War Villanelle Poems | Examples
These War Villanelle poems are examples of Villanelle poems about War. These are the best examples of Villanelle War poems written by international poets.
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 might flip up hints to pure deceit,
Somewhat so close to Cain's stunt on Abel;
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat.
Alcohol could have actualised such treat,
Upon rage within, ever unsettle...
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.
Lust to blood; love to ruin, brace up stunt's cheat-
Cain focused off change, hope cares to settle...
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat.
Now, regret locks up an endless defeat...
Upon bloody sin, Cain-Abel nettle;
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat,
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.
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 torn in strokes of celeste shade,
each slash more raw, no truth left unrevealed—
the canvas waits beneath a tempered blade.
No brush can bruise the dark the way I’ve flayed
these hues loose, their former grace repealed.
I paint the silence that the wounds betrayed.
My muse—half shadow, half cascade—
emerges from each mark I will not shield.
The canvas waits beneath a tempered blade.
No line stays; no form can be obeyed.
I seek what's felt, not what can be concealed.
I paint the silence that the wounds betrayed.
She stares back now, the shape that art mislaid—
a scar turned sycamore across the field.
The canvas waits beneath a tempered blade.
I paint the silence that the wounds betrayed.
Lirena was a songbird born of yore
Who dearly loved her husband everyday;
She sings her songs of contentment no more.
An adversary’s troops ransacked the shore,
A ruthless marauding they did display;
Lirena was a songbird born of yore.
Her loving husband whom she did adore
Abducted mercilessly from the fray;
She sings her songs of victory no more.
She trailed the captor’s ship on raft with oar,
Enduring stormy gales and restless waves;
Lirena was a songbird born of yore.
Making landfall, sprinting upshore,
In tearful attempt to plead and persuade,
She sung her people’s secret song of yore.
But the Adversary had no remorse,
Her beloved was already in decay.
Lirena is a songbird of long forgotten lore;
She sings her songs of compunction forevermore.
War made itself felt known
may be through for instance
children hurting one another
or something to such a point.
Now, each man or woman learned
to fend for himself/herself:
First maybe using a stick or stone
and if the conditions warrant
the world would move forward;
still tide rises, tide falls.
Love is now the yearn
we aim to build home, have done here and there
sometimes leading us build huts and sometimes
flat houses?.
Yes, aim to build mansions and pavillions - thus to come
by something on the ways?.
Yes, we will later on use our homes to sleep and rent
and relax and never falter or give up until something
bread is joined with fun in advance?.
The shots ring out,
The soldiers drop,
Comrades shout,
The soldiers are filled with doubt,
As they splash through the slop,
The shots ring out,
The blood shall spout,
The bodies flop,
Comrades shout,
No More scout,
The bodies pile higher, his on top
The shots ring out,
The enemy starts to Strout,
As the army is served slop,
Comrades shout,
The army pushes on through the drought,
The soldiers drink water glop,
The shots ring out,
Comrades shout.
It is. It isn't. Is it him today?
It might be Putin, or it might be not
How many Putins are there anyway?
That's not his chin. It is. It's hard to say
The space between his eyes is not a lot
It is. It isn't. Is it him today?
He's out among the crowds. Oh happy day!
All former paranoias are forgot!
How many Putins are there anyway?
The upper lip. The hint of sneer. The way
He spits his silly bitter little plot
It is. It isn't. Is it him today?
The way he walks. So stiff and with a sway
Such fun to play. How hard is he to spot?
How many Putins are there anyway?
One has to ponder on the rate of pay
What matter if another one is shot?
It is. It isn't. Is it him today?
How many Putins are there anyway?
© Gail Foster 29th June 2023
If I had a dying wish
Your pain would exist no more
All the agony would ease, diminish
The withdrawals would quickly finish
Hoping you'll remember what you started for
You're inside there, little glimpses
We make plans but it seems you forget
If only there was another detour
Can you hear me calling? unfinished business
A different life fills my mind in illustrations
Holding you close while your tears pour
You were healthy, I saved old pictures
When you're sick I lie awake and feel your twitches
Your friends call trying to score
Trying so hard to let go, bad fixes
Pieces are scattered like broken dishes
Stuck inside a self inflicted war
If I had a dying wish
You'd save yourself from all of this
Drizzling, dazzling
splinters of diamond
Shards of crystal
or liquidized glass!
Transparent drops
from a translucent sky.
Ooh, that lucid lustre:
No wonder they say,
there's something sexy about the rain
Atleast it does seem to drive
dripping lovers insane.
And then as if frenzied, suddenly excited
the drizzle converts into a heavy downpour
as thunders bellow and thunders roar
as rivers swell and rivers soar.
Rain battering our rooftop
like needless war drums
or heedless bass drums
The heavens having opened
to announce a cloud burst
Till it's said to be raining cats and dogs
or more realistically, fishes and frogs!
O' God bless the nimbus
Those soaking cotton wool puffs in the sky
Those candy floss rainclouds sailing by.
Sailing atop waves, this life in full bloom,
Upon the shoreline, the lighthouse forewarns,
Darkened clouds hover, the impending doom.
