Villanelle: A French verse form calculated,
through its complexity and artificiality, to give
the impression of simplicity and spontaneity. The
villanelle was perhaps chiefly pastoral and an
element of formal lightness is still uppermost
since it is most frequently used for poetic
expression which is idyllic, delicate, simple,
and slight. In form the villanelle is
characterized by nineteen lines divided into five
tercets and a final four-line stanza and the
presence of only two rimes. The division of
verses is, then:aba, aba, aba, aba, aba, abaa.
Line 1 is repeated entirely to form lines 6, 12
and 18, and line 33 is repeated entirely to form
lines 9,15, and 19: thus 8 of the 19 lines are
refrain.
(From a Handbook to Literature, Revised
Thrall, Hibbard, Holman)
"Mad Girl's Love Song" by Sylvia Plath
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
Rockin' a Man, Stone Blind by Carolyn Beard Whitlow
Cake in the oven, clothes out on the line,
Night wind blowin' against sweet, yellow thighs,
Two-eyed woman rockin' a man stone blind.
Man smell of honey, dark like coffee grind;
Countin' on his fingers since last July.
Cake in the oven, clothes out on the line.
Mister Jacobs say he be colorblind,
But got to tighten belts and loosen ties.
Two-eyed woman rockin' a man stone blind.
Winter becoming angry, rent behind.
Strapping spring sun needed to make mud pies.
Cake in the over, clothes out on the line.
Looked in the mirror, Bessie's face I find.
I be so down low, my man be so high.
Two-eyed woman rockin' a man stone blind.
Policemans found him; damn near lost my mind.
Can't afford no flowers; can't even cry.
Cake in the oven, clothes out on the line.
Two-eyed woman rockin' a man stone blind.
The Waking by Theodore Roethke
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I cannot go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree, but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
East India Grill Villanelle by Cecilia Woloch
Across the table, Bridget sneaks a smile;
she’s caught me staring past her at the man
who brings us curried dishes, hot and mild.
His eyes are blue, intensely blue, hot sky;
his hair, dark gold; his skin like cinnamon.
He speaks in quick-soft accents; Bridget smiles.
We’ve come here in our summer skirts, heels high,
to feast on fish and spices, garlic naan,
bare-legged in the night air, hot and mild.
And then to linger late by candlelight
in plain view of the waiter where he stands
and watches from the doorway, sneaks a smile.
I’d dress in cool silks if I were his wife.
We try to glimpse his hands — no wedding band?
The weather in his eyes is hot and mild.
He sends a dish of mango-flavored ice
with two spoons, which is sweet; I throw a glance
across the shady patio and smile.
But this can’t go on forever, or all night
— or could it? Some eternal restaurant
of longing not quite sated, hot and mild.
And longing is delicious, Bridget sighs;
the waiter bows; I offer him my hand.
His eyes are Hindu blue and when he smiles
I taste the way he’d kiss me, hot and mild.
Sestina by Elizabeth Bishop
September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.
She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,
It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac
on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.
It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.
But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.
Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.
Wide Awake by Kim Noriega
“ …see whore, you're the kinda girl that I'da
Assault and rape and figure why not try to make your pussy wider
Fuck you with an umbrella, then open it up while that shit's inside ya"
— Eminem, "Stay Wide Awake”
“In the United States, 1.3 women are raped every minute.”
—The National Victim Center and Center for Crime.
Collusion with misogyny? Seriously?
You can’t bleed
from a song.
It’s a joke.
He’s pretending, to choke the bitch,
slap that ho, to cut
her up. Shit, what’s a little cut?
Nothing serious.
A little fist to her face? That chicken-head bitch
deserved to bleed—
Oh god, I’m joking.
They’re lyrics in a song.
A song
can’t make a man cut
his wife’s throat. What a joke.
Who'd take that seriously?
Who’d bleed
some bitch
in Central Park? Who’d rape some bitch
like in the song—
with an umbrella—while she bled
like rain? Who'd cut
her skull with a dull, uh, knife? Seriously,
who'd hack his wife into bite-sized pieces? He's joking.
Can't you take a joke—
bitch?
You're such a fuckin' drag, so fuckin' serious.
It's funny—a funny little song.
Laugh when he cuts
you, bitch. Laugh when you bleed.
It's hilarious—to be fucked with an axe, to be left, bleeding,
in the dirt, in the dark, a hip-hop joke—
if you’re hip enough to get it. No one’s cuttin’
up your best friend, no one’s raping your precious little daughter—just some skanky bitch
in a (Grammy winning) song
no one takes seriously.
Shit, what’s a little cut, a little of (our) blood
for the sake of art? Nothing serious. A joke.
Some dead bitch, in a song.
PANTOUM
Pantoum: Written in four line stanzas; lines two and four of which are repeated as
lines one and three in the next stanza. Lines 1 and 3 of first stanza become lines 2 and
4 of final stanza.
Here is the grid for the start of the pantoum:
____________________ (Line A)
____________________ (Line B)
____________________ (Line C)
____________________ (Line D)
____________________ (Line B)
____________________ (Line E)
____________________ (Line D)
____________________ (Line F)
____________________ (Line E)
____________________ (Line G)
____________________ (Line F)
____________________ (Line H)
And so on for as many stanzas as you want to write until the last, which has its own
special form.
