Tag Archives: Villanelle

The Creation Hour

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~A villanelle~

The creation of art is a mystical power

a mirror of a mind, sometimes tedious or blind

but it’s something I could do for hours and hours.

Pouring a vision into handicraft that’s ours

becomes this tangible model of glitter, matte or kind

the creation of art blossoms its flowers.

Wily, constructions with transcendent powers,

a collage of many lives on as one in time,

and strikes the synapse at a witching hour.

Concluding the whispered poetry with a glower,

a musical interlude, rhymed and intertwined.

I could go on, as I’m musing the power.

That last fabrication, I observe and devour

and with concluding approval, I am so inclined.

The creation of art is a mystical power

and I could continue for hours on hours.

A noisy door helps me write (a villanelle)

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Opening wooden doors that creak, something went awry.
A spatial sense of order, withdrawn in disarray.
Shutting closed I pass on through, the other side blue sky.

On ladders and embankments, I reach or try to climb.
The pieces always ticking while the motions are in play
Opening wooden doors that creak, something went awry.

Tip-toeing down older roads, hopping over grime,
Slipping over some misstep, it’s difficult to convey. Shutting closed I pass on through, the other side blue sky.

Crafting paths on tile and gravel out of sticks and rhyme.
None are quiet, some are speaking loudly in the fray. Opened creaking, wooden doors. Something went awry.

Careful with the word choice. It happens all the time.
The only advantage in supercilious display
closing shut. I pass the other blue side, the sky.

All this confusion while I wander in my mind.
Noises in their speaking voice carry me away.
I opened wooden doors and something creaking went awry.
I shut the door and pass on others, through to bluer skies.

Standards (a villanelle)

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The piano chord was out of tune,
and during All the Things You Are
lovers kissed in the smoky room.

The singer’s skills I could not impugn
Yet on The Coast of Malabar,
The piano chord was out of tune.

The night was lit with a gibbous moon.
When you wish upon a star,
lovers kissed in the smoky room.

Melodies to which couples spoon.
Makes no difference who you are,
the piano chord was out of tune.

Embraceable you, the ladies swoon
Glasses set on the polished bar,
lovers kissed in the smoky room

The songs, they ended far too soon
I left the player a pourboire.
The piano chord was out of tune,
lovers kissed in the smoky room.