Seasons Villanelle Poems | Examples
These Seasons Villanelle poems are examples of Villanelle poems about Seasons. These are the best examples of Villanelle Seasons poems written by international poets.
September dreams follow the night,
Whispering peace, sighing soft and still,
Like music, echoing the soul’s delight.
October visions seek those she’ll excite,
Shadowing the spirit with dewdrop’s spill,
September dreams follow the night,
November imaginings color hearts right,
Glorious dreams the soul will fulfill,
Like music, echoing the soul’s delight.
Melting moments that poets soon write.
Autumn’s kindness brings such a thrill.
September dreams follow the night,
Rustlings of crisp leaves, beneath moonlight,
Pouring out hope across the morning chill,
Like music, echoing the soul’s delight.
Leaves cling to souls when they take flight,
Leaving memories of autumn’s goodwill,
September dreams follow the night,
Like music, echoing the soul’s delight.
There's an earthiness to each scented breeze,
and a warm caress in the Sun's embrace:
revealing the telltale signs of Spring's tease.
The ice melts as rivers slowly unfreeze,
while the daffodils dare to show their face:
there's an earthiness to each scented breeze.
Based upon the weatherman's expertise:
a shift of seasons is set to take place;
revealing the telltale signs of Spring's tease.
Where Chinooks wrestled Winter to Her knees
weaving snowflakes into patches of lace:
there's an earthiness to each scented breeze.
Robin-red-breasts herald the honeybees,
while snowmen disappear without a trace:
revealing the telltale signs of Spring's tease.
Anxieties instantly start to ease,
and doldrums depart at a quickened pace.
Revealing the telltale signs of Spring's tease:
there's an earthiness to each scented breeze.
By your ink on this parchment, my thoughts tattooed
I'm drawn to this bouquet; I am left so madly.
Fields of blazing stars, lying randomly, strewed
Happiest are these thoughts deliberately construed.
Winter taking them from my core destroys me, sadly.
By your ink on this parchment, my thoughts tattooed
Purple pillars of violently swaying happiness imbue
So I harvest them as fast as I can, enjoying them gladly.
Fields of blazing stars, lying randomly, strewed
After such a long time between blossoms, histories accrued.
I waited patiently for their replacement, so very badly.
By your ink on this parchment, my thoughts tattooed
I felt the truest of forlorn, nearly left lifelessly blued.
Springtime rain brought them back to my welcoming hands, comradely.
Fields of blazing stars, lying randomly, strewed
Once I found eyes on them, new happiness did exude.
Replenishing their hearts energy regrown in me
By your ink on this parchment, my thoughts tattooed
Fields of blazing stars, lying randomly, strewed
In autumn's dance, where secrets gently creep,
A mystery entwined with fading light,
Life's questions in the depths of shadows seep.
Each leaf that falls, a story to be told,
The beauty in decay, a spectral sight,
In autumn's dance, where secrets gently creep.
As twilight whispers softly, promises keep,
The world transforms, revealing its insight,
Life's questions in the depths of shadows seep.
The golden hues and whispers of the deep,
Through twilight's veil, in the embrace of night,
In autumn's dance, where secrets gently creep.
In every ember's glow, the memories we keep,
Through seasons' change, we strive to hold on tight,
Life's questions in the depths of shadows seep.
With nature's hand, the answers, we shall reap,
In autumn's grasp, our hopes take their flight,
In autumn's dance, where secrets gently creep,
Life's questions in the depths of shadows seep.
© Anindya Mohan Tagore
14-10-2023
It seems that time is going much too fast;
a year goes by in just a flash- a crime!
Oh, how I wish that each of them could last.
This month of August soon becomes the past;
like yesterday, flew last year's Summertime.
It seems that time is going much too fast.
The Autumn chill will shortly be broadcast-
replacing Summer days of pleasant clime.
Oh, how I wish that each of them could last.
Before I know it, the cold months will cast
those icy storms and mounds of snow; meantime,
it seems that time is going much too fast.
Though Holidays warm up the Winter blast-
those days fly quick, like those of Christmastime!