The method of composing a pantoum is simple yet elegant. You first write a stanza of
four lines. The pantoum will work best if the lines are fairly intact- each expressing
just one basic idea or image. In the second stanza, it is time to let go of the idea that
you can control the pantoum. You cannot control its flow, or even its sense
completely--instead, you must allow the wave-like quality of the form to carry you
along. This is because of the nature of the pantoum's repetons--the lines that repeat. In
the pantoum you simply pick up lines 2 and 4 of the first stanza and plunk them down
as lines 1 and 3 of the next stanza. I always write out the repetons first. The good
news is--you have already written two lines of the quatrain. The more frightening
news is that you now have to connect the repetons with new lines. Don't think too
much here, spontaneity will help you, and it is probable that you first impulse about
what to write is the best.
The pantoum continues in the same fashion--lines 2 and 4 pick up and repeat as lines
1 and 3. I have alphabetized my grid, but you can number yours if that works more
clearly. I always visualize a pantoum as a slinky going down a flight of stairs--it is
smooth, fluid, and repetitious.
THE YELLOW STAR THAT GOES WITH ME by Jessica Greenbaum
Sometimes when I’m really thirsty, I mean really dying of thirst
For five minutes
Sometimes when I board a train
Sometimes in December when I’m absolutely freezing
For five minutes
Sometimes when I take a shower
Sometimes in December when I’m absolutely freezing
Sometimes when I reach from steam to towel, when the bed has soft, blue sheets
Sometimes when I take a shower
For twenty minutes, the white tiles dripping with water
Sometimes when I reach from steam to towel, when the bed has soft, blue sheets
Sometimes when I split an apple, or when I’m hungry, painfully hungry
For twenty minutes, the white tiles dripping with water
As the train passes Chambers Street. We’re all crammed in like laundry
Sometimes when I split an apple, or when I’m hungry, painfully hungry
For half an hour, sometimes when I’m on a train
As it passes Chambers Street. We’re all crammed in like laundry
It’s August. The only thing to breathe is everybody’s stains
For half an hour. Sometimes when I’m on a train
Or just stand along the empty platform
It’s August. The only thing to breathe is everybody’s stains
Sometimes when I board a train
Or just stand along the empty platform —
Sometimes when I’m thirsty, I mean really dying of thirst
BAREBACK PANTOUM by Cecilia Woloch
One night, bareback and young, we rode through the woods
and the woods were on fire —
two borrowed horses, two local boys
whose waists we clung to, my sister and I
and the woods were on fire —
the pounding of hooves and the smell of smoke and the sharp sweat of boys
whose waists we clung to, my sister and I,
as we rode toward flame with the sky in our mouths —
the pounding of hooves and the smell of smoke and the sharp sweat of boys
and the heart saying: mine
as we rode toward flame with the sky in our mouths —
the trees turning gold, then crimson, white
and the heart saying: mine
of the wild, bright world;
the trees turning gold, then crimson, white
as they burned in the darkness, and we were girls
of the wild, bright world
of the woods near our house — we could turn, see the lights
as they burned in the darkness, and we were girls
so we rode just to ride
through the woods near our house — we could turn, see the lights —
and the horses would carry us, carry us home
so we rode just to ride,
my sister and I, just to be close to that danger, desire
and the horses would carry us, carry us home
— two borrowed horses, two local boys,
my sister and I — just to be close to that danger, desire —
one night, bareback and young, we rode through the woods.
"Shakespearean Sonnet" by R. S. Gwynn
(With a first line taken from the tv listings)
A man is haunted by his father's ghost.
Boy meets girl while feuding families fight.
A Scottish king is murdered by his host.
Two couples get lost on a summer night.
A hunchback murders all who block his way.
A ruler's rivals plot against his life.
A fat man and a prince make rebels pay.
A noble Moor has doubts about his wife.
An English king decides to conquer France.
A duke learns that his best friend is a she.
A forest sets the scene for this romance.
An old man and his daughters disagree.
A Roman leader makes a big mistake.
A sexy queen is bitten by a snake.
Bright Star by John Keats
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art-Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors-No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
You Must Accept by Kate Light
You must accept that's who he really is.
You must accept you cannot be his
unless he is yours. No compromise.
He is a canvas on which paint never dries;
a clay that never sets, steel that bends
in a breeze, a melody that when it ends
no one can whistle. He is not who
you thought. He's not. He is a shoe
that walks away: "I will not go where you
want to go." "Why, then, are you a shoe?"
"I'm not. I have the sole of a lover
but don't know what love is." "Discover
it, then." "Will I have to go where you go?"
"Sometimes." "Be patient with you?" "Yes." "Then, no."
You have to hear what he is telling you
and see what he is; how it is killing you.
Los Angeles Kindergarten Teacher’s Sonnet by Richard Villegas, Jr.
No one ever talked right in my house
and it hurts to go outside still.
Picked up the standard like a book louse
between pages speaking the real
-speak, authentic-speak, true
-words enounced correctly,
passed down by wordsmiths who
willed over words like jewelry.
I burly get thru my students’ unease,
they too in a language dilemma,
when I say, “Take one step back, please!”
they just stare, standing, Emma
confused, until my home language returns
and I say “Move backer!” and they do learns.