Waves still like mirror, glass shimmering womb,
Life in full sail, ship commissioned as born,
Sailing atop waves, this life in full bloom.
Anxiety encased in light and tomb,
To seek help ashore, sounding its ship horn,
Darkened clouds hover, the impending doom.
A lighthouse keeper, sheds light on the gloom,
Resilient sails, however war-torn,
Sailing atop waves, this life in full bloom.
Ship shifts its rudder, evade the presumed,
Rocks stick out of waves, for whom will we mourn,
Darkened clouds hover, the impending doom.
Anxiety strikes all, even those plumed,
Through the lighthouse keeper, trouble be borne.
Sailing atop waves, this life in full bloom.
Darkened clouds hover, the impending doom.
What she might have been was hidden
Beneath self-destruction and depression
Despair so black it silenced light, war-ridden
Life without purpose, true love forbidden
Leaving darkest doubt lost in the impression
What she might have been was hidden
Her emotions, joy and hope, bedridden
A hole in her soul reflects every transgression
Despair so black it silenced light, war-ridden
Wonders in tears, promise of love, backslidden
Suicide whispering like a taunting obsession
What she might have been was hidden
Love cried out to her but she simply didn’t
Hear its voice – its feeling a wonderous confession
Despair so black it silenced the light, war-ridden
The music of prayers erasing suspicions, unbidden
Warring inside her, awful confusion and aggression
What she might have been was hidden
Despair so black it silenced the light, war-ridden
They visit now, where once men fought,
heads bowed in silence, and yet still,
no lesson learned from what was taught.
The trenches, ground, where carnage wrought;
fields in Ypres to Bunker Hill,
they visit now where once men fought.
Some think their sacrifice was naught
that if, from all the blood they spill,
no lesson learned from what was taught.
Perhaps a guilty penance sought;
that they were not sent out to kill,
they visit now, where once men fought?
Sometimes, a fragile peace was bought,
but not for long, as is man's will.
They visit now, where once men fought,
no lesson learned from what was taught.
Host of heaven, be in war; rescue my peace, please!
Look at the map, locate the field and battle on...
Till my all is free from the thwarting tease.
Don't listen to any form of plea dealing to appease,
Until the last minute by which the battle be won.
Host of heaven, be in war; rescue my peace, please!
Fight, fight beyond what their strategies can cease.
Destroy them to such extent that dream not to rerun...
Till my all is free from the thwarting tease.
Gain the background checking to make ease,
The atmosphere you have successfully outrun...
Host of heaven, be in war; rescue my peace, please!
How much are the charges deposited in decrees?
Squeeze out the juice of their mouths; their words, abandon!
Till my all is free from the thwarting tease.
Weaken the weak yet strong enough to freeze
And make sure sets are forever left undone.
Host of heaven, be in war; rescue my peace, please!
Till my all is free from the thwarting tease.
Why do I survive in a world so cruel?
I'd like a life without war.
Why should I remain a fool?
Why should I obey the rule?
I'd like to relive the before.
Why would I remain in that pool?
Must I stay where angels ridicule?
I'd like passage through the door.
To places where demon's fire fuel.
Must I dwell where troubles make full?
Of me, I'd like to leave the floor.
And fly up high the clouds of wool.
What can I do to the handful?
Of melancholy pressed firmly to the core.
Agony and pain in a mystic whirlpool.
What can I do about the misrule?
Of power placed at sights I abhor.
Or might coiled in a bad spool.
Of strength drained in a world so cruel.
The world is watching with bated breath,
while an unforsaken slaughter takes place
A man with no soul, an angel of death
There is no escape from this labyrinth,
only terror he brings to his own race
The world is watching with bated breath
With rage, pent-up frustration, and faith
Good men do their part, fighting to replace,
a man with no soul, an angel of death
Poets write forthright about him in depth,
with a fury about what’s taking place
The world is watching with bated breath
One man’s brutality, Lord thy feareth.
Oligarchs flee on their yachts and disgrace,
a man with no soul, an angel of death
As we stand together, we send a pleth—
ory of prayers to end this, with God’s grace
The world is watching with bated breath,
a man with no soul, an angel of death
Contest Name: AN ORIGINAL VILLANELLE CONTEST.
Sponsor: L MILTON HANKINS.
Written on : 02/03/2022
Walking on a lane, and I see you,
You are so beautiful, as a fairy,
My heart is filled with your smile.
You are kind, pure, but who are you,
Are you an angel, sent down from heaven,
Walking on a lane, and I see you.
Storms are raging blue, sun is scorching red,
I thought it was the end, but then I saw you,
My heart is filled with your smile.
I close my eyes, I see you,
It's "2" in the morning, I still think of us,
Walking on a lane, and I see you.
You invaded my heart, you have a victory,
This is not a war, This is Love,
My heart is filled with your smile.
Don't fall in love, you'll get hurt, your father told you,
Put your hand in mine, I will protect you, I Love You,
Walking on a lane, and I see you,
My heart is filled with your smile.