out back,
He twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see,

but see they could, if only digitally.
She whispered, as she relieved him of the sack,
that cartoon villain was not what he would be,

“my hero,” and other murmured fiddle-dee,
till his bent head received a good hard whack.
She twirled her stash when she thought no one could see.
A cartoon villain was not what she would be.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

P.S.  If you like humor, poetry or elephants, don’t forget to check out my books NOSE DIVE, GOING ON SOMEWHERE and 1 MISSISIPPI on Amazon.  Thanks much.

P.P.S. = Accidentally dropped “Whack” painting from first posting of this.  So sorry!  (Kind of tired when posting but had a nap now!)

Categories: elephants, poetry, Uncategorized, villanelle
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Comments: 45 Comments

Expression of Emotion in Poetry (Muted) – Burned Soldier

December 8, 2011

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Victorio Ceretto-Slotto is hosting the dVerse Poets Pub “Meet the Bar” event today, and has posted an article about infusing poetry with emotion through use of particular detail and metaphor (among other things.)   She has very kindly included my poem “Far” in her article.  (I am also, at a later date, linking this poem to the Poetry Picnic.)

Here’s another older poem, a villanelle, that doesn’t really have the kind of particular detail Victoria writes of.  Still, I’m posting it because it deals, quite literally, with the muted  expression of emotion.  (My apologies that some readers may have seen this poem, or its companion villanelle.)

Burned Soldier (A Mask For Face)

He tried to smile but found that skin would balk;
a mask for face was not what he had planned.
Right action should give rise to right result,

saving the day as it called on God to halt
all burn and bite of bomb as if by wand;
he tried to smile but found that skin would balk.

When they talked of graft, he always thought of molt,
as if his flesh held feathers that could span
right action, then give rise to right result:

cheeks that were smooth but rough, but loose but taut—
it all had been so easy as a man.
He tried to smile but found that skin would balk.

Hate helped at times; to think it was their fault.
But how could “they” be numbered? Like grains of sand,
like actions that give rise to like result,

like eyes that fit in lids not white as salt.
This lead white face was not what he had planned.
He tried to smile but found that skin would balk;
right action should give rise to right result.

On a very different (i.e. humerous) note, check out my new silly teen novel, Nose Dive, by Karin Gustafson, illustrated (terrifically) by Jonathan Segal.   (When you’re there–take a look at Going on Somewhere, or 1 Mississippi.)  Sorry–but it’s that time of year.

Categories: iPad art, poetry, Uncategorized, villanelle
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Comments: 28 Comments

Magpie Tales (91) – Villanelle to Wandering Mind

November 13, 2011

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I am posting this in response to the prompt of Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales.  Tess posts an interesting photo each week.  Because I like to use my own art work (except the current header landscape by Jason Martin), I’ve redone the photo (more or less).

In this case, due to the chaotic conditions of this particular November day, I’m cheating a bit, in that my poem below does not completely fit with the photo, and is also a poem  that I have posted before.  (But what’s cheating in love and poetry? Ummm… not a great thing.  Sorry.)

Still, it is an interesting poem, and although I think it belongs to the image of an older female–i.e. one about my own age–it does describe a certain twilit mental crossroads (one without clear signposts, and perhaps, several empty chairs.)

Villanelle to Wandering Brain

Sometimes my mind feels like it’s lost its way
and must make do with words that are in reach
as pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day,

when what it craves is crimson, noon in May,
the unscathed verb or complex forms of speech.
But sometimes my mind feels like it’s lost its way

and calls the egg a lightbulb, plan a tray,
and no matter how it search or how beseech
is pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day.

I try to make a joke of my decay
or say that busy-ness acts as the leech
that makes my mind feel like it’s lost its way,

but whole years seem as spent as last month’s pay,
plundered in unmet dares to eat a peach—
as pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day.

There is so much I think I still should say,
so press poor words like linens to heart’s breach,
but find my mind has somehow lost its way
as pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day.

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized, villanelle
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Comments: 23 Comments

National Poetry Month-Day 13- “Villain-elle” With Elephants

April 13, 2011

Unfortunately, it’s a bit hard to read the text in the pictures (it’s kind of small and blurry), so I have printed the full text below the pictures.  Jump to that, if you can’t read on the frames.

Here’s the poem without elephants!

VILLAIN-ELLE

He twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see
and kept away from rope and railroad track,
for a cartoon villain was not what he would be–

what he sought was originality.
Wearing a hat that was not quite white, nor black,
he twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see,

until the day he met that Miss Bonnee,
whose single smile made all his knees go slack.
Though a cartoon villain was not what he would be,

she steered him to a classic robbery,
a bank heist with a gun, a car out back,
He twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see,

but see they could, if only digitally.
She whispered, as she relieved him of the sack,
that cartoon villain was not what he would be,

“my hero,” and other murmured fiddle-dee,
till his bent head received a good hard whack.
She twirled her stash when she thought no one could see.
A cartoon villain was not what she would be.

All rights reserved.

P.S.  If you like villanelles, look at that category or tag on the site, as I’ve posted a bunch.

