Long Villanelle Poems

Villanelles

The villanelle is a poetic form based on repetition, with a double refrain. 



Villanelle: The Divide
by Michael R. Burch

The sea was not salt the first tide...
was man born to sorrow that first day, 
with the...

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Poems about Things that Break I
 
These are poems about things that break and/or shatter: a bubble, glass, a mirror, a twig or tree limb, a thunderstorm, cities and towers in times of war, old...

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Rondels, Roundels and Rondeaux

These are poetic forms similar to villanelles, with refrains (repeated lines) and sometimes double refrains.



Rondel: Merciles Beaute ("Merciless Beauty")
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation Michael R. Burch

Your eyes slay me suddenly;
their beauty I cannot...

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Villanelle: No man can on his own escape written fate

         For Thiru-Valluvar, the “nameless” author of 
the THIRUK-KURAL

Note: In my previous posts, especially on Canto 38, I...

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~ Worship  And  Praise   ~
 ( Pantoum )



~O~



Worship God, each day, all the way. 
Keep the Lord always in my life. 
Try follow Him  in all each day. 
Worship, praise...

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Regret
by Michael R. Burch

Regret,
a bitter
ache to bear . . .

once starlight
languished
in your hair . . .

a shining there
as brief
as rare.

Regret . . .
a pain
I chose to bear . . .

unleash
the torrent
of your hair . ....

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~The   Book  ~
(Quatern)


 It tells the beginning of man
 How He created all from start
 He made the moon, stars, day and night
 It tells of God's great love for man

 It...

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Villanelle : Never political but spiritual the ancient Indo-Chinese pilgrim ties

       In Memory of the late pathologist (and amateur Astronomer) 
Associate Professor CHONG Siew Meng, National University of Singapore*


Never...

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LIGHT VERSE AND NONSENSE VERSE V

Less Heroic Couplets: Word to the Unwise
by Michael R. Burch

I wanted to be good as gold,
but being good, as I’ve been told,
requires something, discipline,
I simply have no interest in!



Villanelle of...

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Villanelle: Who's afraid of the Virgin Wolf's wisdom tooth

(As unlikely as it may sound, this happens to be the TRUTH: the foremost French journalist, André FONTAINE of Le Monde; an illustrious  Academician poet, Pierre...

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The Divide
by Michael R. Burch

The sea was not salt the first tide ...
was man born to sorrow that first day
with the moon—a pale beacon across the Divide,
the brighter for longing, an object denied—
the tug at...

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Our English Rose
by Michael R. Burch

for Christine Ena Burch

The rose is—
the ornament of the earth,
the glory of nature,
the archetype of the flowers,
the blush of the meadows,
a lightning flash of beauty.

This is my translation of ancient...

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Ordinary Love
by Michael R. Burch 
 
Indescribable—our love—and still we say
with eyes averted, turning out the light,
"I love you," in the ordinary way
 
and tug the coverlet where once we lay,
all suntanned limbs entangled, shivering,...

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Villanelle : The Cricketer’s Hakka : « How’s Zaat ! »

Balls thud into pads bats gloves or whisk past batsmen
At bowler’s end or square leg umpires stare stand
« How’s Zaat ! » yell players game’s...

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Interview with Miss Aliza Kashmala Kiran: AJJ hum apke mulaqat by Mobile ase poetess se karwarahay hain jin ke poetry apnay international website www.universehowto.blogspot.in main parhe hoge.
EK HASEEN SHAM AKHBAR “SUNHERAY SAPNAY “NAY MOBILE PER...

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Ah, God, the way your little finger moved 
As you thrust a bare arm backward 
And made play with your hair 
And a comb a silly gilt comb 
Ah, God—that I should suffer 
Because of...

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Un alma de noche                               ...

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We had saved our precious stock of grandpa’s grape
prepared the ground and amended the soil.
After laying out the orchard, we planted cuttings with our own hands.
Fed the young vines with love and creek water
and waited...

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Villanelle: Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
  
 for the author - male or female, prince or pauper, playboy or priest - of the
   THIRUKKURAL*, the reputed "bible" of the...

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Because Her Heart Is Tender, for Beth
by Michael R. Burch
 
She scrawled soft words in soap: “Never Forget”
dove-white on her car’s window (though the wren,
because its heart is tender, might regret
it called the sun to...

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Do you know what is
the best part of
being with you?
To feel your warm
deep inside even
without holding your
hands.

Do you know what is
the worst part of
being with you?
To talk foolishly
about everything in
our every
convesation not
saying the word
running in...

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Days and days have passed no new introspection
Nothing to search for, the clock moves so slow
Looking into my eyes reveals an empty reflection

At times anger coursed through me like an infection
Guilt turned to blame and...

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If you orginally read this then, you would have seen it was a villanelle, actualy same it was the poem Hope, which I posted before this one. A very silly copy/paste error that was pointed...

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As thephilosopher  readies for his p soup anniversary 
Remembering he found this place last Christmas Day
Surely the best gift he did receive
Now for some holiday fun, DON”T LEAVE

Denise Narayadu I can't end the line...

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Three score and ten:

The seconds turn into minutes, then to hours.
The hours spin into days, then weeks will fly by.
The weeks then quickly dissolve into many months.

The months that fleet and fly by into such...

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