Oh, how I wish that each of them could last.
When this December ends, one year has passed!
But, then comes hope- the days of new Springtime!
It seems that time is going much too fast.
Oh, how I wish that each of them could last.
August 19, 2022
Premiere Contest: First Person Villanelle Poetry Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
The sacred hoop is my life wheel,
circular with no beginning and no end;
this infinite circle I must reveal.
The teachings within help me heal,
where east, south, west and north transcend;
the sacred hoop is my life wheel.
The great power in the four I find surreal,
life I will not fake, waste or pretend;
this infinite circle I must reveal.
To the spirit keepers of the four I appeal,
as all life aspects, seasons, elements, spiritual blend;
the sacred hoop is my life wheel.
I ask the sun, air, water, earth to not conceal,
oh, I wish all the spirit keepers to be my friend;
this infinite circle I must reveal.
To father sky and mother earth I kneel,
and pray for the power of four to mend;
the sacred hoop is my life wheel,
this infinite circle I must reveal.
____________________
August 09, 2022
Poetry/Villanelle/Spirit Keepers Heal
Copyright Protected, ID 08-1478-755-09
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, First Person Villanelle
sponsor, L MILTON HANKINS, Judged 09/02/2022
Third Place
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
I wake up, hearing chirps of birds at four O’ clock;
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though a little boy...!
The earth and the heavens celebrate springtime-joy,
Timely changes in weather never my glee block;
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
Newborn baby animals race around in cloy,
In ponds around, bullfrogs in chorus gaily croak;
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though a little boy...!
Breeze, as though touch me not, feels me and fades in coy,
Within feelings, like salsa, to xylophones, rock;
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
Seed drowsing, spring up and shoot up fresh green savoy,
Migratory birds to their homelands fly in flock;
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though, a little boy...!
Sunshine! Shower! Wedding of foxes! Dogs convoy!
Ducks and geese and swans and swamps display their catwalk;
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though a little boy...!
15 April 2022
Springtime Villanelle Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
When dark clouds overshadow the sun’s ray
And gloom spreads over the countryside
While the daisies bowed their heads to pray,
Knowing they have this last somber day
Before their golden petals are thrust aside
When dark clouds overshadow the sun’s ray.
After the rain, I stroll the meadow highway
In early afternoon, happy and wide-eyed,
While the daisies bowed their heads to pray.
The meadow is no longer in grand array
As autumn soon summer’s blooms override
When dark clouds overshadow the sun’s ray
Rainbow spotted during my afternoon getaway
Adorned like a midsummer’s waiting bride,
While the daisies bow their heads to pray
The morning was a gloomy, disappointing gray
Watching the season changed, I admit I cried
When dark clouds overshadow the sun’s ray,
While the daisies bow their heads to pray.
written September 15, 2021
She moves whichever way wind is blowing
Her body caught dancing in fire’s blue flames
Like shadows in spaces never showing
Fluent in language yet to be knowing
Remembered only by the seasons claim
She moves whichever way wind is blowing
Eternal blaze in her body glowing
She blushed on both sides that divide the same
Like shadows in spaces never showing
Mother Nature’s muse in essence growing
Embraced in the light of dawn’s careful aim
She moves whichever way wind is blowing
Cloaked in power spoke about ongoing
A lovely blame with insides of false shame
Like shadows in spaces never showing
Desire is the gift that she’s bestowing
The demise of an ethereal dame
She moves whichever way wind is blowing
Like shadows in spaces never showing
August 02, 2019
Villanelle
The month that I like best? It’s hard to say . . .
For January’s nice, and April, too;
But if I have to choose just one, it’s May.
In May, we celebrate Memorial Day!
But what of February, March—those two?
The month that I like best? It’s hard to say . . .
In May, there’s smell of flowers and fresh-mown hay,
September and October? Each their due!
But if I have to choose just one, it’s May.
In May, with longer days, more time to play!
In June, July, and August? Skies are blue.
The month that I like best? It’s hard to say . . .
In May, the warmer days are here to stay!
November and December? Much to do . . .