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized, villanelle
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Rain, Melting Snow, Draft Villanelle

December 12, 2010

Rain Today, Melting Snow

A rainy day.  I thought I’d try a villanelle; the draft is below.  In this one, I’ve played with internal rhyme and word repetition; also used slant rhyme to avoid the flippancy of straight rhyme.  I am linking this also to Bluebell Books short story slam–their picture was a girl outside in the rain–this is a woman inside (in bed with iPhone) in the rain! 

Any suggestions, re-writes, corrections–feel free to let me know!

 

Rain today, melting snow

 

 

It rains today.  What was a scrim of white
frays to a stark and intermittent thread,
as browning fields bring softness to the eye,

 

and rumpled folds of brush and weed deny
the brambles that will later stalk my tread.
It rains today.  What is a scrim of white–

the screen that fixates, though two inches wide–
and, like a stalker, ties me to my bed–
(’till browning fields bring softness to the eye)

as intermittent glances, window-wise,
prise digital fingers from my real-world head.
It rains today; what was a scrim of white,

 

as bright outside as in, in puddles lies–
as clear as any water (over mud).
The browning fields bring softness to the eye,

 

reminding one that even autumns die,
snow too, its shine reduced to what was then
by rains today, a threadbare scrim of white.
The browning fields bring softness to the eye.

I appreciate that the poem has a certain similarity to other efforts of mine.  (But there it is–you write what you write.)

For other villanelles, or posts about the mechanics of villanelle writing, check out the category “villanelle” here.

 

Categories: poetry, villanelle
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Comments: 13 Comments

An Egg Is Not A Light Bulb

October 26, 2010

An Egg Is Not A Light Bulb

You make mistakes sometimes.  (If you are like me, you may wish to substitute the words “often” or “frequently” or “constantly” for the temporal element in that last sentence.)

Oddly, the resulting embarrassment, shame, recrimination can be just as intense with small mistakes as big ones.

After all, caught in the wallop of a catastrophic misjudgment, you may feel that fate, or at a minimum, genetics, have conspired against you, while little stupidities seem all your own fault.  Or worse, your brain’s fault–your decaying, ill-functioning, brain.  Even worse–your not-decaying, but lifelong-faulty, brain.

I read a confirmation code to someone today that started with the letters HTO.  It was only after he said “that’s easy to remember, like water,” that I realized that I’d been repeatedly saying H2O.

And believe me, that was the least of it.

Computers compound one’s natural propensity for error–the screen providing a sympathetic gloss for the most flagrant typo; the automatic replace function exponentially upping the ante.

All of the above leads me to the reposting of a villanelle.  (I’m sorry if you’ve seen this one before, but perhaps, if you are like me, you’ve forgotten it…)

Villanelle to Wandering Brain

Sometimes my mind feels like it’s lost its way
and must make do with words that are in reach
as pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day,

when what it craves is crimson, noon in May,
the unscathed verb or complex forms of speech.
But sometimes my mind feels like it’s lost its way

and calls the egg a lightbulb, plan a tray,
and no matter how it search or how beseech
is pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day.

I try to make a joke of my decay
or say that busy-ness acts as the leech
that makes my mind feel like it’s lost its way,

but whole years seem as spent as last month’s pay,
plundered in unmet dares to eat a peach
as pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day.

There is so much I think I still should say,
so press poor words like linens to heart’s breach,
but find my mind has somehow lost its way
as pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day.

For more villanelles, or info on how to write them, check out that category from the ManicDDaily home page.

Categories: poetry, Stress, villanelle
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Comments: 3 Comments

“Swimming In Summer” – Villanelle For August

August 15, 2010

Swimming In Summer

I’ve posted this villanelle before, but it seems pretty appropriate for Sunday evening, mid-August.

Swimming in Summer

 

Our palms grew pale as paws in northern climes
as water soaked right through our outer skin.
In summers past, how brightly water shines,

 

its surface sparked by countless solar mimes,
an aurora only fragmented by limb.
Our palms grew pale as paws in northern climes

 

as we played hide and seek with sunken dimes,
diving beneath the waves of echoed din;
in summers past, how brightly water shines.

 

My mother sat at poolside with the Times’
Sunday magazine; I swam by her shin,
my palms as pale as paws in northern climes,

 

sculpting her ivory leg, the only signs
of life the hair strands barely there, so prim
in summers past.  How brightly water shines

 

in that lost pool; and all that filled our minds
frozen now, the glimmer petrified within
palms, grown pale as paws in northern climes.
In summers past, how brightly water shines.

(All rights reserved, Karin Gustafson)

For more about villanelles, how to write them, and how they are like Magnolia Bakery’s banana pudding, check out this and this.

And for more poetry by Karin Gustafson, get ready for a book!  Coming out soon!  It is called Going on Somewhere – with poems by Karin Gustafson, illustrations by Diana Barco.   I will be writing more about this soon.   In the meantime, check out the poetry category of this blog for prior poetry posts.

Finally, if you are more interested in elephants than poetry, check out1 Mississippi, a counting book for children, their parents and their pachyderms.


Categories: elephants, poetry, villanelle
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