Dark Villanelle Poems

Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat,
Red eyes might grow tough to handle mettle...
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.

Finger...

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the winter blues has a grip on me, all so tight 
   Its icy tentacles wrap around me and squeezes
   freezing...

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The path is lost where wild winds press, 
No compass holds beneath the sky— 
We walk alone through wilderness. 

The thorns of time, the weight...

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The canvas waits beneath a tempered blade.
A pale silver knife, not forged for war, I wield.
I paint the silence that the wounds betrayed.

The sky lies...

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These stairs have wept a million tears
walking from parking lot to hospital room
Hearts travel them, to meet their worst fears

Through shadows and shame, past years
Blessed...

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So, don`t be the merry jokers prey 
as he play`s his zany game of charades 
upon this trickster`s holy day 

never let the sunshine’s ray...

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Each day a lesson, sun sets and sun will rise,  
Time we embrace, with courage to ascend,  
To be or do better, with...

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Inside me shrieking like a banshee,
dark shadows hold an accursed grin;
Old wounds are licked fastidiously;

Always wreaking havoc painfully,
squirming below my butter soft skin;
Inside me shrieking...

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It is dark in here, no light, no air,
A love once pure, now lost to greed,
His heart consumed by cruel despair.

She gave her trust, unaware,
Of...

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Benji practices genocide 
Brave new Isreal has sick laws
Is Isreal thinking rectified  .

Benji thinks he is glorified
Death is a singletree- the kill nods
Benji practices...

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As I stand at the mouth of a tunnel
I wonder what this journey will be—  
Trials, I know, are inevitable.  

I crawl into...

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I saw all life fade ... merely pass away
of all that I knew hath spun around me
past brace presence death, carpe mortem day

Night hung in...

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These are villanelles by Michael R. Burch and and villanelle-like poems...


Villanelle: Trump’s Retribution Resolution
by Michael R. Burch

My New Year’s resolution?
I require your money and votes,
for...

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Villanelle
by Michael R. Burch

Is poetry mere turning of a phrase?
Has prose become its height and depth and sum?
What happened to the songs of yesterdays?

Does prose...

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Uncommon Sun frisks mercury— heat's blight
On Winter's frame around tree trunks and boughs,
Shrieking frost shattered— melts in her tears, rights.

Atypical thaw for this season's height,
Where...

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