But if I have to choose just one, it’s May.
In May, my Mom and Grandma made entrée!
And as for me, I, too, was born on cue.
The month that I like best? It’s hard to say . . .
But if I have to choose just one, it’s May.
May bride of Spring sheds shades of night
And dons a dress of Emerald green
To greet the Sun her Summer Knight
Now winter’s chills are put to flight
The field no more in frosted sheen
May bride of Spring sheds shades of night
The humble Hawthorne blossom bright
Like snow upon the hedge is seen
And greets the Sun her Summer Knight
Each day the dawn brings earlier light
And nature bares a roseate mien
May bride of Spring sheds shades of night
She wakes now early, not to sleight
All gracious nature’s bounty gleaned
And greet the Sun her Summer Knight
Her star now nearing apex height
He bows before his beauteous Queen
May bride of Spring sheds shades of night
To greet the Sun her Summer Knight
26 June 2020
The muses all march to their own rhythmic drum
Or saunter or scamper in their favored time
The poems will come when they come, when they come
Blank paper on desk, pen on finger and thumb
The poet sits poised to inscribe thoughts sublime
The muses all march to their own rhythmic drum
With verve you foresaw untapped depths you would plumb
But zeal slowly fades in a mute pantomime
The poems will come when they come, when they come
Yet do not despair or resign as would some
The cycle of seasons is their paradigm
The muses all march to their own rhythmic drum
Enjoy the down time: visit friends, share some rum
Read poets you love while awaiting your rhyme
The poems will come when they come, when they come
Then, glorious day! Muses sing, dance, and hum
Fresh words fall like snowflakes, cathedral bells chime
The muses all march to their own rhythmic drum
The poems will come when they come, when they come
written 22 Jan 2020
And fields and springs faithfully prayed
with hope and love, in life`s sacred dance.
In beauty of his mind, Narcissus survived.
And lovely seasons never would be fade,
because the travel met the hope`s grass.
And fields and springs faithfully prayed.
And so, the people part was well weighed:
good deeds, and good will in human stance.
In beauty of his mind, Narcissus survived.
And sweet like honey, could be always made
this life with all its joys` and sorrows` chance.
And fields and springs faithfully prayed.
And finally, no reasons stayed to be afraid
by travel, and its expected change.
In beauty of his mind, Narcissus survived.
Metamorphoses in role the being had played
as time, prepared what he might advance.
And fields and springs faithfully prayed.
In beauty of his mind, Narcissus survived.
The wren is singing, high up in the tree
Come, lay your crown beside me on the ground
Come lie with me, my love, come lie with me
For every bloom on earth there is a bee
For every queen a green king to be crowned
The wren is singing high up in the tree
I wore a gown of bright embroidery
I wear my hair with heather flowers wound
Come lie with me, my love, come lie with me
I’m wanton, wild, alive with energy
I want you brought to me in oak leaves bound
The wren is singing high up in the tree
Oh aye, what then, why then I set you free
Oh my, and we get dirty and profound
Come lie with me, my love, come lie with me
You are my king. I shut my eyes and see
Your silhouette, with sunlight all around
I hear the wren sing, high up in the tree
Come lie with me, my love, come lie with me
© Gail Foster 21st June 2018
a rhyme for the spring equinox...
the hills are growing green beneath the snow
white horses, shake the winter from your manes
the spring has come, the wild wind told me so
cold ice be gone, and warm sweet water flow
come, crocuses, and flower on the plains
the hills are growing green beneath the snow
grey gulls fly high, and clouds of blossom blow
come, laughing crows, and dance within the rains
the spring has come, the wild wind told me so
soon summer, and so many seeds to sow
come, sun, spill down the furrows of the lanes
the hills are growing green beneath the snow
bright gorse ablaze, and alder tops aglow
come blood, and flood the burrows of the veins
the spring has come, the wild wind told me so
dark night be gone, long days of light to go
come love, with all your mysteries and pains
the hills are growing green beneath the snow
and spring has come, the wild wind told me so
© Gail Foster 17th March 2018